Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 3: Alf

Loved my stepbrother Barnaby with all my heart. Though Mill Town chided me for the endless japes upon him. Horse piss for ale and dead rats in his blankets. Pouring flour down as he passed through the door, putting burrs in his pants, sending him running to the manse with letters instructing the Squire to kiss Lucif's sixth ass.

Folk named me a spirit sent by Infernum itself to torment an innocent. Not that they didn't laugh loud to see Barnaby fall flat, or stand snowed in flour, or watch him spend the day fishing for mermaids in the brook.

What they didn't see was that I did it for my brother's good. Ah, folk are blind that way. They see what you do; not why you do it.

It was Ma and the Squire's sly plan; raise Barnaby to be a fool. They wanted the mill, of course. She kept promising it'd be mine; though you could tell by his eyes that the Squire had other plans.

So: I set myself to teach my brother wisdom. Not to be a fool. I tricked my brother again and again, to teach him not to be tricked.

For years I showed Barnaby that he should never trust a soul. Check under the blanket for rats, in the hat for dogshit. Look in every doorway for a cord to trip a foot. Peer into both boots for a spike before putting foot within.

I did my honest best to make Barnaby understand that folk lied, deceived, cheated. That a stepmother full of affirmations of the saints could be a sly devil. A friar full of knowledge could be spouting blither that even the Goat Girl would know for blather. And that a brother who clapped him on the back, sending him to gather moonlight in a sack by night, was someone he should thump on the head.

He never did once. Thump me, or anyone. For all he was strong as any I've met. Ah, my poor brother would be the butt of some lesson, and his cheerful face would turn surprised. And I'd wait, holding breath, thinking that at last, at last we'd see the cup overflow with anger, with understanding of the world's make. Then at last would come the righteous thumping! He'd toss Ma out of the house, knock the Squire on his ass. Break my arms, no doubt, and then chase the Friar round the mill.

But no; Barnaby would only shake his head, and then grin, and then go about his chores, humming, watching the clouds. Settling at day's end before the hearth. Whatever cruel trick I played, he smiled; and forgot. Never learning a thing.

At least, never learning what I taught. Cruel japes only taught my brother to dream, staring in the fire as if Mill Town and the world was less real than the flames and ashes of the hearth.

The last thing I ever gave Barnaby: a fool's scrap of a map his Da left. I clapped my brother on the back, told him 'here's your treasure map, so be on the road and away.'

What else to do? If I'd told him Ma was pondering poison in tonight's soup, he'd have nodded, and grinned, and reached for the soup spoon. So I sent him off from Mill Town and murder.

Ma and the Squire thought sending him off made excellent plan; far better than poisoned soup.

So we all waved goodbye, Clapping him on the back for a brave fellow, wishing him well, telling him to travel safe, return soon with our treasure.

What would you have had me do? He had a better chance of seeing the next dawn on the road, than another night in Mill Town. As for the dangers of that lunatic tower, what of them? It was a thousand leagues away. He'd no more chance of reaching it that if I'd given him a map to the moon.

Soon as Barnaby disappeared down the road, the Squire and mother went off to chuckle and fornicate. The Friar locked himself in his cottage, the shamefaced lackey. I returned to the mill alone. Sat before the hearth fire. And there I stared and stared, trying to see what Barnaby saw here worth contemplating.

I watched flames turn wood to embers; the embers turn to ash. What had Barnaby seen, sitting here, staring, dreaming? There was nothing here but spark and smoke and soot. Smoke, ash and nothing.

When the last ember died, I found myself alone in the dark of an empty house. No a wit wiser than before.

And staring into the ashes, it came to me that perhaps Barnaby had gotten the last jape. All those years I'd worked to make Barnaby wise. But I never once asked my brother to teach me to be a fool.