The Fiddler (Hand in Hand Chronicles)

Chapter 1 - "Full Fathom five thy father lies"

Waves gently lapping on the shore. The steady rush of water. And cold wind rushing through the reeds. I know where I am. I am not afraid.  My brother's arms are around me. His hand is in mine.
"I hear the river," I whisper, not bothering to tug away it wouldn't work.
"When you die, they're going to put your body in a box of rocks. And throw you into the ocean. And it'll be dark. And cold. And you won't ever breath again. But, you won't be afraid do you know why?" Thomas asks, hand still firmly over my eyes.
"Because I'll be listening to the water, forever," I say, quietly.
"And you'll never be afraid because there is nothing left to fear. You're just the waves," he steps us forward. Cold water runs onto my bare feet.
"Please," I whisper.
"The only way you can become great is to stop being afraid. So long as you fear. I have power over you," Thomas whispers, lips against my ear, "You fear the water. So now I play with that, and I can torment you. You shouldn't let me in."
"Please not tonight," I whisper, as he pushes us another step forward, now it's lapping my ankles.
"When you die I'll cast you into the nearest, deepest, body of water. Maybe then you won't be so frightened," he says.
"Please," I whisper.
"Stop saying please. It never does any good. No one is coming to save you. Not tonight. Not ever. This emptiness you feel? That's eternity," he says, "If you were a proper brother to me you'd learn to enjoy it. Don't you think I want you to survive? So I'm training you."
"I'll just die let me go," I whisper. It's true. All my life we've just been waiting for me to die. But I can't say please again. It won't do any good.
"The sooner you die. The sooner you'll be down there, in eternal dark, doing nothing but listening to the world go by. You won't ever be master of your fate. Not if you don't listen to me. I prayed for a brother, look what God cursed me with," he says, pushing us another step. I stumble and he tugs me up, "There I saved you I shan't again. One day you'll stumble and I'll let the current carry you away. And you'll never know when that day is but you know it's coming."
"I hate you," I whisper.
"That's better," I feel his hand on the middle of my back. Prepared to push me in. This could be the day he lets me drown.
"I cannot swim I'll do anything. I'll give you one of my toys?" I whimper, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
"I don't need your toys. I have my toy," he says, fingers digging harder into my face, "Do you want to learn to swim?"
"Yes," I say, because no does no good.
He laughs, lips against my ear, "Not today."
I hear footsteps, and then arms are dragging us apart.
"I stopped him! He was trying to run in again!" Thomas bounces back, grinning merrily, eyes glowing with that weird light. I sob openly at my rescue, as a nurse scoops me up.
"Mother, he ran for the river again!" Thomas shouts.
I'm sobbing uncontrollably, so very glad to be free. It's dark outside with no moon. And a cold wind is blowing. My feet are numb with cold from the river water. And I'm so glad to be free.
"Give him to me, give him to me," I hear my mother's voice, "Come here, baby."
"Mama?" I hold out my arms hopefully.
"Give him to me, come here," my mother sweeps me from the nurse's arms into her own, balancing me against her thick belly.
"Mother tell him to stop running for the river, I only just caught him," Thomas says, hanging on her arm.
"I told you not to let them out of their rooms!" My mother cries, at the nurses, "Sweet boy don't cry, mama's here, don't you cry." She kisses my forehead then hair, hugging me to herself securely.
I snuggle into her embrace, blocking out the sounds of everyone's voices as the exclaim over finding us once again out of our beds. Thomas is weeping now. Thomas is a genius. And I'm going to die someday.
"Come on, let's get you in bed," she says, carrying me back up towards the keep, gently stroking my hair from my face. "Do you want to stay with mama?"
I nod, tears still streaming down my cheeks.
"Okay, okay you'll stay with mama," she kisses my forehead again.
She bears me back inside, instructing several nurses to make sure Thomas stays in his room to my satisfaction she does not comfort his tears nor kiss him goodnight. I just hope our father isn't up.
He's up.
"What in hell?" He's never kind. He looks at me like wondering when I'll die. I don't know what I've done wrong but exist and yet he's disappointed in me.
"Shh, you're all right," my mother says, hugging me tighter.
"Again?" My father asks.
"Yes. Again," my mother says, carrying me into her room. She tucks me into her still warm bed. I'm sobbing still.
"Shh, shh, little love," she says, stroking her fingers through my hair, "Take one long breath with me."
I take a shuddering breath, trying to obey.
"All the way down to your tummy, good, one more," she says, patting my belly, "Very good."
I breath out, choking on sobs.
"There you go, nice and slow, you breath for me I'll be right back," she kisses my forehead, then rises. My father's waiting in the door. They step out into the hall, but I can still hear their voices through the thick wood door.
"Yes, Edmund, again," my mother says, sharply, "Thomas had him all the way down to the river."
"And why would he do that?" My father asks.
"So you're saying this is Henry's fault!?"
"Blanche, he's just five, he's only getting into trouble," my father sighs.
"He's afraid of the water. You tell me why that baby would get out of his bed, without his favorite doll, and go all the way down to the water, which he's afraid of?" My mother asks, angrily. I sniffle. My stuffed dog. It was made out of scraps of very soft blue velvet with one red patch and I would snuggle it to my face to fall asleep. My old nurse made it for me, it's name is Blue, it had sweet smelling herbs and flowers sewn in. Thomas took it when he woke me.
"Look it's late. You should be resting," my father sighs.
"Thomas did something. He's smart. He's so smart IF he actually saw his brother was gone why didn't he shout for someone instead of going after him? And how did he know to go look there? Someplace, by the way, Henry never wants to go and play?" My mother asks.
She's right. It is Thomas' fault. But usually no one notices that.
"Because he's eight? Just—Blanche look I'll hire more nurses while you're in confinement. They'll be watched day and night. They're just getting into trouble—,"
"No, they are not. Getting into trouble isn't Henry crying his eyes out," my mother says, "Something scared him."
"What do you want me to do here? Right now in the middle of the night?"
"I don't know. We need to talk to Thomas, maybe try to think of something? I'm not burying another child, Edmund. Not either of them, not this one," she says, voice shaking in anger. I know I have an older brother who died. Thomas told me, that our mother never speaks of it, except in grief. And that it'll be the same with me someday soon. When I die.
"They're fine. Blanche. Our boys are fine. I'll speak with Thomas tomorrow, ask him what happened," my father says, "All right? Get some sleep."
She says nothing, then, "You don't care about Henry."
"He'll die soon likely. That is all. The surgeon's said that his neck will only worsen. Let him live a good life," my father says, diplomatically, "I pray this one is healthy."
"Good night," my mother says, quietly. Then I hear the door. She comes back in the warm bedroom, and crawls into bed next to me.
I roll over a little so she knows I'm still awake, tears still wet on my cheeks.
"Shh, there's my boy," my mother says, gently wiping the tears away, "Come here, do you want to be cuddled?"
I nod, chewing my lip.
She takes me in her arms, snuggling me against her thick belly.
"Why are you crying?" She asks.
"I'm afraid to die. I think it sounds awful," I whimper.
"Shh, you're not going to die, little love," she says, stroking a hand through my hair.
"Is heaven dark?" I ask.
"No. No it's light. And warm. And if you get there before me, you're going to wait in the sunshine, with lots of toys, and play with your brother Theo," she says gently.
I don't want to play with a brother. I've met Thomas.
"Okay? You'll be just fine. But you're not going anywhere," she says, gently.
"Okay," I whisper.
"Why were you out by that river?" She asks gently, "Were you looking for a toy you dropped today?"
I nod. That's what we're supposed to say. Thomas told me.
"You can't do that at night. It's not safe to leave your room," she says.
"I'm sorry mama," I whisper.
"Shh it's all right, I was just worried. It scares me when you're away from your nurses like that," she says, kissing my hair. "Did—Thomas suggest you go look for the toy?"
"No, Thomas stopped me from going too near the water. He's a good brother," I say, just like Thomas had me practice. He took Blue, I'll never see Blue again if he gets even in a bit of trouble.
"You going to be a good big brother when this new baby comes?" She asks, smiling gently at me.
I nod, "I promise." But not like Thomas is a good brother.
The next morning the nurses come and collect me and I'm taken back to the nursery.
Thomas is waiting, my Blue dog clutched in his hands. He beams when he sees me, holding out the toy. I know better than to run up and take it. I don't dare try to judge his moods.
"You can't go scaring everyone like that sneaking out," Thomas says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, "Look. I found your doll. Now do you promise to be more careful?"
"I promise," I whisper, hesitantly reaching for the toy. So he's pleased. Well I did do well.
He moves it ever so slightly out of my grasp. But now I know it's off limits, and in the quietest voice he whispers, "Father came to see me. I told you I'd punish you."
I snatch my toy back, shaking. I said everything right. Why did they have to do that? Now he'll get even with me. And it isn't even my fault.
"Just wait," Thomas laughs, backing away. And that's all he has to say. His revenge will be coming as he chooses. While I wait with baited breath.
Thomas doesn't wait long. I have to abandon my toy for my lessons. I don't want to, clutching it, well aware if I set it down I shan't see it again. But the nurses force me to.
"Leave your toys in the nursery. You can't hold that during music lessons."
"Can't it sit at my feet?" I ask, hopefully.
Thomas stares at me.
"Now you know how to ask nicely," my nurse says.
Thomas continues staring at me.
I can't say that word. If I say please then it'll be worse.
I leave Blue in a basket with my other toys, and follow them to my lessons, tears dripping down my face.  I can't even focus and do poorly, barely able to read. I get my hands smacked for not focusing on my sums then when I practice music my hands hurt too much to hold my fiddle and bow. It's a hard instrument to play, so naturally Thomas loves it. Thomas is very smart. We don't have all lessons together because he's ahead, so if he and his tutors are in another room I'm sweating with fear. Wondering what he'll have done.
When I get back to the nursery of course my toy is gone. I don't know what else I expected but maybe that he'd have some mercy this time. I pretend not to notice, the only revenge I have, but I start crying anyway.
"Let's go play outside, can't we go out to play in the yard?" Thomas asks, holding my arm.
The nurses relent. Of course they do he's always good for them. He grins my arm tighter, whispering, "Don't you think it's time you learnt to swim?"
We get down to the lawn and swiftly slip away from the nurses. Their only job is to watch two little redheaded boys and they truly don't do it that well. They could use a lot of improvement honestly, and my life might be better. My life might be better if someone paid proper attention to what happens to me.
But we slip away from them, and Thomas leads me back down to the river.  I follow him willingly, it's not as though I have any other choice.
Halfway out into the fierce dark water, is a jagged rock. And on that rock sits my stuffed toy. I don't even know how he got it down here. But my poor Blue dog is sitting on the rock, a bit damp, and sad. He must have swum it out there. Of course Thomas can swim.
"Go on. Time you learnt to swim," Thomas says, folding his arms, "Go and get it."
I look at the toy. If I ask him to get it he'll say no. And there's nothing I can offer him in return. And worse if I say no and give up my toy then he'll think of something else. There's no getting out of it.
"Go on. No conditions. If you swim out to get it, I'll help you get back. It's just so you learn. Let's face it you're not going to learn yourself," Thomas says, holding up his hands helplessly.
I stare down at the rushing water, my stomach flipping. I want to be sick.
I look back up the bank. There's no way back. If I go back up then it'll be something worse. And only waiting for something worse to happen. There is no way back.
I look back at the fast moving water. I don't want to drown. I really don't want to drown.
I take a step forward, water filling my little boots as I step into the shallows.
"There you go," Thomas wades out, "See? It's not even up to my chest. It isn't that deep."
Where he stepped was not. I take another step and immediately my feet are tugged out from under me. My head goes under and my mouth is immediately filled with silty river water. I thrash, spitting out the water only for it to fill my mouth again. My lungs burn and I thrash in blind panic.
"There you go! You can do it," Thomas's voice echoes in my head. I fight towards the voice, he's on a rock, or on shore. Something. My head is going light with panic.
My fingers hit rock. I grip for dear life, gasping and chocking.
Thomas is perched upon the rock, holding my toy. He holds out a hand. I snatch it, my fingers digging into his skin, as he drags me safe free from the water onto the slippery rock. I'm still spitting out river water, clutching the rock in complete panic.
"See? Wasn't so bad," Thomas says, handing me my toy.
I clutch Blue, shaking. I have no idea how I'm going to get back to shore. I'm so scared. I can't do that again.
"Do you feel better?" Thomas asks, gently.
I nod, still coughing up water, "Can I keep the toy?" I whisper, clutching Blue. 
"Oh little brother," Thomas says, and then his expression changes. That base and unfeeling smile I'm so familiar with. "Why ever would you think you get to win?"
And with that he pushes me from the rock and I'm plunged into the merciless current.
Water fills my lungs. I fight trying to get to the surface but I can't. I can't breath. And I can't see. I lose my grip on the toy thrashing wildly.
I feel arms around me, dragging me back up to the surface. I try to crawl up them, fighting wildly, but it's not doing any good I can't get air, the water seems to be sucking below.
"Help! Help somebody! He's drowning!" Thomas shouts, dragging me up and I see sunlight, and air fills my lungs as I choke out water.
"HELP ME!!" Thomas screams, as he holds us both above water.
I cough out more water, gripping his arms like a vice. I'm above, I can breath I.
His hand is on top of my head, he shoves me back under water. I can still hear his cries for help as he holds me under. I fight, as hard as I can but he's much much stronger.
Then he tugs me up once again. The only mercy I know and I shall be under at his next whim, I cough and choke, I can't even see there's silt in my eyes and water in my chest I can't breath.
Stay alive.
Stay alive.
And I'm under again, plunged back into hell as water rushes around me. I don't want this to be what death is like. I don't want anything at all except somehow to be free.
And he jerks me back up. I feel hands dragging me from the water.
"I ran right after him, I'm sorry," Thomas is sobbing, dripping with water, "He threw his toy into the current." And he's holding Blue in one hand.
I'm gasping and coughing, shaking from the ordeal.
"He knows better," a nurse pats my back.
I just collapse, sobbing miserably, wondering if everything will ever be over or if it's always this way. I put my head on my folded arms and sob.
They haul me inside, soaking, before my father.
"Is this true, Henry? You were playing at the river again after just last night your mother told you not to?" My father asks, severely. He's cross to be interrupted from his work.
Thomas stares at me, cocking his head.
"Yes, father," I whisper, my voice shaking, "I am sorry."
"You're lucky your brother was there to pull you out in time. He saved your life," our father says.
"Yes," I say, I know how to play this game, "He saved my life."
"If you keep playing down by the river, then you don't need to play outside. Or any of those toys," my father says.
I shake, unable to protest. Please. Please.
"Go on. Get him changed," my father says, taking the toy from Thomas' hands. And he tosses Blue directly into the fire.
I choke with a cry, struggling not to show I care. Thomas is watching my expression carefully. I know he likes it when I cry.
All my other toys suffer the same fate. Even the ones my mother had given me. The worn are burnt. The rest packed up for the new baby when it comes. I no longer get to play out in the yard.
I don't care.
I refuse to let it hurt me anymore. It all hurts too much.
Soon my mother is confined having the baby. My only safe time used to be when she'd visit, Thomas couldn't do much around her. She'd not believe him. I was usually safe to relax for at least an hour or so a day. But now that's gone. And so I begin to seek my solace elsewhere. I'm still banned from playing outside. That's all right.
I begin to withdraw into myself. Thomas leaves me alone if I'm practicing music. I spent two or three hours everyday practicing. I beg for more lessons professing I enjoy it. Thomas would be cross but I intentionally am not good at all. So he's amused that my tutors continue to lecture me. Our father allows it, he cares little what I do with my time.
My tutors chide me on hand placement, or when I play the wrong notes. That's gentle reprimands and compared to my usual torment I'm grateful, it's nearly soothing.
When all lessons are done there's hours left in the day. Thomas has more lessons as he's older, so if I'm suitable hard to find or distracted when he comes looking he'll usually leave me alone. Not always.  But I find sanctuary.
"Henry, come practice sparring with me," Thomas says, tugging on my arm. That's a good place to torment me.
"I'm busy," I say, staring down at the chessboard. Sixty four squares a heaven I long to get lost in. A set number of moves. All it takes is making the right one and I'm free. Free from thinking, free from everything that hurts.
Thomas of course complains. But my father's staff have to watch me with the chess boards. It's expensive. I'm not expensive. But he can't twist my arm or drag me away while they're watching. They'll be hell to pay later. But there's hell to pay anyway. So every afternoon, once lessons are done, I sweetly ask permission to come and practice chess.
Thomas quickly goes to our father. I'm getting boring. He can't have that.
But, miraculously, our father takes my side.
"Your brother's not underfoot leave him be. He likely will never be a knight anyway with his neck like that. He'd do well to hone his mind. And he's not even a fit sparring partner for you," our father tells him.
"I miss him is all," Thomas says, acting pathetic will work on our mother.
"The two of you are forever together," our father says, dismissively. And thus it's settled.
I get my solace. And the rest of the time I turn myself into a skeleton. Nothing soft to poke. All bones and no heart to hurt.
I have no special toys anymore. Nothing soft, nothing that can be stolen or hurt. Nothing to show any feelings. That's weakness. My room is bare, nothing to steal. I have two favorite blankets that quickly go missing. So I don't bother to replace them. I act like I don't care. Caring is something I lock up deep inside, in a box I never plan to open. That's the only way I can survive.
My only pleasures are hidden. I enjoy playing music but I still make mistakes intentionally. If Thomas suspects I'm good he'll close in on that. Let nothing show. I fumble, I trip up. Sometimes just to amuse him I'll cry when I fail at a piece and he succeeds. The same with math and reading. I stutter when I read aloud and let him mock it. Have to feed the beast.
Then in the afternoons, I'll slip down to the study. I play my own games all day I want them simplified to a board and stone pieces. Sixty four squares a simple release from the endless twists and turns and skipped moves and terrible defeats that is my life.
My father permits it, so long as I'm watched with the board. His staff don't mind. I'm perfectly silent and no bother to watch so they can get something done or chat amongst themselves.
I start out playing myself. Then I quickly tire of just that. I set up the pieces in an ending, two knights a bishop on one side, see if they can beat three pawns and a consort on the other. Over.
And over.
And over.
Till I know every possible move for every single end I can think of. When my head is aching from that I'll work through beginnings. Every single possible response to each opening. And how it affects the rest of the game. Over and over, a beautiful puzzle that always changes, yet there's always a pure and simple order. There is always a better move. It's just a matter of being clever enough to make it.
Thomas comes and watches sometimes, trying to tempt me away. I'm not that stupid. And he doesn't dare do anything in front of our father's master of the bedchamber. An old man called William, William chooses to come and mind me as he actually takes a bit of a nap, or sorts through accounts enjoying the quiet as well. And he'd tell our father if we were fighting in here. And he knows full well that I'm good and quiet and any commotion would be Thomas' fault. And Thomas knows it too.
"Someday you'll join me. Play with something other than bits of stone," Thomas says, watching me, "It's the coward's way."
"That's your board Thomas," I say, "You play it well."
He says nothing. It's still a refusal. He'd like to get me out in the open to beat me properly.
But by the time the new baby is born I'm near invisible. I care for nothing. I say nothing. I don't act out. I don't ask to go outside. If he comes to my room at night no matter what he does I pretend to be asleep. And I make remarks about sleeping soundly so he doesn't know what is and isn't true. I'm not going to beat him as his game. I know it. I'm still playing, I have to he's my brother. I don't have anything else. And everyone in the world is probably worse he at least holds some love for me. If he didn't he'd have drown me that day.
Our mother is ill after this baby. It was twins. A boy and a girl. The little girl dies one night. The next I wake up smothered under a pillow, losing consciousness to the sound of Thomas' laughter.
"Mother wouldn't weep like that for you," he takes it off just in time. I lay there limp, struggling to regain breath. Then I slowly open eyes.
"Nothing?" He asks, staring at me, "She wanted a little girl. No one wanted you."
"Well they've got me. And so do you," I whisper, staring at him.
"What's that mean?" He asks.
"Maybe what you think it means," I say, and I close my eyes again. He goes eventually. I'll pay dearly for that remark. But he knows I'm becoming less and less entertainment as I get better at this game. He designed it I just learnt the rules. That's what growing up is I suppose.
Our mother hardly visits us. She's ill I suppose. I don't know. She comes to see us at dinner now and then. She'll still put a hand to my hair and kiss my forehead but that's all. She has a new baby to love. And I'm intentionally nothing at all. So what is there to love anymore? That's growing up. Losing everything about yourself that once held value.
My only pleasure is slipping down to my father's study to play chess. Thomas has yet to find a way to stop it. He's tried. But the staff now rotate the extremely quiet and peaceful task of 'watching' me for four hours while they just exist in the same room doing as they personally please, and now they are very invested in making sure I keep that privilege and they maintain the associated privileges. So his efforts fail. And my father doesn't mind. In fact now that he sees I do it often enough he encourages it. It's not playing outside where my mother might fear. And if he's home it's out of the way of him and his guests.
One afternoon he joins us, he's reading something by the fire, mostly heedless of my presence at the chess board. I'm completely quietly working through an ending with a consort on one side and a knight and bishop on the other.
"Father he never comes outside, his neck's only going to get worse from doing that," Thomas starts in.
"I don't think his neck could be worse," our father grunts, not looking up.
"I miss his company, that's all," Thomas says.
"Why don't you play him then?"
"Yes, why don't you?" I ask, calmly.
Thomas stares at me, eyes burning. There's a simple answer of course.
He knows he'd lose.