Back Smoke Save as PDF
Chapters (35)
  1. PART ONE SCHOOL
  2. EXAMINATION
  3. THE TRIP
  4. INFECTION
  5. SWEETS
  6. PART TWO THE MANOR
  7. LESSONS
  8. LIVIA
  9. SPARRING
  10. LABORATORY
  11. PART THREE COMMONERS
  12. IN THE WOODS
  13. IN DARKNESS
  14. LIZZY
  15. THE LIBERAL
  16. CAESAR
  17. QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
  18. HEADMASTER
  19. PART FOUR ANGEL
  20. THE COUNTRY AND THE CITY
  21. FARMER
  22. BONE MUSIC
  23. DELIVERY
  24. CAPTAIN
  25. SCAR TISSUE
  26. PENCIL AND PAPER
  27. CAESAR
  28. PART FIVE ABOVE AND BELOW
  29. DEMONS
  30. FACTORY
  31. FUSE
  32. BAPTISM
  33. PART SIX CLOUD
  34. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  35. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I liked him, in a way. He was dark and skulking and wore tan leather gloves, even around the house. Ate a lot, especially pudding. Slept in, went hunting. Blackened his sheets more than he should’ve done, considering his station. He was very full of himself even then, but so what? He was the future Lord of the Manor. Handsome. Rakish. Always teasing us girls.

Then he started changing. It was towards the end of the summer. Talk in the servants’ kitchen was, Lady Naylor had started paying attention to him. Called him to her chambers; kept him locked in with her for hours at a time. Nobody could quite work it out: what they were to each other, how they felt. I mean, he is the fruit of her womb. But he’d been raised by her first husband’s parents, people she would not consent to see even once a year. As Mother would put it: a proper rich people’s shambles.

In the course of the summer, Lady Naylor did for Lord Spencer whatever those schools of theirs are supposed to do to all them noble-born: she chilled his blood. Beat the Smoke out of him, and put it on a leash. The few gentryfolk I have seen in my time at the manor, they always looked a little sickly. Like they had their bowels full and didn’t have no prune juice. Though, of course, the vicar says it’s the only way to get to heaven.

With Lord Spencer it was different, though. Not one of us ever saw him smoke again. Not a mark on his linen. But whatever was dark in him only kept on growin’. You could almost feel it, when he walked past you in the hallway; the way a girl knows a man’s looking at her, Smoke curling out of his skin, even if he’s ten steps behind and walkin’ against the wind. The horses felt it too, grew skittish around him, unless he’d ridden them before. Broken them in. Same with the dogs in the kennels. Only his own bitch could abide him. It’s a smell, some of the stable hands said, too fine for our human noses. It’s like his Smoke has become invisible. Scratch him, though, and I swear he’ll bleed Soot.

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Six days in our charges announce they want to leave. Quickly. Just as soon as we can get them out.