Quotes
The street door was still open, just a little, where the knife and the man who held it had slipped in, and wisps of night-time mist slithered and twined into the house through the open door.
‘Which,’ said Caius Pompeius, stiffly, ‘is precisely the point. What will you feed him? How can you care for him?’
Mrs Owens’ eyes burned. ‘I can look after him,’ she said. ‘As well as his own mama. She already gave him to me. Look – I’m holding him, aren’t I? I’m touching him.’
‘Now, see reason, Betsy,’ said Mother Slaughter, a tiny old thing, in the huge bonnet and cape that she had worn in life and been buried wearing. ‘Where would he live?’
‘Here,’ said Mrs Owens. ‘We could give him the Freedom of the Graveyard.’
Mother Slaughter’s mouth became a tiny ‘O’. ‘But,’ she said. Then she said, ‘But I never.’
‘Well, why not? It en’t the first time we’d’ve given the Freedom of the Graveyard to an outsider.’
‘That is true,’ said Caius Pompeius. ‘But he wasn’t alive.’
And with that, the stranger realised that he was being drawn, like it or not, into the conversation and, reluctantly, he stepped out of the shadows, detaching from them like a patch of darkness. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I am not. But I take Mrs Owens’ point.’
Josiah Worthington said, ‘You do, Silas?’
‘I do. For good or for evil – and I firmly believe that it is for good – Mrs Owens and her husband have taken this child under their protection. It is going to take more than just a couple of good-hearted souls to raise this child. It will,’ said Silas, ‘take a graveyard.’
Mrs Owens’ eyes burned. ‘I can look after him,’ she said. ‘As well as his own mama. She already gave him to me. Look – I’m holding him, aren’t I? I’m touching him.’
‘Now, see reason, Betsy,’ said Mother Slaughter, a tiny old thing, in the huge bonnet and cape that she had worn in life and been buried wearing. ‘Where would he live?’
‘Here,’ said Mrs Owens. ‘We could give him the Freedom of the Graveyard.’
Mother Slaughter’s mouth became a tiny ‘O’. ‘But,’ she said. Then she said, ‘But I never.’
‘Well, why not? It en’t the first time we’d’ve given the Freedom of the Graveyard to an outsider.’
‘That is true,’ said Caius Pompeius. ‘But he wasn’t alive.’
And with that, the stranger realised that he was being drawn, like it or not, into the conversation and, reluctantly, he stepped out of the shadows, detaching from them like a patch of darkness. ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I am not. But I take Mrs Owens’ point.’
Josiah Worthington said, ‘You do, Silas?’
‘I do. For good or for evil – and I firmly believe that it is for good – Mrs Owens and her husband have taken this child under their protection. It is going to take more than just a couple of good-hearted souls to raise this child. It will,’ said Silas, ‘take a graveyard.’
He would be there waiting at sunset, just before Silas awakened.
His guardian could always be counted upon to explain matters clearly and lucidly and as simply as Bod needed in order to understand.
‘You aren’t allowed out of the graveyard – it’s aren’t, by the way, not amn’t, not these days – because it’s only in the graveyard that we can keep you safe. This is where you live and this is where those who love you can be found. Outside would not be safe for you. Not yet.’
His guardian could always be counted upon to explain matters clearly and lucidly and as simply as Bod needed in order to understand.
‘You aren’t allowed out of the graveyard – it’s aren’t, by the way, not amn’t, not these days – because it’s only in the graveyard that we can keep you safe. This is where you live and this is where those who love you can be found. Outside would not be safe for you. Not yet.’
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