Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Crispin hesitated upon the threshold. He’d hoped to collar Filch in the kitchen-house. The kitchen was occupied and his mood soured even further when he saw by whom.

For once, the shutters above the sink were open, and the heated air rushed out to repel the invading cold. Amadeus stood beside the casement, partially hidden in shadow, attention riveted upon a bluebird pecking happily at crumbs someone had scattered across the sill. The unnatural stillness of the youth's stance made Crispin uneasy. Not a muscle twitched, not an eye blinked, not once did Amadeus' concentration break, although Crispin sensed he was fully aware of his presence.

The bird moved, following the crumbs as they trailed over the sill. Imperceptibly Amadeus' position also had altered; the slender body now inclined closer toward the window. Crispin could tell by the tautness of the cloth across the boy's shoulders and lean thighs that the sleek muscles were tightly coiled.

Absorbed in his meal the bird took another hop and crossed over the sill. Not entirely sure why he did it, Crispin dropped the crutch. Startled, the bird flew backwards, barely evading Amadeus' hand as it struck. With a frantic flapping of wings, squawks of fright it disappeared into the trees.

Straightening, relaxing his lithe frame Amadeus turned slowly toward Crispin and watched impassively as he bent to retrieve the errant crutch and limp to the rocking chair. Offering no apology, Crispin sank into the chair, leaning his head back against the headrest. His eyes met Amadeus' and he was slightly taken aback to find himself now the focus of that oddly inflexible gaze.

Gracefully Amadeus held up a fist. As though performing a sleight of hand he dramatically uncurled his fingers to expose an iridescent blue feather lying across its palm. Raising the hand palm up to his lips he blew softly sending the delicate plume into the air. It twirled and spun then drifted downward, coming to a gentle rest upon the floor. Keeping his eyes locked on Crispin's, the boy, with great deliberation, ground the lovely thing beneath his heel, then, with a derisive smile and half-bow, sauntered elegantly out the door. Crispin scowled at the boy’s receding back. The thought crossed his mind that he might have misjudged Filch – Amadeus could be the culprit. But it was a fleeting thought.

Hyacinth clomped into the room, a basket brimming with wild strawberries, blackberries and wild onions riding on one hip. She gave a disapproving 'harrumph' and looked accusingly at Crispin as she lumbered over to the sink and shut the window. He could only smile apologetically. While the maid busied herself Crispin thought about how best to handle Filch. His anger had cooled and he was now able to consider the situation calmly. There might be a way to use Filch's guilt to his advantage.

While he was ruminating, the subject of his thoughts came hopping through the door. The little man smiled happily upon seeing him and had Crispin still harbored any doubt as to his guilt it was immediately laid to rest as Filch's expression turned from delight to horror upon spying the uniform jacket.

Filch, as though pinned by a serpent's gaze, eyes huge with panic and fear, arms and hands fluttering, waited helplessly as Crispin stood and walked over to him. Taking hold of the little man's thin shoulder Crispin bent and whispered softly to him; Filch's head bobbed hopelessly. Together they turned and left the kitchen by the back door. Hyacinth cracked the shutter and watched as Crispin - his limp less pronounced - marched the wretched Filch past the herb garden heading for the back of the cottage. When they were out of sight she closed the shutter and went impassively back to her chores.