Ivy's Tangle (Legend of the White Sword - Book 1)

Chapter 6 - Ivy's Lesson

I woke earlier than usual, discovering the cat had abandoned me. The wind and raindrops blowing through the window screens had dragged me from sleep. Barely awake, I stumbled across the room to shut the windows. As I moved to the second one, I stopped, hands poised, ready to pull down the heavy wooden frame. Someone was out back in the rain. It was dim outside, from the hour and the weather, but I recognised Ms. Mopat right away. What I couldn't figure out was what she was doing.

She appeared to be cleaning litter from the yard. Gran's housekeeper moved briskly around the edge of the property. Every so often, she'd stoop to pick something up and put it in a large bag. Then she'd move on. Who did yard work at six in the morning—in the rain?

I pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. I wasn't. Then I watched her work for almost an hour. She patrolled the entire perimeter of my grandmother's yard before heading back towards the house. A bag full of (I assumed leaves and sticks) bulged at her side. In the city, it might have been full of litter. At Gran's, given the lack of any neighbours... where could litter come from?

Ms. Mopat came to an abrupt halt, when she'd almost reached the house—and looked up at me. The air was muggy, but I felt a shiver run down my spine. She looked straight at me, even though my light wasn't on, there must have been fifty windows on the back of Gran's house, and I'd made no noise or movement. Then, after a brief pause, she continued on her way.

Weird.

***

Rain fell for the next few days. Each morning I learned more fencing from Mr. Ryan, and each afternoon Gran scheduled more Ivy-time for me. For a girl impressed by the electric lights, she quickly mastered modern technology. Even typing with one finger, she moved around the web with relative ease, and after the second day, Ivy informed me that she wanted to learn all the internet had to offer before I taught her more. That sounded good to me, and I made Ivy her own user account (with no administrative privileges) letting her surf to her heart's content. I mostly napped through a week of afternoons as neither of us was inclined to talk.

Five days into that routine, Ivy began our first real conversation.

"Is Mr. Ryan teaching you to dance?" she asked.

I was stretched out on my bed, eyes closed, and almost blissfully asleep.

"What?" I asked groggily.

"I watched the two of you for a few minutes this morning," Ivy said. "You danced in strange clothing, with metal wands in your hands."

Was she making fun of me, or once again showing her vast ignorance? With Ivy—I often couldn't tell.

"I was holding a sword," I said, "and we were fencing."

"Fencing?"

"Sword fighting."

Ivy laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked, sitting up.

"I've seen sword fighting," she said. "That wasn't sword fighting. You'd be dead in a few heartbeats, prancing and poking with that willow switch of a blade."

I found it hard to believe that the thing Ivy did know about was fighting (with a sword or otherwise).

"You don't know what you're talking about," I said. I was proud of myself for not saying several other things. "Why don't you practice your web searching and learn about fencing for yourself?"

"I'm impressed," Ivy said as she turned back to the computer.

"Why?"

"Because, you made a suggestion that wasn't stupid."