The Book of Lies

Chapter One Mrs. Timmins's Home for Orphans and Foundlings Daylight fringed the curtain of the tiny room. When the sun had climbed high enough, arrows of sunshine broke around the edges, finding targets on the table, the chair, and the gaping wardrobe. At last one golden beam touched the boy's face, and he awoke.

Staring down at him was a pair of kindly green eyes. A mouth quivered uncertainly between a smile and a frown, a bulbous nose to match the round and reddened cheeks, and above those eyes, wisps of graying hair that refused to stay in place under her cap.

'Who are you?' he asked weakly.

'I'm Mrs. Timmins,' she said softly. 'You've been brought here to live with me and the other children. Counting you, we'll have thirteen altogether.'

'To live ... other children?' he murmured, closing his eyes again. Sleep began to welcome him back into its drowsy folds, but he fought his way free, opening his eyes a second time. 'Where am I?'

'You are in a home for orphans and foundlings. From this window, you can see the village of Fallside,' she told him, sweeping aside the curtain with a plump hand. 'Such as it is,' she added without enthusiasm as she glanced briefly at the village. Then she tried to reassure him. 'Don't worry. You're quite safe here.' She helped him sit up, wedging pillows behind him.

'Orphans and foundlings,' he repeated under his breath. He pushed aside the blankets and tried to stand up.

'My, you're almost as tall as I am,' exclaimed the woman. 'You won't be with us for long, that's for certain. Any farmer in the district would be pleased to have a fine lad like you working his fields.'

This made no sense to the boy at all. Work in a farmer's field? He couldn't remember ever doing any such thing. In fact, he couldn't remember much at all. Whose hands are these? he thought, looking down at his body. They must be his feet, because he was standing on them.

A small mirror hung from a hook on the wardrobe. He went closer, but he was only certain that this was really his face when a pair of wide blue eyes blinked back at him. There was brown hair, almost black really, and pale skin, as though he had been kept out of the sun for some time. He worried for a moment that he was a ghost. What had this woman called herself? Mrs. Timmins, wasn't it? There she was, watching him with friendly amusement.

He took another look in the mirror. His mouth drooped a bit. Perhaps it came from feeling so dazed. Now that he'd seen it, he decided that, as faces went, it could have been worse, and the thought brought a smile to his lips.

'Can you tell me your name, then?' Mrs. Timmins asked.

'Name ...,' the boy murmured. He opened his mouth quickly, but no words came out, causing him to frown in confusion. 'Name ...,' he said again. Why was it so hard for him to say it? Wait ... he did know, after all. 'I think my name is ... Robert.'

'Ah, you do remember,' Mrs. Timmins said brightly. 'Welcome to my orphanage. There's always room for one more in this house.'

She left him alone to dress in the clothes she had brought for him. 'Robert,' he said to himself when he was finished. He struggled to think clearly. He knew he had been born with that name, and he sensed somehow that his mother was dead. Was it ... yes, when he was a baby. If he was an orphan, then his father must be dead too. Shouldn't he feel sadness? With a shock, he realized that all he could feel was emptiness, and the few things he could remember rattled around inside his head like peas in a kettledrum.

He was still grappling with these thoughts when Mrs. Timmins returned. 'It's time you met the others,' she announced briskly. 'Come with me.' She led the way out of the tiny room, along the passage to a flight of stairs. There she paused, and for an instant her face lost all trace of its smile. 'We have few rules in this house, Robert, but one is that you be as quiet as you can just here, outside the entry to the tower,' she said, nodding toward an imposing oak door set into the wall opposite the staircase.

'Come on, the girls are rather keen to see you-though they're meant to be working in the kitchen.' They started down the stairs, but after three steps the boy stopped, startled by the gang of five girls that had gathered at the bottom.

'It's a boy,' said a voice rather dismissively.

'Quiet, Dot,' hissed one of her companions, but Dot wouldn't be silenced.

'I wanted it to be another girl,' and with this announcement she led the posse of girls away, disappointed.

One of them seemed to linger for a moment. Was she smiling at him? It was difficult to tell, because the girl herself seemed no more than a shadow. 'Am I the only boy, Mrs. Timmins?'

'No, no, the boys are outside, doing their chores.' She led him down the remaining stairs and through a large kitchen. 'Come on, Robert,' she called when he lagged behind.

Robert? Yes, of course, that's me, he thought. He stepped into the sudden brightness of a cloudless day. The sunshine felt good on his skin and he turned his face toward it, hoping that at least the sun would recognize him.

A tall boy, almost a man, came striding toward them. 'This is my son, Albert,' said Mrs. Timmins. 'He's in charge of all the outside work that's usually left to our boys.' Albert was rather proud of his role, judging by the grin that filled his face, a face already crowded with an unsightly rash of pimples. 'He'll give you jobs to do as well, but not today, since you've only just joined us.' She glanced at Albert to be sure he had understood.