THE GRACEKEEPERS by Kirsty Logan - EXCERPT

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T H E
Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 3 2/11/15 8:49 AM

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Kirsty Logan
All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crown Publishers,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
CROWN is a registered trademark and the Crown colophon is a

trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Published in Great Britain by Harvill Secker,

a division of Random House Group Limited,
a Penguin Random House Company.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Logan, Kirsty.
The gracekeepers : a novel / Kirsty Logan.—First United
States edition.
pages ; cm
I Title.
PR6112.O32G73 2015
823'.92—dc32 2014041691
ISBN 978-0-553-44661-6
eBook ISBN 978-0-553-44663-0
Printed in the United States of America
Book design by Barbara Sturman

Jacket design by Christopher Brand
Jacket illustration: Jonathan Bartlett
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First American Edition

The first Callanish knew of the Circus Excali-

bur was the striped silk of their sails against B
the gray sky. They approached her tiny island E
in convoy: the main boat with its bobbing
trail of canvas-covered coracles following like F
ducklings, chained in an obedient line. Ships
O
arrived a dozen a day in the archipelagos, and
Callanish knew that the circus folk would R
have to fight for their place on her island.
E
Tomorrow the dock would be needed for a
messenger boat, or a crime crew, or a medic.
In a world that is almost entirely sea, placing
your feet on land was a privilege that must be
earned.
As dusk fell, Callanish loitered at the
blackshore, her slippered feet restless on the
wooden slats. She watched as the circus crew
spilled ashore: a red-faced barrel of a man,
trailed by a bird-delicate boy; a trio of tat-
tooed ladies, hair bright as petals; two gleam-
ing horses left to gum at the seaweed. To a
chorus of shouts—hoist! hoist! hoist!—the crew
pulled ropes in unison, their limbs slick with
saltwater.

2 kirsty logan
Callanish tugged at her white gloves as she watched the cir-

cus unfold. She saw how the boat’s sails would become the striped
ceiling of the big top; how the wide, flat deck would be the stage.
With each billow of sail or tightening of ropes, she inched fur-
ther off the dock and on to the shore. It was only when the sun
dipped below the horizon that she felt the damp chill in her toes
and saw how her slippers had darkened with seawater. Oh, she
would be in trouble now.
She ran home doing giant steps, leaping high into the air like
a circus acrobat, hoping the wind would dry her slippers before
her mother saw.
That night Callanish huddled under the striped canopy, mouth

open as she gazed up, gloved hands gripped between her knees.
Not all the landlockers on her island found the circus a glad sight:
there were enough people on the island to crowd out the big top
twice over, but it was only half full. Still, Callanish was excited
enough for every single landlocker in the whole archipelago.
Her mother had scrubbed and scrubbed at the white silk
slippers, muttering that Callanish would have to skip the per-
formance. Callanish had shut herself in the wooden chest, hid-
ing among the sealskins, until her mother relented. She promised
that she would not fiddle with her gloves and slippers, and she
would be silent and good and unnoticed, and it would all be
worth it for the circus.

t h e g r a c e k e e p e r s 3
“We shouldn’t welcome damplings like this,” murmured Cal-

lanish’s mother, folding her bare hands on her lap. “And at night-
time too, when good people should be tucked up safe in their
houses! What are those circus folk hiding in the dark, hmm?” She
patted Callanish’s hands, making sure the gloves were on. “Some
islands don’t even let damplings come above the blackshore. If
they want to perform, they can do it in the daytime with waves
lapping at their ankles like they’re meant. Those people belong in
the water. They’re dirtying the land.”
But Callanish knew that would never work. The circus would
not look good in the bland, bright day: its colors would fade
against the clouds, spitty rain would threaten the fire-breather,
the acrobats’ sodden feet would make them shiver so much they
missed their catches. What would be the point of an imperfect
circus?
The red-faced barrel-man strode onstage, dressed in a ring-
master’s costume of an elaborate hat, black trousers, and a shirt
covered in rows of paper ruffles. Even Callanish’s mother gasped
at that: so much paper must have cost a fortune.
At the ringmaster’s urging the circus burst into colors, lights,
the death-mocking glory of twists and catches and bright gleams
of skin. To Callanish it felt more daring than secrets, more vivid
than memory, and her eyes opened wide as eggs. After each act—
acrobats! horses! fire-
breathers!—
the landlockers rushed to fill
the ringmaster’s hat with lumps of gold and coal and quartz and

4 kirsty logan
copper. By the time he was introducing the final act, he had to

drag his treasure-filled hat offstage.
On to the stage stepped a family: a man and a woman with a
girl of about Callanish’s age. They were all dark-haired and draped
in fabric, pure white and shimmering. The woman held one end
of a golden chain, the other end hidden behind a curtain. They
bowed to the crowd, then the woman tugged the chain. An enor-
mous shadow lumbered toward her.
“A bear!” cried out Callanish. “From the storybook! A bear
and a baby bear!” And sure enough, padding unsteadily in the big
bear’s wake, came a bear no bigger than Callanish.
Offstage, a needle whined on to a record. Violins swooped
around the big top. The man and woman began to dance. They
waltzed around the golden-chained bear as it reached its heavy
paws out for them, at first in play, then in frustration. The song
eased into another rhythm, and the woman slipped away from
the man and into the bear’s grasp. The crowd gasped, shrieked,
stood as if to run—but the bear was turning and stepping grace-
fully, its paws clasping the woman’s hands. They were dancing.
After a moment, the little girl and the little bear joined hands
and danced too, a mirror in miniature. Callanish clapped with
glee, and even her mother seemed charmed.
In the years that followed, Callanish tried many times to
remember exactly what happened next. It did not help that as
soon as the big bear roared, her mother wrapped her arms around

Callanish’s head and pulled her close, the world instantly reduced
to the earthy, floral smell of her mother’s skin and the scratchy
wool of her dress. But Callanish could still hear the screams, the
roars, the chaos of running feet. She felt herself lifted as her
mother hefted her on to her hip and ran.
Jolting with movement, Callanish fought to peer back over
her mother’s shoulder. She saw landlockers scrambling to the
exits. She saw the dropped bodies of the man and woman, their
white clothing stained dark, their skin sheened red. She saw the
bright gleam of a blade in the woman’s motionless hand. She saw
the big bear, belly sliced open, a shadow heaving its final breaths.
And in the center of it all she saw two figures: one draped in
white, one furred black; both with eyes open moon-round and
empty. A small girl and a small bear, hands and paws still linked.

NORTH
B ehindcurtains, North and her bear waited. Their cue wouldn’t

come for a while yet. The air back here was still chilly, though
the smell of sweat and soil was getting stronger. North never
felt comfortable with her feet touching land. She didn’t trust its
steadiness, its refusal to move or change in the honest way of
the sea. The landlockers hadn’t given the circus much room on
their island—it was small, north-west, not a capital—and behind
curtains was a narrow space.
The damp hem of the curtains huddled around her ankles as
she pressed her face to her bear’s chest, breathing in his musty
smell, hearing the beginnings of a growl within him. She reached
her hand to his nose and tapped it, as a warning for him to stay
silent. Their show today would be uncomplicated: North and her
bear would dance, they would kiss, they would bow to the crowd.
Simple. Or as simple as anything can be in a circus.

8 kirsty logan
Out on stage, the rest of the circus folk were performing the
maypole, everything wrapped in ribbons: the pole, their hair,
their bodies, all wrapped tight so the crowd couldn’t tell which
were girls and which were boys, so they were all girlboygirls. The
ribbons were dyed bright with ground-up shells and seaweed,
streaking color on to their bare skin.
North’s bear was not bright. He was brown as wood and he
was patterned a little like wood too, whorls of lighter fur among
the dark. To match his fur, North’s dark hair was tied up in loops
and her pale body was draped in brown fabric. She had to match
his golden chains too, so she had dyed strands of her hair gold and
woven them into braids. North stroked her hands along her bear’s
broad neck in swoops, keeping rhythm with his breath. It was
important to calm him before a performance, to show him that
she was on his side, to get him used to his chains all over again.
Bears are harder to train than dogs or horses or any other animals,
because they’re vicious and have faulty memories. North was like
that too, or at least that’s what Avalon, the ringmaster’s wife, said.
As if summoned by the thought, Avalon slid out from be-
hind a wedge of curtain. She had a sprig of apple blossom tucked
behind her ear, its petals velvety as her cheek. North had never
seen fresh flowers before Avalon started wearing them in her hair.
“Darling urchin,” she purred. She tossed an object from hand
to hand as she spoke, smooth as juggling. “Is your mangy beast
ready to terrify the children?”
But North did not hear a word. She stared, hypnotized, at
the object passing between Avalon’s hands. The apple was a per-
fect sphere, green speckled with red, shiny as a bird’s eye. Avalon
pulled a silver knife from her dress pocket and cut the apple’s
softening flesh into quarters, exposing the pips tenderly. Its scent
exploded in the air: sweetly souring, past its best but still with a

sheen of juice. She didn’t know how much apples cost, but it was
certainly worth weeks of the circus crew’s dinners. North inhaled
as deeply as she could.
Avalon ate a slice from the knife’s blade, pips and stem and
all. Then another. Then she raised a third to her mouth, and,
noticing North’s gaze, paused.
“Oh, little wraith. You only have to ask, you know. Would
you like a piece?”
North tried to speak, but she’d spent all afternoon murmur-
ing to the bear and her throat had tightened. She coughed.
“What was that?”
“Yes.” North had to clench her jaw and swallow hard before
she could force herself to add—“Please.”
Avalon sighed, and someone who didn’t know her might
think that her regret was genuine. North knew better, and
wished she hadn’t said please.
“I am sorry, urchin. It’s for the baby.” Avalon cupped her
belly maternally and chewed the third quarter of the apple. For
the baby, for the baby. In the few months since Avalon had an-
nounced her pregnancy, everything that happened in the circus
was for the baby. North couldn’t wait for the damned thing to be
born—though Red Gold already had one pampered son, and he
certainly didn’t need another.
As Avalon swallowed, she smiled. With a flick of her little
silver knife, she tossed the last quarter of the apple under the
curtain, where it disappeared in the dust and shadow. North bit
down a mewl of dismay. As if sensing her mood, North’s bear
began growling, low and thick.
Avalon narrowed her eyes at the bear as if he had offended
her, but North could see that his growls made her nervous. She
wanted to command her bear, to anger him, to prod him into

10 kirsty logan
swiping his half-moon claws through the air in front of Avalon’s

smug face. Perhaps the threat of the bear was enough for a mo-
ment’s peace. Instead North swooped her hand down her bear’s
neck, soothing his growl to silence.
From the stage, the ringmaster was announcing the climax
of the maypole, more sensual and dramatic than any-
thing you have ever seen, and without a backward glance
Avalon stalked away, tucking her silver knife back into her dress
pocket, but wait, do not leave your seats, for our seduc-
tive performers will enter your ranks, and left North still
gaping at the shadow that hid the tiny, perfect quarter of apple,
an item she had not tasted or even seen for months, for now
you can buy your own ribbon and learn the mystic art of
maypole to the delight of your lover.
She was still motionless, the bear’s fur growing hot under her
hand, when the maypole dancers paraded offstage. The Excalibur’s
crew numbered thirteen, including North, and their faces were
more familiar to her than her own. Even in the gloom she recog-
nized the angular jaws of Melia and Whitby, the acrobats, though
bandaged in their ribbons it was tricky to tell which was which.
Sometimes they said they were siblings, sometimes a long-
married couple. North didn’t know the truth about their lives
before they bought their way on to the Excalibur : of all the tales
they’d told, one must be true, but it was impossible to pick it out
of the made-up ones. The acrobats both had monkey-small feet
and hips, with shoulders as big as a bull’s: perfect for rolling up
ropes and swinging out over the heads of the crowd. Their rib-
bons covered the shining remnants of old injuries criss-crossing
their limbs. All the circus crew bore their scars, but the acrobats’
were enough to make even North flinch. Whichever circus they’d
been in before, it couldn’t have had safety nets either.

Melia and Whitby sniffed the air, dragging their faces into
sneers in imitation of Avalon, then pressed North into the em-
brace of the curtain so the other performers could file past. They
huddled together, placing their wide hands on the bear’s back as
if to bring him into the conversation. The curtains and overhead
of the big top were made of the schooner’s four sails, and the fab-
ric felt rough with saltwater.
“I hear,” stage-whispered one acrobat, “that Avalon, our be-
loved ringmaster’s wife, has had quite enough of circus life. She
wishes to abandon us all to the jaws of the sea.”
“But how could she ever tire of us, pray tell?” said the other
in mock shock.
“It’s sad news indeed, sweet sister,” said Whitby. “Avalon
scorns the sea and wishes only for land. A house, a garden, a piece
of ground that doesn’t move.”
“Just think on it! All that gold, taken straight from our ring-
master’s pockets and funneled into a teensy piece of land, with-
out any of it touching our dinner table. For shame, my darling
husband.”
North hunched her shoulders, sure that if she looked up she’d
see the ringmaster’s reddened, glittered cheeks looming toward
her. The stage makeup irritated his skin so he plastered on more
to cover it, which irritated it more until it cracked and bled.
North had seen the pinkish gleam of the bowl after Red Gold
had washed; his veins must hold as much glitter as blood.
“Land? How very dull, brother! What a yawnful sort of life!”
“So true—the exact same sky and the exact same ground,
every single day! You’d barely be able to breathe for all the
yawning!”
“Hush now,” said North, as from the stage came the boom of
Red Gold introducing the wondrous bear-girl, fearless and

12 kirsty logan
fierce. She shrugged her shoulders out from under the acrobats’
arms, then made a show of fussing with her bear’s collar until she
felt them leave. Her bear always went onstage shackled, though
if he decided to use his strength, the fine gold chains would snap
like strands of hair. The chains were decorative, meant only for
the eyes of the crowd. Spectacle is grounded in the illusion of
control. The crowd think they want safety, but what they really
crave is the trick gone wrong: the fall from a trapeze, the uncov-
ering of bone.
Earlier, when the Excalibur had docked, North had spied on
the landlockers from under the canvas top of her coracle. They all
seemed haggard and hunched in their hard-won finery, as if even
the crust of soil they’d allowed the circus was too much. It didn’t
matter that damplings outnumbered landlockers ten to one; they
had land, and land meant food, and food meant power, and no
one was allowed to forget that.
For their act, North and her bear would mime a courtship:
her kisses on his sharp teeth, the two of them in a clumsy waltz,
then a musty-furred swoon in his arms and the slight lifting of
her dress as the applause swept them offstage. It was always a
crowd-pleaser: the female side of the big top loved the romance,
the male side appreciated the reveal of flesh, and everyone was
thrilled by the danger of the bear. North could still do her act.
She would let out her costume when she needed to.
From the stage Red Gold’s voice grew even louder, HERE
TO TAME THE TERRIFYING BEAST WITH TEETH SHARPER THAN
RAZOR-SHELLS, CHILDREN AVERT YOUR INNOCENT EYES, and
North darted her hand under the curtain and groped around in
the dust for the apple slice. She ate it in one bite, sucking her lips
inward so she wouldn’t miss any of its juice. As she wrapped her
bear’s chain around her fist and stepped out from behind the cur-

tain, she let her tongue prod at the shreds of appleskin between
her teeth, and swallowed them too. She had to. For the baby.
W ith the crowd’s shouts and claps still echoing in her ears, North
settled the bear in the shell of their boat. After a performance he
needed to be groomed, fed, soothed. She’d worked hard to get
him used to the golden chains, but he knew they weren’t natu-
ral and shuddered back from them every time. North had never
hurt him, and never would. Other animals could learn by cru-
elty: jeweled whips for ponies, kicks and slaps for dogs. But that
would not work on bears. They learned steadily, through rapport,
a dialogue built up over years. The problem was that her bear
seemed hardly to remember her from day to day. She believed
that he loved her, but he sometimes looked at her as if she were
a stranger.
Faulty memory, like everyone said, and that’s why North’s
job was so hard, but also why she had a place in the circus at all.
There were many circus boats—all of them less decrepit than the
Excalibur—but none of the others had a bear-girl. In a world with
so little land, mammals were rare outside the landlocker farms.
Because North’s bear was a rarity, that meant that North was a
rarity too.
Before she could begin his grooming, he would have to eat.
There was no point in grooming him first, as bears are not known
for being tidy eaters.
The main circus boat had been pulled ashore, as with various
unfurlings the mast became the center of the big top, the striped
sails became the canvas, the deck the stage. Some circuses left
their ships in the water and performed up on the dock. North

14 kirsty logan
shuddered at the thought. She found it hard enough to walk on

the islands. She could never find the balance and concentration to
perform there.
Luckily, the brightly painted coracles where the crew lived
didn’t need to touch land. They had only to tighten the chains
between them and the convoy became one long, snaking raft.
North used the salt-crusty chains as a handhold to giant-step be-
tween the coracles. The swaying chains and bobbing decks felt
steadier to her than walking on ground.
She managed to collect dinner from the mess boat without
getting dragged into conversation with any of the Excalibur’s
crew. She brought the food back to her boat and ate with her
bear: stewed hock, baked potatoes, a cup of milk. Neither of
them had drunk milk for weeks, so the crowd must have paid
well. North hoped there would be eggs for the morning. Their
bowls were not quite full enough for their bellies, but it took the
edge off their gnaw of hunger.
After they had licked their bowls clean, North drained the
water from the filter into a washbucket. She ensured that her
bear was watching, then put the gold chains in a box and tucked
them under her berth. He grumbled a roar, but it seemed invol-
untary, like indigestion, and he settled to his grooming with-
out fuss. It took a long time: many of the women landlockers
seemed to have taken a fancy to him, and had thrown perfumed
leaves that caught in his fur. The perfume was waxy and rat-
ted the fur into clumps, resisting North’s damp fingers. She was
probably supposed to do something noble with the leaves, like
burn them or bury them, but she didn’t care about the landlock-
ers’ superstitions. She pulled back the coracle’s canvas top and
threw the leaves into the water. She hoped that their waxy coat-

ing would make them float back to shore, so those fancy ladies
could see what she thought of their gifts.
By the time she was finished, she could barely muster the
energy to comb her own hair. All circus folk kept their hair long,
dyed bright with whatever colored things they could scavenge.
It helped with the illusion of their performance; their tightrope-
walk between the genders. Once a preacher from a revival boat
had picketed the circus show with signs proclaiming THE SINS OF
GLAMOUR, shouting about how the words glamour and grammar
meant the same, and every word spoken by a beautiful woman
was a spell cast over the god-fearing man. Red Gold loved the
publicity; the performance that night was packed. And ever
since, the three crewmembers on the beauty boat had been called
the glamours.
North’s hair was currently dark, except for her scatter of gold
braids. She combed it through with her fingers, then retied the
braids. The dyed hair felt rougher than the rest, but still sturdy
enough. She hadn’t asked the glamours how they’d made the
golden color; once they had made silver-blue dye from eels, and it
damaged everyone’s hair so much that it crumbled in their hands.
She went to close the canvas, then pushed it back instead, let-
ting the night’s chill soothe her tired eyes. The wind was strong
enough to cover all other sounds: the chatter from the coracles,
the lazy slap of waves on hulls, the distant whisper of leaves from
the center of the island.
Above her, the stars outshone the meager lights on the land.
All the answers lay up there, to those who could see. Without
knowledge of the sky, no one would know where to find safe
port, when to sail hard and when to seek anchor. North gave her
prayers to the stars and the tides, just as she did every night. They

16 kirsty logan
deserved worship for being the only reliable things in the world.
Except, perhaps, for one other.
North fastened the canvas and slid under her bear’s warm
frontpaw. His heart beat a thud-a-thud against her back as she
let the waves rock them both to sleep. She was good at looking
after her bear, and she clung to that thought. Soon there would
be another person on their boat, but it would be okay, because
North already knew how to care for a creature that needed her.
She could still be the bear-girl. In time, her child could earn its
own place in the circus. She could look after them both, baby and
bear. She could keep them safe from the world—and from each
other.
N orth was awoken by the sound of knuckles on metal. Dreams

were still caught on the insides of her eyelids—birthing a demon,
an eight-tentacled monster that strangled her while still inside
her—and she had to choke back a scream. Her lungs vibrated
with the roar that was beginning in her bear’s chest, and she
twisted round in his arms to tap on his nose.
“No,” she whispered, and felt the growl sink back down. She
struggled out of his embrace and pulled on an old shirt, worn to
softness.
“Knock knock!” called Red Gold, which seemed pointless
to North as he was already knocking. She heard him unclip the
edge of the canvas cover, and his berry-red cheeks appeared over
the coracle’s edge. “North child, why are you hiding from me?”
“Don’t be silly, Jarrow. I slept in, that’s all. Is it late?” Behind
Red Gold’s head the sky was dark blue threaded with pink. The
sun wasn’t up, and North knew it would be a while until break-

fast. She was soothed by the slow breath of waves and the scrape
of the coracles shifting: the lullaby of the sleeping circus.
“No, no, don’t worry about that. Just ready yourself and come
out here. I have a surprise.”
North tied her hair in a knot and began gathering her bear’s
things. If she had to be woken so early, she might as well make
the most of it. “I’m sorry, I can’t. We’ll be moving pitch soon, and
I should let the bear get some exercise in the shallows while we’re
here, so if you don’t mind—”
“Come out here. I’m not asking.” Red Gold’s head disappeared
from the lip of the coracle. In the gap left, North saw that the
streaks of pink in the sky were burning to red.
She leaned over the bunk to settle her bear. Her toe bumped
against the box containing the golden chains, and she did con-
sider them; she rarely left her bear alone, and if he woke without
her there he might be frightened or angry. But no—the chains
would make him angrier still, and even a bear on the rampage was
not as scary as Red Gold when disobeyed. She pulled on trousers
and a knitted jumper. It took her a moment to find her bell—all
damplings had to wear a tiny brass bell on their clothes when on
land, in case they were mistaken for landlockers—and another
moment to attach it to the laces of her soft leather shoes. Usually
she went barefoot, and the soles of her feet felt as thick as her
coracle’s hull. But no matter how tough it was, she would not let
her bare skin touch land. She stretched her jumper, making sure
it hung loose over her middle, and climbed out of the coracle.
Red Gold had already made it to the dock and stood with
his arm around his son, chest thrust forward. North’s boat was
midway along the line, and she took as long as she dared to make
her way along the chains. In the brightening light, she could
not ignore the peeling paint and rusted metal of the coracles. In

18 kirsty logan
places, the reds and greens and purples had flaked off entirely,
leaving patches of dull gray. Saltwater and paint did not mix well.
Ainsel had clearly paid a visit to the Island of Maidens—
Whitby and Melia’s scathing nickname for the glamours’ boat.
His hair was braided with feathers and the contours of his face
were subtly shaded to match his clothing. Blue under his cheek-
bones, green along his brows, a merging of the two at the corners
of his eyes. He looked as vain and haughty as his horse.
“Good morning, North,” he said as she stepped on to the
dock where the Excalibur was moored.
“Good morning, Ainsel. I trust you slept well.”
“Such a fine day for an adventure, isn’t it, my little ones?”
cooed Red Gold. He hooked his arms into North’s and Ainsel’s
elbows. He managed a few steps like this, but their different
heights made it impossible, so he settled for striding along be-
tween them. “The sky—glorious! This land—glorious! The joy
of being with my two most favorite young lovers—most glorious
of all!”
North offered up a tight smile. It was taking all her concen-
tration to make sure that Red Gold stayed in the middle. More
than anything, she did not want Ainsel to reach for her hand.
She’d have to let him take it, and his skin would be as smooth as
satin slippers, and she’d be forced to run back to her coracle and
tie shut the canvas and never come out again.
Red Gold carried on a steady stream of exclamations as the
three of them followed the gangway up from the port, their
leather shoes soft on the wooden slats. The tin-sided towers
looked more ramshackle than ever, the waves slapping at their
bases. North could not understand why anyone would choose to
live there. The crew called the landlockers “clams” for their brain-
less need to cling to the shore. Was the desire to be near land

so overwhelming that people would accept these shoddy homes,

hoping that over the years they could creep gradually closer to
the center of the island? Soil was dirty, and it smelled; North
wanted nothing more than to be away from it.
They were past the tower blocks and on to the reclaimed land,
where the houses became lower and larger. These houses were not
impossible to buy—reclaimed land was cheaper, not worshipped
like the real earth. As they walked, North kept one ear to Red
Gold’s stream of exclamations, while the other listened out for
early-rising landlockers. If spotted, she could either make excuses
or run. From experience, North knew it was better to run.
Ainsel’s attention seemed to be wandering. He kept glancing
back at the port, to where the line of circus coracles sat sleeping.
His turning affected his stride, losing the rhythm of his steps
and making his toes drag. If he didn’t keep his eyes down, the
unsteady, too-steady path would trip him. And then he’d stumble,
and he’d fall, and his bare hands would have to touch—ugh. As
much as she didn’t want his hands in hers, North would catch
him to save him from touching the ground.
Red Gold must have noticed Ainsel’s distraction: he picked up
the pace, talking faster and louder, and before North knew it their
steps changed to the steadier thud of real land. It felt too solid
under her feet, and it made her knees judder. The houses here were
not much taller than she was, and there were no tower blocks.
Rich people wanted to live as low to the old ground as possible.
Past the houses, closer still to the island’s center, lay farm-
land. Red Gold glanced over his shoulder as they climbed the
stile; it wasn’t technically illegal for damplings to walk through
the farmland, but if a farmer “accidentally” shot them the punish-
ment would be light. North put her sleeve over her mouth. It
stank here: mud and plants and the faint reek of animal shit.

20 kirsty logan
Red Gold paused on top of the stile, spreading his arms to

North and Ainsel as if they were his big-top crowd. He spoke in
a stage whisper.
“Now listen, my little ones. Be sure and stick to the paths.
The last thing I need is to have to bribe you off a prison boat.” He
stepped down from the stile, landing with a thud and striding off
down the path.
“Jarrow, if you don’t mind—if I can ask—” she called after
him. “Why are we doing this?”
Red Gold winced at her volume, glancing theatrically across
the fields to the farmhouse. He mimed something that North
could not translate, then turned and carried on walking.
“It’s about the wedding,” said Ainsel in an undertone.
Everything in North jolted to her throat. “Haven’t you spo-
ken to him yet?”
“Not yet.” Ainsel fussed with his hair and glanced back at
the coracles, although they were lost behind the houses. “Look,
I will. But I have to choose the moment properly. I know my
father, and I’ll know the right time. Just wait.”
North wondered what that was like—to know your father.
Ainsel was the only one on the Excalibur with a parent still alive.
He didn’t seem to realize how special it was.
“You have to tell him, Ainsel. If I say I won’t marry you, he’ll
make me leave the Excalibur. But he won’t kick out his own son.
I just want to stay in the circus with my bear and my—with the
crew.”
“I don’t want to get married any more than you do, North.
But if he thinks we’re going against him, he’ll just dig his heels
in further.”
“But you have to tell him before—”
“I’ll tell him! Just shut up about it.”

Ainsel was lingering, picking at the notches in the wood,

and North was thinking scathing thoughts about how he was so
prettily useless he couldn’t even climb a stile, when she realized
that he was waiting for her to go first.
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.” She climbed over it as fast as she
could. Her jumper hung loose, but she didn’t want Ainsel to look
too closely.
They remained silent as they walked through the farmland.
The only sound was the wind in the trees and the tinny jingle
of bells from their clothing. Ainsel was ungrateful and dull, but
North had known him her whole life; she should try to think of
something to say, anything to break the awkward silence, but she
couldn’t. Never mind friendship or familiarity. It was too early to
think straight.
At the edge of the trees, they paused. North had never been
inside a copse before, and she could guess from the look on Ain-
sel’s face that he hadn’t either. The woods were old—some of the
trees were prehistoric, people said—and they’d all heard stories
about the awful things that landlockers did in there. She bent and
peered into the copse. The ground was clear, but above that the
trees twisted together, interlocking black shapes too dense for
them to see far. Scraps of colored fabric were tied around some
of the branches. There were little piles of things at the base of
several trees: shiny objects, scraps of paper, soft-looking moss. A
shrine? An offering? North looked over her shoulder to see Ainsel
reach out his hand to touch a twig, then think better of it.
“Jarrow?” hissed North into the dimness beneath the trees.
In answer, the shush of leaves. She tried to edge her body in side-
ways, but it was too overgrown. She reached up and took hold
of a thin branch, ready to snap it off and make room to slide
through.

22 kirsty logan
“North! No!” Red Gold came tearing around the edge of the
trees, arms outstretched as if to catch her. “You mustn’t!”
She stepped back on to the path. “It’s okay. There’s no one
around to see.”
Red Gold slapped her hands away from the trees, even
though she’d already stepped back from them. Her skin burned.
“That doesn’t matter. Don’t you know that the trees are sacred?”
He elbowed past her and examined the branch she’d touched, as if
she’d left dirty fingerprints on it.
“Oh come on, you can’t believe in—” North stopped at the
look on Red Gold’s face. As a dampling he did not need to wor-
ship the gods of the land, but apparently he did anyway.
“This is where we’re from, child,” he said.
“But I’m not—”
He sucked his teeth and made a tutting sound. “Not you,
North! Me and my boy. We’re landlockers, you know. The land
is where we’re from, and the land is where we’ll return.” North
looked away so that Red Gold wouldn’t see her expression of dis-
gust. “And when you’re married,” continued Red Gold, “it will be
on land.”
“But when did you decide this?” Ainsel seemed to be strug-
gling not to shout. He swallowed hard and lowered his voice.
“How long do we have until—when is the happy day?”
North tried to keep her face neutral. Bad enough to go on to
land, and bad enough to have to marry Ainsel—now Red Gold
wanted to combine the two? But it would be fine. Ainsel would
tell him. There would be no wedding, on land or at sea.
The ringmaster brought his great paw down on his son’s
shoulder. “I decided, and that’s all that matters. You and our north
child will be married when we get to the North-East 19 archi-
pelago. The capital, by the World Tree. It’s not usually allowed for

landlockers who aren’t—well, who don’t currently live on land.

But I’ve bought special permission. Because you are special, my
boy. You’re special because you’re mine.”
North’s heart began to beat in double-time. It would take
four months to get to North-East 19, give or take a day, if they
didn’t get stuck in the doldrums crossing the equator.
“Jarrow,” said Ainsel, his voice uncertain. “Father. I have to
tell you something. North and I, we—and don’t blame North for
this, it’s nothing to do with her, she’s always happy with your
decisions. It’s entirely my choice, although she does agree with
me about it, though she agrees with you too, of course, and—”
“Yes, yes.” Red Gold pulled Ainsel closer, then reached out
his other arm for North. “I’m listening. But first, I must tell you
that I have a most special surprise for you. That’s why I brought
you out here, my darlings. I know there has been talk among
the crew about this, but I want to tell you and North officially.
I have scrimped and plotted and gathered my resources, and I
plan to buy, just for you—” He paused, as if waiting for trumpets
to sound. “A house! On land!” He released Ainsel and North in
a ta-da! gesture. “Now, it can’t be on old land, I must tell you,
only reclaimed. For damplings like you, North, it’s tricky. But in
time, with lots of landlocker children between you—well, people
might forget where you’re from. Eventually, North, you could be
one of us. Not a true landlocker, but close enough to pass.”
North could not speak. Four months. By then all the sew-
ing in the world wouldn’t make her performance dress hide it,
and Ainsel would know, and Red Gold would know, and there
would be no use at all in lying. And the house! It was true, what
Melia and Whitby had said—all that wealth really was going on
a house. But not for Avalon. For North.
“Now, my little ones,” went on Red Gold, “I know that your

24 kirsty logan
silence is simply because you’re too overwhelmed to speak. I’ve

put everything I have into this house. But it’s worth it, my loves.
It’s worth it to ensure my son’s happiness and to get our family
back on to land. To ensure that the Stirling legacy is restored to
glory.” He beamed at his son, who offered nothing in return. Ain-
sel seemed distracted, staring at his feet as he scuffed the ground,
lost in thought. “And you will be happy, and you will be glorious,”
said Red Gold. “You will be glorious because I want you to be.”
The morning light had turned buttery and North had to raise
a hand to shield her eyes. Ainsel was not looking at her; he’d
lifted his head to look back the way they had come.
“Ainsel,” she said. She tried not to let her voice shake. But he
would not look at her. She turned instead to Red Gold.
“I want to make you happy, Jarrow,” she said. “I do, I prom-
ise, but Ainsel and I, we don’t . . .”
“Yes? Do consider, before you speak, that I have built the
Excalibur up from nothing, and both of you with it. And do
consider all the things that the whole crew has gone without
to save for this house. This is not about making me happy. It’s
about much more than that.” Jarrow kept his voice treacle-sweet,
but with each passing moment his smile stretched wider. North
knew this was not a good sign.
“I mean,” she stumbled on, “I want to be happy. For you. The
way you want. I want to be glorious. But landlockers, and babies,
and I don’t know if I can . . .”
“Yes, north child? Spit it out. Don’t keep us waiting.” Jarrow’s
smile was now so wide and tight that the skin began to crack.
Tiny dots of blood gleamed on his reddened cheeks.
Why wasn’t Ainsel saying anything? North resisted the urge
to punch him right in his pretty face. “Ainsel wants to tell you
something.”

Red Gold turned to his son.

“Yes.” Ainsel finally spoke. “Yes. I want to tell you that I
am glad. I can think of nothing more glorious than having a
house on land, and raising my child as a true Stirling, and living
with . . .” He trailed off.
“With North,” prompted Red Gold. “With your wife.”
“With . . . uh, yes, with—”
From a farmhouse, the slam of a door. All three heads
snapped up.
Red Gold took their hands and gripped hard. “Now. We’re
going to walk back, calm and quick. Don’t touch anything. Don’t
put even your littlest toe off the path. Got it? Go.”
Along the path with their heads down and over the stile in
single file and past the low houses and past the higher houses,
trying not to panic, trying not to run, and there was the black-
shore, and North remembered how to breathe because there were
the tin-sided towers, and there was the shush of their shoes on
the gangplank, and there was her coracle chained in its row. She
walked the chains and ducked under the canvas without a word.
It wasn’t until she slid under her bear’s sleeping paw that she felt
her heart slow.

THE GRACEKEEPERS by Kirsty Logan - EXCERPT

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THE GRACEKEEPERS by Kirsty Logan - EXCERPT

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Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 3 2/11/15 8:49 AM

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

Copyright © 2015 by Kirsty Logan

All rights reserved.

CROWN is a registered trademark and the Crown colophon is a

Published in Great Britain by Harvill Secker,

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data

Printed in the United States of America

Book design by Barbara Sturman

First American Edition

Loga_9780553446616_4p_all_r1.indd 4 2/13/15 8:24 AM

The first Callanish knew of the ­Circus Excali-

Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 1 2/11/15 8:49 AM

Callanish tugged at her white gloves as she watched the cir-

That night Callanish huddled under the striped canopy, mouth

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“We shouldn’t welcome damplings like this,” murmured Cal-

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­copper. By the time he was introducing the final act, he had to

Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 4 2/11/15 8:49 AM

Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 5 2/11/15 8:49 AM

B ehindcurtains, North and her bear waited. Their cue wouldn’t

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Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 9 2/11/15 8:49 AM

swiping his half-­moon claws through the air in front of Avalon’s

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shuddered at the thought. She found it hard enough to walk on

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Loga_9780553446616_3p_all_r1.indd 15 2/11/15 8:49 AM

N orth was awoken by the sound of knuckles on metal. Dreams

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so overwhelming that people would accept these shoddy homes,

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Red Gold paused on top of the stile, spreading his arms to

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Ainsel was lingering, picking at the notches in the wood,

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landlockers who aren’t—­well, who don’t currently live on land.

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silence is simply because you’re too overwhelmed to speak. I’ve

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Red Gold turned to his son.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

The first Callanish knew of the Circus Excali-

copper. By the time he was introducing the final act, he had to

swiping his half-moon claws through the air in front of Avalon’s

landlockers who aren’t—well, who don’t currently live on land.