by Robert Evert
Natalie straightened.
What the hell was she doing? She didn’t have to find Dark Ford. She just had to find out where the Ketterings’ summer manor was. How hard could that be?
Grabbing her pack, Natalie bounded down the stairs to the common room, where she found a very puzzled innkeeper.
“I’ll be leaving this evening,” she told him. “I’d like to pay my bill.”
The innkeeper motioned to her face, made to speak, then reconsidered. “Your brother paid for four days.” His brow furrowed. “That woman. The one in the pretty green dress, the one whose family had been murdered. You aren’t—”
“She’s my sister,” Natalie said quickly. “We’re twins.”
“Oh!” the innkeeper cried in relief. “Well, that certainly clears up that little mystery. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been pondering who she reminded me of!” He laughed. “I’m so glad to have it off of my mind.” Then he grew more serious. “How is she? And you, young man, are you all right?”
“As well as can be expected,” Natalie said, deepening her voice to sound like a boy. “She went home to tend to things for the funeral.”
The innkeeper bowed his nodding head. “Terrible, simply terrible. What is the world coming to? I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Yes. Thank you. Anyway, I’ll be leaving tonight.”
“Very good. And your brother, Artis?”
Artis was dead, too, but Natalie didn’t want to say that.
“He’s gone home, as well,” she replied, unable to keep the sadness from her tone. “Went with my sister.”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate. I wanted to introduce him to a couple of people. Perhaps he’ll be returning?”
“Introduce him to a couple people? Who?”
“Friends of mine,” said the innkeeper, proudly. “Well, friends of friends, one might say. You see, an evening or two back, your brother and I were talking, and he told me that he had some skill in brewing cider and that he was looking for a job. Wouldn’t you know it, just last night, this fellow, Bergen, an owner of one of the biggest orchards on this side of the Greater Green, tells me he’s in need of a brewer. Seems his old brewmaster ran off to work for somebody else! Anyway, I connected the two conversations and…well, I’m sure you can see where it’s going.”
Becoming a brewer for one of the largest orchards in Winros Minor would’ve delighted Artis to no end.
The innkeeper went on. “So, when you see your brother, please send him back as soon as may be. Helping Bergen would in turn be a big help to me; he’s a powerful man in these parts, and having him owe me a favor would come in handy.”
“You said”—Natalie forced back her tears—“you said you wanted to introduce him to a couple of people.”
“Oh, yes!” The innkeeper brightened even more. He chuckled. “To say that your brother’s a good-looking young man is a bit of an understatement.” He noted something in Natalie’s expression. “Not that you aren’t yourself, especially if you stop getting mixed up in fights.”
The innkeeper had said this last part rather pointedly. He waited for a response, but Natalie could only blink at him.
“But your business is, of course, your own. I don’t mean to tell you anything you don’t want to hear, but to answer you directly: Master Artis has caught the eye of a rather pretty young woman. Margret; Miss Greta, people call her. Daughter of the cobbler down the road. Her father’s very successful, and since she’d inquired about him and he’d said he was unattached…” He gave a lighthearted shrug. “Anything for my guests!”
A wonderful job and a woman who wanted to meet him? The conversation was getting to be more than Natalie could bear. Chest tightening, she struggled for something to say.
“You sure know a lot people!” She tried to laugh, but couldn’t muster the energy. Then something occurred to her. She shifted topics. “Which reminds me, I’m…I’m sorry to be a bother, but I was wondering if you could help with something.”
“Of course! Please, how can I be of assistance?”
“Have you ever heard of Lord Kettering?”
The innkeeper mulled over the name.
“He has a summer manor in The Angle,” Natalie prodded.
“Up in King Michael’s realm? No, I’m afraid not. It’s all I can do to keep track of the nobility around here; they breed like flies.” He flinched, glancing around the mostly empty common room. “I probably shouldn’t have said that aloud,” he whispered. “Why do you ask? About this Lord Kettering, I mean.”
“Well…” Natalie hesitated, trying to think up yet another lie. “It’s about, it’s about what happened…with my family and everything. I’m hoping Lord Kettering will convince the constables to go after my family’s murderers.”
“I see.”
“I just don’t have a clue to how to find him.”
“Well,” said the innkeeper, optimistically, “if anybody would know about nobility, it’s other nobility, as they say. Always in each others’ affairs and all that.”
“True. But how can I get a noble to speak to me?” She tugged at her patched clothes. “We’re not exactly wealthy.”
“Your sister seems well off, if you don’t mind my saying so. Perhaps her husband has some connections.”
For a split second, Natalie wondered who the innkeeper was talking about, until she realized he’d meant her when she was wearing a dress. “Oh! No, her husband’s a farmer.”
“Well then, how about if I do this: I happen to know a few people who might know something. What if I sent a message to them? Shouldn’t take more than a half-hour or so.”
“Oh, that would be fabulous!” Natalie exclaimed. Then, remembering her disguise, she deepened her voice again. “Thank you, thank you very much!”
“My pleasure,” he said. “I’m deeply sorry about your family. I hope they catch the monster who did such a ghastly thing.”
“Oh, trust me”—Natalie gritted her teeth—“they will.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
While she was waiting for the innkeeper to hear back from his sources, Natalie ran to the nearest stables and bought a horse. She’d always dreamed of owning one. With a horse, you could go places and earn money. It was a sign of wealth and freedom. Once she’d bought one, though, she didn’t have much time to enjoy the feeling; the afternoon was wearing away and night was quickly approaching.
“I have some splendid news!” the innkeeper said when she arrived back at the Yellow Rose Inn. “According to what my boy has found out, the Ketterings’ summer manor is up the Greater Green River, about twenty miles south of Upper Angle. I’m told you can’t miss it; it’s supposed to be a terribly extravagant place. Something about a maze made out of evergreen bushes, or some such thing. Honestly, nobility have their little eccentricities, don’t they?”
“Oh, thank you!” Natalie made to hug him, then pulled up short. “Thank you.” She shook his hand instead. “I’d better get going.”
“You aren’t leaving now, are you?” The innkeeper glanced outside. “The wind’s starting to pick up.”
Natalie hurried to the door. “After everything I’ve been through, I’m not worried about a little wind!”
Upon reaching her horse, she pulled herself into the saddle. Nothing had ever felt so natural. Shifting under her, the horse seemed to fit her body, as though it was an extension of her legs. Her horse! She couldn’t believe it. She actually had her own horse. Not even a broken-down nag, but a beautiful grey mare. What she would do with her once everything was all over, she hadn’t a clue. She’d need to find a stable and somebody to feed and water her. She’d also have to name her.
The innkeeper bustled out onto the porch, clearly concerned.
“I’ll be fine!” Natalie waved to him. “Thank you for everything!”
“Tell your brother what I said! I think I can get him a job if he wants it!” The innkeeper waved back as Natalie turned her grey mare toward the north gate, the city’s chimes ringing ma
dly.
Natalie did some quick calculations as her horse trotted past the royal duck pond, where white caps billowed on endless rows of waves. The ducks and geese had all gathered on the far bank, sheltered under a grove of weeping willows. By now, Sir Edris and Reg had had a full day’s head start. But, if she’d understood them correctly, they aimed to head in a different direction to confuse any adventurers who made note of their movements. Surely that’d help Natalie cut their lead. She might even reach the hills overlooking the Kettering estate before they did. She just couldn’t lose any more time.
She came to the north gates.
“Hey, ho!” called one of the guards, holding up his arms. Natalie reined in her horse. “Leaving now probably ain’t smart, lad.”
“Why’s that?” Natalie asked annoyed.
The guard hitched a thumb to the west. “Storm’s a-coming. Going to be a soaker. You don’t want to get caught in it, if you don’t have to. Might want to rethink your plans.”
Natalie glanced up at the white clouds sweeping past. The evening was certainly windy, but the wind never seemed to stop out here on the plains.
“I’ll be fine. I have urgent business to attend to.”
“All right, then.” The guard’s cloak snapped in the growing gale. “Your neck is your own to risk. But keep your wits about you. That horse looks a bit skittish. Take care that she don’t throw you.”
“I will!”
Natalie kicked her heels into her horse’s ribs and trotted her through the gates. Immediately, she felt a drop in temperature. One glance to the west and she understood what the guard had meant—a black cloud wall stretched across the entire horizon. Lightning flickered under it, stabbing at the ground, as the storm rolled over an endless expanse of thrashing grass toward Winros Minor.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The downpour began before Natalie had even returned to the royal duck pond. Rain fell in great stinging sheets whipped about by the roaring wind; chimes rang violently throughout the city. Any thoughts about riding through the storm had disappeared when a blast of thunder spooked her horse. It reared, hooves punching at the wall of water, throwing Natalie to the muddy street. She scrambled to grab the reins before the mare bolted into the darkness. Bracing against the deluge, Natalie led the terrified animal back to the stables and got her situated in a dry stall.
Then, holding her drenched pack in vain over her head, Natalie raced to the Yellow Rose, soaked to the bone and beyond miserable. As she approached, a short figure stepped out of the inn and stood on its sheltered porch, scowling at the pounding rain. It was Nathaniel.
Instinctively, Natalie leapt behind another building and drew her knife. Heart skittering, she carefully peeked around the corner, rivers of rain pouring down her forehead and into her swollen eyes.
Nathaniel tugged his hood up over his head, gave the sky one last sneer, then limped up the street away from her, his hands warding off the weather. He turned into a side street, keeping close to the row of shops.
What the hell was he doing at the Yellow Rose Inn?
Never leave enemies alive. Remember that the next time I see you.
He was going to kill her. That’s why he’d gone there.
Natalie’s first thought was to run and find Sir Edris or Reg, but they were long gone; they couldn’t help her now. Neither could Artis. She was alone.
Should she hide? Maybe get a room at another inn and then ride away after the storm blew over?
Natalie shook her head.
No more running. No more hiding. If Brago and his henchmen wanted to kill her, they’d have to fight her on her terms. She wasn’t going to be constantly looking over her shoulder, afraid. Not anymore.
Chasing after Nathaniel, Natalie sprinted to the side street. Crackling lightning split the gloom. She peered around the corner building.
Nathaniel was only a handful of strides away, doubled over and heavily favoring his damaged ankle. A red-stained bandage had come loose in the rain. He ripped it off and tossed it aside. Swearing, he checked the wound. It’d been sewn shut, but still looked ghastly. He continued on, limping up the street.
Natalie watched him stagger along, heedless to the downpour. She considered running out and jumping on him, maybe bashing him with her pack and stabbing him with her knife, but then two men sped through the streets toward her.
Natalie pulled back around the building, hiding her knife. Her now-sodden boy’s clothes were plastered to her cold, wet body, leaving little to the imagination; she might as well have been naked.
The two men ducked into a tavern, warm orange light streaming out into the darkness.
Lightning flashed. A harsh rumble shook the ground.
Natalie examined her knife. Could she really kill Nathaniel? She didn’t actually know why he’d been at the Yellow Rose; he might have been there to apologize, for all she knew. Besides, he was just a kid.
Then again, so were her brothers and sisters.
But Nathaniel hadn’t had anything to do with that. Brago had killed them.
She recalled Brago straddling her, cutting away the front of her shirt, leering at her breasts. The son of a bitch.
Her face ached.
Brago might have been the one who killed her family, but Nathaniel certainly had something to do with Artis’s disappearance. She’d seen it in his off-kilter eyes.
Artis could have had a good job waiting for him—and the cobbler’s daughter. This last thought hurt more than anything Brago could have done to her. Natalie wanted to scream.
Fury building, Natalie watched Nathaniel turn toward the Old Quarter. She raced after him, along the waterlogged street, splashing through large puddles that flooded the wagon ruts. The rain no longer seemed cold.
A block and a half away, Nathaniel leaned up against a hitching post to rest his leg.
From a nearby eatery, several women shouted to Natalie, waving for her to come in out of the rain, but she ignored them and stalked after Nathaniel, who’d disappeared into a narrow alley.
“Get out of the wet!” called one of the women. “What are you trying to do, drown? You stupid fool of a—”
Lightning split the sky. Its red light glinted off Natalie’s knife.
The woman stopped short.
Natalie crept to the alley, rain coursing down every inch of skin, currents of water streaming from her bangs into her eyes and mouth. She spat defiantly.
This was it. No more running. No more hiding.
She leapt around the corner, thoughts of Artis burning in her heart. But Nathaniel wasn’t there.
She faltered. Had he known he was being followed? After all, he was a streetwise kid; he might have pretended to hobble so he could sprint off once out of sight. But Natalie recalled the jarring sensation when the knife stabbed into Nathaniel’s ankle. It’d hit bone. No, he wasn’t faking it; he couldn’t run, even if he wanted to. She was surprised he could even walk. She checked behind her, half expecting the boy to appear suddenly from around the other side of the darkened house.
The street was empty.
She peeked around the corner again and down the deserted alley. Taking great care, Natalie stole forward, listening for any splashes that weren’t caused by the storm.
There was a bang, like a door slamming shut.
Natalie leapt back and whirled about, looking in all directions, knife ready. There was nothing but the ceaseless hammering of great sheets of cold rain.
She resumed along the alley, keeping close to the house to her right. She passed a window and then stopped. Nathaniel was inside, peeling off his clothes and throwing them into a wet pile. He shook his pale naked body, flinging water throughout the small room. He stumbled and seized his ankle. Even with the noise of the storm, Natalie could hear him curse.
Slowly, Natalie retreated, careful not to make any sudden movements that would attract Nathaniel’s attention. Leaning against the plank house, she clutched her knife to her chest.
Now what?
She wanted to laugh at herself. Stop being such a girl! What did it matter if she saw his prick? Better to strike now than when he had a sword or something.
She shivered.
Thunder rumbled. Rain poured over her.
Natalie edged to the front door, then halted.
He’d entered through the window. Why?
Two-timing traitors would probably expect trouble now and again; the front door was likely booby-trapped.
Then how to get inside?
Natalie stared at her shaking hands, fingers bluish and wrinkled like prunes. She wanted to go back to the inn, where it was warm and dry—and safe.
She thought about Brago beating her, and how he and Nathaniel must have jumped Artis as he was coming out of the tavern, drunk.
Damn it! That wasn’t helping. She wanted to cry.
She forced herself to imagine Artis’s last moments. She pictured Brago beating the shit out of him; Nathaniel standing off to the side, smirking. Would Artis have begged for his life? Probably. He probably sobbed uncontrollably, blood covering his face.
That did it.
Snarling, Natalie peered through the window again. Nathaniel had already gotten dressed and was now leaving the room, likely headed to the kitchen. After being out in the rain, he’d want something hot to eat, or maybe something to drink. The gods knew she needed something to drink, though not because of the cold.
Natalie pushed angrily at the window, but it wouldn’t budge. No matter. She slid her knife between the two windowpanes and nudged the lock. It was easy enough to do. The gap was wide and the lock had obviously been jimmied many times before.
She stood in the alley, waiting. When the next blast of thunder rumbled overhead, she jerked open the window and dove in, rolling across the wet floor. At once, she sprang to her feet and hid next to a door opening onto a hallway. There, she listened.
Wind and rain buffeted the house, but there were other sounds as well; somebody was moving around. Dishes or glasses clanked. She could smell something cooking.
