by Gayle Greeno
Doyce shuddered at how many times the boy’s few pitiful possessions must have been pawed over, tossed around by the curious, then left alone and exposed in their poverty, mute evidence that the boy owned nothing worth stealing.
“He buried the cat there, but it was dead when he found it.”
“Stay with the girl for now, ”she instructed the ghatta. “Tamar, if Claes played with Ballen, he must have liked him. Why would he kill him?”
“On account of he didn’t have one of his own and Ballen wouldn’t stay with him. He tried it once’t, but Ballen yowled and got out of his shed when he was working.”
“Claes, is that correct? Did you try to keep Ballen once?”
The boy nodded, shamefaced. “He usta come an visit me. So I shut him in, see, to see if he’d like ta stay. But I was late comin’ home that night, an I couldn‘ta left him any food ’cause I didn’t have none to leave.”
“What happened when you found the cat?”
“Like I tol’ them an tol’ them, it was dead when I found it!” His voice soared high with indignation, then lowered as he fought for control. “All messy an bloody an its head bashed in. Didn’t want her to see it like that,” he twitched a shoulder in Tamar’s direction. “Better she remembers what he was like, not what he looked like then. So I picked him up an took him back with me an buried him. But I never killed him!”
“What about the cat’s head? Ask him more.”
“Khar, he’s right, later, no point in upsetting the others even further.” The thought of Ballen’s injury perturbed her more than she chose to admit to Khar or herself. “Does he know who did kill the cat?”
“No, no idea. There was no one nearby when he discovered it.”
A wave of exhaustion swept through her, left her isolated and alone despite Khar’s contact. But she had to continue, see it through.
“Tamar, we have read the truth in your hearts and minds. Claes did find the cat and bury it, just as he said, but he didn’t kill it. He doesn’t know who did. Perhaps it was an accident.
“Further, Tamar, you owe Claes an apology, and your brothers and sister owe him one as well for doubting him. Claes, you owe them an apology, too. Your intentions were good, not to hurt Tamar, but you should have told her right away that you’d found the cat dead and buried it. It was hers, and she had the right to know, even though it hurt.”
Eustace started scooping children to their feet. “Now off with you, home. Tell your parents what happened or I shall, and no more picking on Claes. Make peace with each other outside.” He gestured toward the dark-haired boy, still frozen in place. “Off with you, too.”
He scrambled up, but Doyce and Eustace both cried, “Wait!”
“There’s bread and cheese in the back room, in case you’re short for tonight,” Eustace offered. “Dare say sharing some wouldn’t hurt me ... or you either.”
“Claes, come back for a moment, please. Khar and I have something we need to ask you.”
He drifted back, one hand fisted against his belly as if the thought of food had been too much for him. His eyes were hooded yet again, sneaking sidelong glances at her, at the ghatta, at Eustace. The promise of food wasn’t the food itself, and he jittered with impatience, fearful that the promise was all he’d receive. Pledges never filled empty bellies.
She wondered how to phrase the questions, how much to lead him. “Can you describe what the cat looked like when you found him? You said his head was all bashed in?”
“Worse’n that. Bashed in, all right, an partly missing. Weren’t messy as it coulda been, though, since all the brains had been scooped out. Funny, not like ants an bugs’n crows’d been picking at, but almost clean an polished like.”
“Scooped out clean as a melon,” that had been Byrta’s description. Khar and Doyce remained outwardly silent as they shared the memory of those words, but poor Eustace puzzled over the turn the conversation was taking. “Was the ground strange in any way, scuffed up? Were there other wounds on the body?”
“No, just laid peaceful-like on a tuft of sweet grass. Couldn’t have been hit by a wagon, he was too far from the road.” Thoughtful, he chewed his lower lip. “See, nobody much even uses that path ’cept me an a few people wanting to take the back path through to the eumedico’s Hospice or beyond to the wainwright’s. Course, if you got something for the wainwright to repair, you don’t usually bring it by the back path, less you can carry it. Not wide enough for wagons. If all’s you needed with him was a new hinge or spring for your wagon, it’s the shortest way down from the center of town.”
Doyce fished into her purse, judging by feel for some of the coppers, the largest coins but the least value. She’d give him a silver piece but feared he’d have problems explaining where he’d gotten it. A few coppers served better and probably wouldn’t be stolen off him as quickly as silver. “Here, for you. Mayhap you’ll find a way to spend these.”
Deftly scooping the coins off her palm, he hazarded a lopsided grin. “Mayhap, and thanks.” He held long enough to scratch the ghatta thoroughly behind the ears, then pounded off, bare feet echoing down the hall as he headed for the bread and cheese. “Mayhap if I ever have a cat, she’ll be more like this one than Ballen!” Khar puffed out her white chest for an instant.
“Could you read any further between the lines of what he said?” she ’spoke the ghatta.
“Nothing hidden very deep with that one. It’s a wonder it hasn’t spilled to the surface before this. He used the words ’just laid’ though he didn’t think why. He may be right, though, that the cat wasn’t killed there, just placed there afterward:”
Eustace returned from following the boy out. “Fair and square even before I came in. Loaf sawed in half, cheese sliced in half, nice and neat. Not a crumb in sight, though I think I know where those went.”
Gathering up her staff and sword, Doyce nodded absently. “Somebody should have a care to that boy. If there’s no family, why isn’t the town responsible? He looks to be good material for Tierce, and you know the capital would foot the fees if the town’s unable.”
Eustace’s lips pinched tight at the rebuke. “Sometimes they slide between the cracks, especially those who don’t cry out for help. If they can scramble along, you don’t always think about them, just the ones clamoring for attention. He won’t slide by again, my promise on it to you.”
“And to him, I hope. You’ve fresh eyes, Eustace, don’t be blinded right off by seeing things as you think they should be seen. For all his goodness and care, Darl apparently missed this one; don’t you, too.”
“You’re right. His mother was too prideful to ask for help before she died, and I should have remembered the boy would be, too, not just assumed he’d make it on his own. I should have realized he’d have no Tierce money, let alone coin for much else.”
He busied himself folding together the slatted shutters on the windows, closing the place for the night. His uniform already clung to him with more ease and authority. “Will you join us for dinner tonight? We’ve a guest room as well if you’ll honor us so.”
“He wants to but doesn’t want us to. Pleased to bring us home, but more pleased to have the evening to himself to tell his wife and mother how the first day went,” Khar interjected before she could answer. “I didn’t pry. You can feel it in his stance, read it in his face.”
“A welcome offer, Eustace, but not this time. We’ve still a good amount of daylight, and it looks to be a fair evening. We’ll ride halfway to Hussarville and camp. Start off early in the morning and be there for a full day’s Seeking if necessary.” Ducking back into the Change Room, Doyce exchanged her black hearing tabard for her sheepskin travel tabard and picked up her saddlebags. “Perhaps the next time, though, if you’d be kind enough to keep the invitation open?”
“Fair enough.” Relief struggled with disappointment on his face; but relief won. “Hollis pressed me to tell you special to pick up a flask of the two-year-old golden wine called Neckar. Said it’s
going to be something wondrous, though most don’t realize it as yet. His nose knows for sure. The price will soar as soon as they see him dealing in it, though he intimated he might set his sons about buying it. ‘No one would ever suspect them,’ were his words. Said you should act sure and grumble that it’s adequate but not worth what they’re asking. They’ll come down.” He laughed. “Trust Hollis on this. I may even stop off for a flask myself to celebrate surviving my first day in office.”
“And you acquitted yourself well. The wine’s a pleasant thought, Eustace, and a pleasant night to you.”
Leaving Khar in charge of Lokka, Doyce strolled down the street toward the shops. First the vintner’s; then, if she remembered correctly, a butcher’s shop stood catty-corner to that. Looking properly dubious at the joys promised and the price quoted on the wine, she reduced the price by eight coppers and stayed to chat, charting the course of the local gossip. Then, jingling the change in her hand, she marched to the butcher’s. She selected a nice piece of liver, or nice according to Khar’s taste, she hoped since she couldn’t abide it, and watched them wrap it in oiled paper. Then back up the street to the mare and ghatta, exchanging pleasantries with late-day shoppers, hurrying homeward with laden baskets and bulging string bags to prepare the evening meal.
Something, someone was tailing her, she could just catch a glimpse out of the comer of her eye. An ice-cold finger of fear traced a path down her spine, and she quickened her steps, around one more comer and across three streets and she’d be back. Still nearly full light, though the shadows crept longer and deeper, velvet blacks and purple blue intersected by bands of light. Plenty of others about, no need to feel worried or threatened. No need at all ... except for what had happened to Oriel, for what could happen to her. She pushed back the thought. Still, she wished she hadn’t left her staff and sword slung on the saddle as usual. Most of all, she wished she hadn’t left Khar behind.
“Someone’s following,” nerves twanging, she mindspoke Khar, curled up in the shade cast by Lokka’s belly.
The ghatta stretched with languid pleasure, rolled on her back and dug her shoulders into the dust, snake-twisting her spine. “Just the boy.”
“Claes?”
“Hmhm. Followed you there and back. Thought you’d spot it before this.”
“Obviously I’ve noticed a little later than I should have, oh noble and farseeing ghatta.” She slipped the flask and packet into one of the bellows pockets on the saddlebag and strapped her sword around her waist, reassured by its weight. No need for it, not for just the boy, but it felt more comfortable in place. No margin to spare for complacency or foolish risk-taking on this circuit, not this time. Not on this circuit or any circuit ever again until they knew the answers. And without the answers, very possibly no more circuits or Seekers.
The boy darted from the building shadows into the light, rounded the corner of the water trough and slipped, skidding in a heap at her feet. He bounded up and disgustedly inspected the sole of his left foot. “Grapeskin.” And wondered why the Seeker and even the horse and the ghatta seemed to be stifling laughter.
“Hullo, Claes, what brings you back our way?”
“Nothing much,” he hunched his shoulders, thin shoulder blades nearly slicing through the worn shirt. “Just hangin’ around. No place else I gotta be right now, less you mind?” His agile fingers played with the stirrup, turning it this way and that, examining it all over. “What’s it like to be a Seeker?” He strove to sound casual but failed.
“Very special but very hard sometimes. Often it’s exciting, but lots of times it’s just like any other job, doing your best every day even on days when you don’t feel like it. But people depend on you, so you must.”
“And her?” He made a fluttering gesture in the ghatta’s direction, head still tilted over the stirrup but eyes darting.
Khar groomed, her skin twitching to dislodge the bits of dried grass and dirt clinging to her from her roll. “She’s what makes it special. She’s a part of me and I’m a part of her. Sometimes I’m the brain and she’s the hand, and sometimes it’s the other way around. And sometimes when it’s very, very right, we don’t know which is which, we just are.” But it hasn’t been that way for a while, she reminded herself as she tightened Lokka’s cinch.
“Don’t it feel funny, having her poke around in your brain? I could feel her today. She didn’t hurt, but it felt funny—not me.”
Doyce swung into the sun-warmed saddle and slapped the pommel platform to entice Khar aboard. “You get so used to it that it doesn’t feel like an intrusion any more, just another part of yourself.”
“Oh.” The boy stood, rubbing the back of his calf with a bare foot, pausing, trying to prolong the conversation.
She gave in, suddenly wanting human companionship. “You wouldn’t care to ride along with us and point out where you found Ballen’s body, would you? That is, if you’re sure there’s nothing else better you have to do?”
His face glowed as he swarmed up behind her, giving her waist an unconscious squeeze of excitement as the ghatta jumped in front. The ghatta seemed satisfied but disinclined to speak as they rode off, Claes semaphoring directions with wide sweeps of his arms as they went, preening in the knowledge that the villagers would see him in company with the Seeker.
Doyce spied the flag in the distance, three four-pointed stars in a triangular pattern, white stars on a cerulean blue field. The stars and, later, the three night lanterns meant “Come, at any time of the day or night, whenever injury or illness strikes, we are ready to succor you, give aid, to heal, to cure.” So this was the local Hospice Hollis had spoken of helping. Ah, helping those who helped so selflessly. But it was the way the eumedicos created and nurtured that selflessness that she wasn’t sure about.
The boy tugged at her elbow and pointed at a tussock of grass. “That one. No, over beyond that. See, where the grass is bent and flattened.”
Khar dismounted, nose-twitching curiously, body hunkered low to the ground, whiskers abristle with the intensity she used for stalking an unwary animal. She circled round and round the tussock, working her way closer, then worked the spiral outward again, casting farther and farther away, intent.
Two voices clashed, Claes saying, “Is she speaking with you right now?” and another voice from behind, faintly amused, “Anything of interest?”
Lokka shied and skittered, and Doyce clutched hard at Claes’s leg, holding him in place. Only the ghatta acted unconcerned, continuing one more loop on the spiral before she stopped and turned back. Doyce firmed up the reins and brought Lokka to a standstill before easing her around to face the new voice, Claes’s thin arms now pinched limpet-tight around her waist.
“No, not really. Just exploring, I guess.” She cursed herself for the tightness in her throat, the clenching in her gut, her reaction on meeting a eumedico, any eumedico. Old feelings died hard.
The eumedico, long white coat hanging open, thrust his hands in his pockets, cocked his head to one side, eyes bright with interest at the chance encounter. “There was a dead cat here last night,” he said conversationally.
“Oh, really?”
“Right over there.” Claes pointed. “I took him and buried him.”
“Ah, that’s good.” The eumedico pulled a pipe from his pocket, fiddled with it, then stuck it in his mouth unlighted. “I came back with a shovel a bit later, but the body was gone. Always good to get things like that buried. Diseases can come from things of that sort, you know.”
“Yes, we’re aware.” And watched the eumedico’s eyebrows rise at her curtness.
“Good, so many still aren’t, you know.” He nodded and turned to walk back to the Hospice. “Must be going. If you need help, stop by, either of you. That’s what we’re here for.” He made a point of ignoring Khar who had twice circled into his path, practically under his feet.
“They can read minds too, just like the ghatti,” Claes’s words tumbled over themselves with excitement. “How
do they learn, do you think?”
“They study, they practice and train, just like the Seekers.” Doyce perpetuated the lie again, hating herself for it. But she had sworn, sworn not to tell others the truth she had learned, that the eumedicos could not read people’s minds. And the swearing was just one of the prices she had had to pay to leave the eumedicos. Better free and silent than daily living the lie, even if others found it a small price to pay for their training in healing.
“Nothing.” Khar ’spoke bitterly. “Not a thing, except the faintest hint of a scent, but I lost that when the en-medico came. They always smell—sharp, disinfectant, so clean it kills anything interesting. Feh!” She sneezed.
“I know, even trust, even honesty. But for the good they do....”
Confused, Claes tugged at her sash for attention. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re not supposed to.” And setting the mare in motion, Khar trotting along beside, weaving her way between tussocks, springing over some, Doyce headed back along the trail. “And where do I drop you off to find your way home?”
“Anywhere along the top of the bank over there. You’re not staying the night?” He asked it casually but with intense interest.
“No, we’ve got to get along. Remember, I said even if we didn’t feel like it sometimes?”
“And you don’t feel like it, but you gotta.” He nodded. “You can stop here.” Doyce turned and clasped a forearm to his to swing him down.
How do you say farewell to a boy like Claes, someone you’ll probably never meet again, but will always remember? “You know, if you need help, you can always go to him,” was the best she could think of.
The boy took a few steps from the mare so that he could look up without craning his neck. “To the eumedico? But I’m not sick!”
“No, ninnykin, to Elgar Eustace, the Chief Conciliator.”
“Oh, him. S‘pose I could, if I needed help, but I don’t, see.” He stood with hands on hips, waiting to see if she understood. “I kin take care of myself. Have been for a long time. ’cept for today when I needed your help to make’m understand. Turn the fayor back someday, my pledge.” Hand thumped heart to seal the promise, then he turned and started away. “Bye!” He pulled a dry stem of timothy grass and tickled the ghatta with the fuzzy head as she bounced along beside him. The farther the ghatta went, the more forlorn Doyce felt. Lady bright, she chided herself, Khar isn’t abandoning me, she’ll be back. And perhaps, at last, she had a shred of a clue to mull over and ponder for the night. Was there a connection to Oriel’s death in the boy’s story of the death of the cat?
