Blackthorne

by Stina Leicht

  Even though you live them?

  “Are there malorum in Eledore?” Tobias asked.

  “Malorum seem to prefer Acrasian cities.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “It is the answer I have to give. I’ve not seen malorum in Eledore. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”

  “How many people live there?”

  “Approximately two hundred or so live in the settlement where I’m taking you,” Blackthorne said. Not including the Ghost and his men.

  “Isn’t that enough to attract malorum?”

  Blackthorne gathered the last blanket and positioned his pack so he could use it as a pillow. The floor was cold, so he opted to use his greatcoat as a barrier against the chill. “I’ve never seen malorum north of Kylmapuro River. I don’t know why. No one does. Perhaps they don’t like the mountains.”

  “Do you think I’ll be able to send for Aurelia?”

  Blackthorne paused. He didn’t want to lie to Freeson any more than he had to. “Do you want the truth?”

  “The truth.”

  “You can never contact her. And if all goes well, you’ll never see Aurelia again.”

  Freeson sat up, frowning. “Why?”

  “She’s the daughter of a noble. Think about what that means. Her father wouldn’t give up the search until he’d found her. And as a member of House Lucrosa, he has enough money for a thorough search. Lives depend upon our not being found.” A little over two hundred of them, to be exact, Blackthorne thought.

  “I hadn’t considered that.”

  Blackthorne blew out the candle and settled into his makeshift bedding. “Go to sleep.”

  Listening to the sound of Tobias’s phlegm-clogged breathing, Blackthorne stared into the darkness. He was beyond exhausted now, but without the distraction of constant vigilance, he found he didn’t want to face the insides of his eyelids. He wiped a hand against the wool blanket with a shudder. If he let himself, he could still feel the release of pressure as the point of his knife had penetrated reluctant skin. Novus Salernum was weeks away, but the words of the malorum who’d worn Esa’s face echoed in his head just the same.

  Have mercy.

  He wasn’t sure he knew what that was anymore.

  FOUR

  Blackthorne spent the next day helping Mrs. Holton with heavy chores. She couldn’t afford to hire a regular farmhand. Thus, her neighbors had been made to understand that this was the reason for Joshua’s irregular appearances. It worked well enough for them both. It was a hardship on her—his drain upon her resources. So, he did as much of the farm work as he could manage during his stay. He made a point of offering to pay her for the extra blankets and fresh provisions, but she refused as she always did. Ever careful of his increasingly scant resources, he couldn’t argue.

  The morning sun hadn’t cleared the horizon when he started on the list of things she needed done before he left. He didn’t mind. It passed the time and kept his thoughts in the present. He was an hour into his chores when she approached with a basket of eggs.

  “I need to go to town tomorrow,” Mrs. Holton said. “I’m short on a few things. And I want to visit with Ruth—that is, Mrs. Brown. She’s been ill. Any chance I could persuade you to go with me?”

  Blackthorne jammed the dung fork into the manure pile and tugged down the handkerchief tied over his face and nose. The stench was particularly bad because of the rain. Fertilizing the fields was hard work, made worse by all the water. Chances were, dirt and manure would stick to the plow rather than mix into the soil.

  “I’d like the company,” she said. “But I know you’ve more important things to do than chat with an old woman.”

  He gave the sky a quick glance. There wasn’t a single cloud. “I’ll go.” A break might give the fields time to dry. “I should look into the price of a horse.”

  She paused. “You’ve need of one?”

  Blackthorne looked to the house where Tobias was convalescing. Although they were alone, he made a point of not directly speaking of his charges outside the cabin. It was safer. “A horse would make the remainder of my journey easier.”

  “It would at that.”

  “I must … make sure of a few things first.” He wanted to check on Tobias. If it looked like his health was taking a turn for the worse, Blackthorne couldn’t risk leaving him.

  “There’s no rush. We can go in the morning.”

  The fields had their coat of fertilizer by the end of the day. He decided to delay the plowing. He supposed there wasn’t any harm in doing so, but then, he wasn’t much of a farmer. Tobias, for his part, had spent the day next to the fire, studying and making notes in a stained journal with a borrowed quill. He seemed stronger. Warm food, substantial shelter, sleep, and periodic doses of coltsfoot all seemed to be doing their work. Unfortunately, the cough didn’t seem to be dissipating.

  Mrs. Holton woke Blackthorne for breakfast after the sun had crested the horizon. Leaving strict instructions for Tobias to remain hidden while they were away, Blackthorne grabbed his things and headed to the barn. Then he drove Mrs. Holton’s wagon into the dooryard where she waited. He helped her up onto the wagon’s bench. Settling next to her, he took up the reins, and they started on their way. Per usual, she made no attempts at conversation. He appreciated the fact that she didn’t pry. It meant he didn’t have to lie. Over time, the day grew warm as the sun rose higher in the sky. He shed his greatcoat and rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t worry about Mrs. Holton seeing the scars around his wrists. He knew she wouldn’t bother with questions he wouldn’t answer. He could keep his mind blank.

  A balmy wind gusted through the forest with the roar of an ocean. A herd of reindeer bounded across the road. Their dolphin leaps manifested in an unearthly grace. It was simple to focus on breathing, to imagine he was in a place where who he was supposed to be no longer mattered. It was the closest thing to privacy and meditation he’d had since leaving Novus Salernum.

  He waited until they were within sight of Aurivallis before shoving down his sleeves and shrugging on his coat. They reached the gates at a quarter past noon and were allowed entrance without the requisite identity paper check. Everyone knew Mrs. Holton. More importantly, everyone knew the deceased Mr. Holton’s reputation as a staunch loyalist.

  “If it’s all right, drop me off at Mrs. Brown’s first. Come fetch me once you’ve seen to your business, and then we’ll pick up the supplies together,” Mrs. Holton said. “Turn here.”

  Blackthorne left Mrs. Holton at a prim, whitewashed house with green trim and a bright red door. Returning her wave goodbye, he headed for Aurivallis’s only coaching inn, where he paid the stable hand to look after the horse and wagon. He passed under the painted sign depicting a sandaled foot stamping upon a snake and through the door of the Crushed Serpent. He was welcomed by a fog of stale pipe smoke and deafening cacophony of local gossip and laughter. Braving the din, he tensed until his sensitive ears adjusted. With that, he located an unoccupied table. A large serving maid arrived for his order. She left, revealing the two men who’d been waiting behind her.

  “Why, hullo, Joshua. How’s the auntie?”

  “Payton. Austen.” Blackthorne nodded in a cautious greeting and kept a frown from forming on his face.

  The pair seated themselves opposite without being invited to do so. The smaller of the two, Payton, was blond, balding, and unshaved. His eyes squeezed into triangles of mirthless glee. The bigger man, Austen, was darker and dwarfed the first. A crooked scar traced a crooked line across his crooked nose. His sullen, rough face was so standard to his profession that Blackthorne found himself wondering whether the scar was the result of his vocation or the vocation had been the result of the scar. Of course, since Blackthorne didn’t think he’d ever heard Austen speak, he wasn’t sure Austen had the capacity to provide an answer even if he did ask.

  “Don’t suppose you got the money you owe?” Payton asked, scratching his cheek. “Austen he
re has been concerned ever since you up and vanished like you did. I reassured him. Him being prone to worry and all. I told him you’re a family man, you are. Wouldn’t want nothing happening to your auntie. Her being all alone.”

  “You overcharged me,” Blackthorne said.

  “Then do your buying from someone else,” Payton said, and then leaned forward. “Only, someone else is likely to ask why a carter from Greenleaf is in need of that much barley on the sly, now, won’t they?”

  One day soon, Payton, I’m going to have to silence you, Blackthorne thought. At this point, I may even enjoy it. He paused for an instant before reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat. Producing the silver snuffbox he’d taken from the highwayman, he set the little box on the table’s surface with a resigned thump. He had hoped to trade it when he got home—perhaps even acquire a new greatcoat in the bargain.

  The snuffbox had rested on the table’s scarred surface only an instant before Payton snatched it up and examined it. There was a greasy gleam in his eye. “Fine work, that. Won’t ask where you acquired such a thing. That would be impolite.” By his expression and tone, it was clear Payton was asking nonetheless.

  “I won it in a card game,” Blackthorne said.

  “That’s real silver by the mark, or I’m a duchess.” Payton made a harrumph sound. “I’m supposed to believe the likes of you plays at cards with swells?”

  “Your beliefs aren’t any of my concern,” Blackthorne said. “Is the debt settled?”

  “Sure.” Pocketing the treasure, Payton then shrugged. “For now.”

  The serving maid set a full mug and a plate of sausage and onions on the table. She took Blackthorne’s offered paper note and vanished into the crowd again.

  “Do you require something else?” Blackthorne loaded his fork and bit into a sausage. The gaminess of the meat wasn’t even thinly disguised by the over-salted gravy.

  “Home Guard is real keen on finding a rabbit for the Brotherhood,” Payton said, snatching the bread from the edge of Blackthorne’s plate.

  “Viviforam or elpharmaceutria?” Blackthorne asked between mouthfuls.

  Ever concerned with bloodlines, ancestry, and racial purity, Acrasians had a myriad of terms for nonhumans, slang that classified them by place of origin, purity, skin color, profession, and religion. “Viviforam” had its roots in the old tongue and meant “hole-dweller.” He understood it was due to the mistaken impression that kainen with darker skin lived in caves. “Elpharmaceutria” implied “sorcerer.” None of the expressions were complimentary.

  “Do you think they’d be turning up the countryside looking for a brownie?” Payton snorted breadcrumbs. “Like a brownie can hide the color of its skin. No, this one’s elph.”

  Blackthorne suppressed a twitch. “And what makes you think I’d know anything?”

  “You’re a carter. You travel.” Payton sat back and shrugged. “Was wondering if you’d heard or seen anything odd. You know, on the road, like.”

  Blackthorne didn’t answer. He didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed.

  “This elph is carrying a load of books.”

  Blackthorne swallowed the mouthful of onions before he choked on them.

  Payton didn’t seem to notice. “Stole them right out of his owner’s library. The reward is big enough for a gens membership,” Payton said. “Reward is for the books, mind you. Lucrosa don’t much care about the runner, long as he gets dead. But Austen here figures on having some fun. So, a live rabbit is best for us, if you get my meaning.”

  “What kind of books?”

  “I don’t know. Austen says it’s not listed in the notice,” Payton said.

  Blackthorne often found it perplexing that the uncommunicative Austen was the more literate of the pair.

  “Just says ‘books.’ Must be important. They’re old, I’m thinking. The sort with pictures.”

  “Then, I’m certain you won’t need my help in locating them,” Blackthorne said.

  Payton placed a hand on Blackthorne’s right arm. “You owes us. You find that elph, we get half.”

  Blackthorne stared at Payton’s filthy hand until it was removed. “Am I incorrect in assuming you were just paid?”

  “Awww.” Payton gave him a nasty smile. “Gone all fancy in your talk.” He turned to Austen. “Always does when he’s put off. Don’t he? Has ambitions of his own, I’m thinking.”

  Austen nodded in silent agreement.

  Payton lowered his voice until it could just be heard above the crowd. However, the menace in his words came through with no trouble at all. “You don’t look fine enough to be brewing beer legal, my friend. Hells, you don’t look fine enough to be brewing it illegal. No matter. You know the rules. You scratch my back, and Austen don’t knife yours.” He got up from the table. Austen followed.

  Too bad I can’t take the time to deal with you now, Blackthorne thought as he watched them leave. Waiting until he was certain they were gone, he finished eating and gave his resources some consideration. If the stableman was in a generous mood, he might stretch his dwindling funds to cover two horses instead of one. He didn’t think one horse would bear the weight of two. Not up a mountain. Not quickly.

  FIVE

  “You stole books from a Lucrosa’s library?” Blackthorne asked. He kept his voice quiet. Controlled. But the chill of rage crept in nonetheless. “What was I thinking? Of course you did.”

  With no more space in which to retreat in the tiny hidden room, Tobias bumped into the fireplace bricks. “I didn’t think—”

  “Your Lucrosa told me you were a freeman. You told me you were a freeman.”

  The red in Tobias’s cheeks went darker yet. “I’m a bonded apprentice. I was—I was to be free in a week!”

  “You couldn’t have waited the week?”

  “He was going to burn them!”

  “Who?”

  “Watson and Simons!” Tobias seized one of the books scattered on the pallet bed. “Don’t you understand? This is David Watson’s notes on metallurgic tolerances, trajectory, and the effects of barrel length. There are only ten copies in existence! And this! This is Walton Simons’s theories on corning gunpowder and moisture-proofing!”

  Blackthorne shoved hair out of his eyes one-handed. He needed time to think. Time to plan. But the weather was turning, the Home Guard were on alert, and Tobias was still ill. Blackthorne had to act before the situation got any worse. “We’re leaving here as soon as it’s dark.”

  Tobias nodded. He dove for his pack and placed the tomes with care on the bottom, cramming spare clothing on top. Blackthorne stooped to get through the short sliding panel and rammed the top of his head into the doorsill. The explosion of pain made it very difficult not to put a fist through a wall.

  Mrs. Holton paused in front of the fireplace, an iron pot lid in her hand. Whatever it was she was cooking smelled fantastic. “Is something wrong?”

  Get control of yourself, Blackthorne thought. “We must leave tonight.”

  Mrs. Holton resumed stirring. “All right. Then you’ll take my wagon.”

  “I can’t—”

  “The pair of you aren’t going to get far on that nag you bought. Mrs. Brown said the Home Guard is camping along Jackson’s Creek. It’s the only area with good cover between here and Greenleaf.” She replaced the lid.

  He fought to keep surprise from his face. It was doing enough to his stomach.

  “Don’t fret yourself. You didn’t let it slip. Still, it isn’t difficult to puzzle out where you’re headed. Wyeth isn’t an option. The Eastern Sea is too rough this time of year. We both know there’ll be no Waterborne ships until spring. No, if it was sea passage you were looking for, Archiron would’ve been your best bet. But you’ve gone two weeks out of your way. The mountains are the only option, and the closest bridge over the Kylmapuro is at Greenleaf. Of course, you could be up for a swim, but that boy isn’t.” She settled into a chair, resuming her knitting. The bone needles in her ha
nds clicked. “Trouble is, if I can suss things out, Sergeant Brown can too—that is, if he’s been told the boy will pass through here. And I have to assume he has, since he’s focused on Jackson’s Creek.”

  “We can’t stay,” Blackthorne said. “The weather—”

  “It’s going to turn. I know. The pain in my hip is telling me, right enough. But Toby won’t make it—not on his feet, he won’t. And you know it. That cold of his will run to lung fever before long. You don’t have to be a healer to see that. It’s a miracle you made it this far without that.”

  Blackthorne stared at the now-open hidden door. His shoulders dropped with the weight of the problems he faced.

  “How do you think I came by that little room?” she asked, not looking up from her knitting.

  The abrupt subject change threw him. “I—I’m sure I don’t know.” His stomach executed another flip. What am I going to do now? If they find us here, I won’t be the only one they’ll hang, draw, and quarter. She’ll be right next to me. Suddenly, he wished he’d decided to risk the journey north rather than stay at the farm.

  “My husband, Lee, was a loyalist through and through—except when it came to his drink,” Mrs. Holton said. “He smuggled Eledorean whiskey. There’s a secret compartment in that wagon big enough for three hogsheads. It’ll be a squeeze for the boy, but you can hide Toby inside. Take the road. It’ll be faster. Safer. But not without that wagon. We both know it.”

  “It isn’t likely I’ll be back until spring. Maybe later.”

  “That’s fine by me. I won’t have need of a wagon until then, and if I do, I can always ask one of the others for help. It’s what neighbors are for. Anyway, why do you think I laid in so many supplies? That nag of yours will suit me fine. And don’t you worry about Payton, neither. My Lee did business with him during the war. Thick as thieves, they were. And I’ve known Payton since he was in clouts. I can handle him. I’ve no qualms against using a dung fork on him until he gets some sense. Worse comes to worst, I’m a damned fine shot.”