by Anne Barwell
Lifting the heavy metal latch, Cathal struggled against the wind to open the wooden door. Working together, they yanked it open, stumbled inside, and let the wind slam it shut behind them. A crackle of lightning lit the room briefly through the skylight in the roof directly above them. Cathal fumbled around in the half dark, running his hand against the wall, looking for something.
The sharp cracking noise by his head made Tomas jump until he realized it was a match and that Cathal was reaching for the hurricane lantern that hung from a nearby rafter. Tomas squeezed water from the bottom of his shirt and looked around the room. The dirt floor was dry and covered in hay, the ladder a few feet away appearing to lead to some kind of mezzanine floor. Running one hand down the rough wooden wall, his fingers came away covered in dust. Sniffing the air cautiously, he caught a whiff of hay and mustiness. Whoever used this place didn't do so often. It definitely had a feel of disuse about it, although that could be merely due to the season. Farming was one subject he knew very little about. Hopefully the weather would clear and they would not have to stay long.
"The inn would have been closer," he remarked dryly, noticing that Cathal was just as wet. There wasn't anything they could use to get warm, and he wasn't about to strip out of his clothing and freeze still further. What was it with this microclimate and the way it went from one season to another in the space of a few hours?
"Sorry," Cathal said, brushing wet hair from his face and shivering, "but I wanted somewhere safe and...." He lifted the top of the lantern, ready to light it when the edge of his boot caught something shiny. Handing the lantern to Tomas, he bent to pick it up, color draining from his face. "No," he whispered, turning the small object over in his hand.
Outside there was an almighty crash of thunder, followed by voices. Cathal was back on his feet instantly, blowing out the match and plunging them into semi-darkness again.
"Cat?" What the hell was going on? The voices drew nearer. A hand clamped over Tomas's mouth, preventing him from speaking, a wet body pinning him to the wall.
"Quiet!" Cathal hissed in his ear, breath hot against Tomas's skin. Lightning lit the room momentarily. There was nowhere to hide, no way out except for the door. Not even a window to climb through. Nothing but the....
The skylight! Yanking Cathal's hand away, Tomas began pulling him toward the ladder leading to the floor above them. Whoever was outside was dangerous. Cathal's reaction had confirmed that. And if they were outside, it was only a matter of time before they searched this shed or whatever the hell it was. They had to find a way out, and as options went, this place was sorely lacking.
"Tomas! We can't," Cathal whispered, glancing toward the door again. "There's no way down off the roof!"
The roof wasn't that high. They'd find a way. The door creaked, the latch protesting when someone banged at it from the outside. Voices rose in argument, the door muffling the words. Fuck, maybe not. Get out and straight into the hands of whoever was waiting outside. Thunder rolled again. What choice did they have? Stay here and get caught or at least try to hide or run. This at least was a chance of sorts.
When they got out of here, Cathal had better have a damn good explanation of who these people were. Reaching the bottom of the ladder, Tomas tested it to make sure it was sturdy. It felt old, the wood rough and splintered in places, but it seemed secure enough. This close to the skylight, at least they could see better to climb, although what little sun was left was quickly disappearing behind the dark storm clouds, taking what remained of the daylight with it to herald a premature dusk.
Shoving Cathal toward the ladder, Tomas whispered hoarsely, "Go, and I'll be right behind you!" Gripping the lantern with one hand, he looked around for anything else that could be used as a weapon but couldn't see anything. The movies lied. All this hay and not even a pitchfork!
"No!" Cathal turned to glare at him, his eyes flashing in the dim light, a familiar stubbornness on his face. "You go first. It's me they're after. I won't--"
"Go!" Tomas wasn't in the mood to argue. He pushed Cathal back toward the ladder again. They'd yell at each other later when it was safe. This wasn't the time or the place. Behind them the door shuddered on its hinges. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disgusted by the fact that whoever these people were, they couldn't manage to work out how to lift a latch to open a door.
The door opened with a sudden thud, light filling the room, shadowy figures piling through the doorway to block one of their escape routes. Argument forgotten, Cathal started to climb quickly, Tomas behind him.
"There! On the ladder! Move!" The man's voice was sharp, the light from the open door capturing the ladder and their position as surely as a pair of deer caught in headlights.
Tomas turned, pulling back the hand in which he held the lantern. The ladder swayed. A large man wearing some kind of uniform rushed it from the bottom, another flash of lightning highlighting the metal buttons on his heavy woolen jacket. "Go, Cat! Go!" Tomas yelled, taking aim at the mop of dark, curly hair. As weapons went, the lantern sucked, but it was still better than nothing. All they needed were a few minutes to get to the top of the ladder, although he had no idea what they'd do then. Did the skylight even open?
The man grabbed the bottom of the ladder. Tomas prayed and threw the lantern with all the force he could muster. Who the hell were these people? What did they want with Cathal? Well, they bloody well weren't getting him.
Cathal shouted something. The ladder swayed again. The world tilted, the ladder falling backward, the floor coming up to meet them. Reaching up for Cathal, Tomas jumped, voices taunting him from the floor above. These men must have been already here. This place was not safe. It never had been. Cathal had led them, like mice, into a trap.
Hitting the ground with a thud, barely managing to land on his feet, Tomas felt himself falling again, his legs giving way when a fist connected with his stomach. The room spun, his head colliding with something hard, pain shooting through him, his vision blurring.
As though from a distance, he heard Cathal cry out. Forcing his eyes open, he saw Cathal being held down by another man in uniform, his arms being forced behind his back, his eyes meeting Tomas's in unspoken apology. "Leave him be," Cathal yelled, wincing when the man holding him backhanded him across the face. Blood trickled down the side of his mouth, but Cathal held his head up, his expression nothing less than defiant. He struggled to his feet, the man behind him already tying his wrists together with some kind of coarse rope.
A slightly built, short, red-haired man moved to stand between Tomas and Cathal, looking from one to the other. Tomas stared at him, trying to focus through the fog that was settling over his brain. "Who are you?" he managed to croak.
"Leave him, Gwalch," Cathal snapped. "There is no need to involve him in this argument."
Gwalch raised one eyebrow. "Perhaps this once, Lord Emerys," he conceded, his tone as smooth as silk but the smug smirk belying his words. "After all, we have who we want."
Lord? Emerys? What the fuck? Tomas attempted to stand. The room gave a sickening lurch. He ignored it. Hands gripped his shirt, dragging him into an upright position. The red-haired man leaned in closer, watching Tomas carefully, shaking his head. "This is nothing to do with you. Forget what you have seen," he warned.
"No!" Tomas protested. "Cat, I...." His stomach heaved. The man sighed and let him go. Falling backward, Tomas's skull exploded in pain, and everything went black.
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Chapter Seventeen
"Tomas?" Shadowy figures bent over him, the dying rays of the setting sun still bright enough to make his eyes water as he opened one and then closed it again to block out the light. "You okay?"
"Go away, Kathleen, I'm sleeping," he mumbled, reaching for a pillow to throw at her. His head hurt. Why couldn't she just let him sleep?
"Tomas?"
Hang on. This wasn't Kathleen. The voice was too deep. Opening both eyes this time, Tomas bl
inked rapidly and attempted to sit up. Pain shot through his head. His stomach heaved. Arms held him, steadying him.
Someone was holding Cathal down, restraining him. The bastard had hit him! No! Tomas began to struggle, his surroundings spinning as he tried to get to his feet. "Let me go!" he snarled. "You're not taking him. I won't--" He fell forward onto his hands and knees. "I won't let you," he whispered, past catching up with present with the realization that he hadn't been able to do a bloody thing. "Cat...."
Taking several deep breaths, he tried to persuade his brain to start thinking again. This wasn't the red-haired man holding him. This person was taller, and the hair color was wrong, as was the clothing. But the voice sounded familiar. Donovan. Of course. He frowned, his thoughts still jumbled, grabbing more bits of memory through a fog. He and Cathal had been in the shed or hay store or whatever the hell it was.
And then the men... the soldiers... had come.
"It's okay, Tomas. I've got you." Donovan spoke softly, reassuringly, helping Tomas to sit up again, propping him against the wall. "Cat's not here. What happened?"
"Is he going to be okay?" Mikey was hovering, keeping a little distance between them, but not much. "Did something happen to Cat during the storm?"
The storm? Tomas turned his attention toward the open door. The sky was a mix of red, gray, and fading blue, but there was only a slight breeze in the air and no sign of the bad weather that had forced them into this place. Tomas let out a groan. Even the ladder was propped back against the floor above. There was nothing to prove what had happened. Only the lump on the back of his head.
"They've taken Cat!" Tomas yanked Donovan close, determined that he realize the seriousness of the situation. "We've got to go after them."
"There's no one here, Tomas." Donovan glanced around the shed, frowning, his voice very calm and even. "There hasn't been anyone here. Mikey found you stretched out on the floor with a lump on your head. He came and got me right away. It was lucky that he was taking a shortcut through the field. Heidi's called for Doc McKenzie."
"No." Tomas shook his head. His stomach lurched. He tried to move, but Donovan held him still, watching him carefully. God, what time was it? The sun couldn't be setting; it was only midafternoon. "You don't understand! He didn't want to go with them. They took him!"
"Who took him?" Donovan glanced at Mikey briefly before returning his attention to Tomas. "We need to get you back to the inn," he said very calmly. "Mikey, take my phone outside and ask Heidi to give Doug a call."
"You don't believe me, do you," Tomas felt the back of his head, wincing when his fingers connected with a spongy lump. Who the hell was Doug? The name seemed familiar, like he should know. "You asked Cat whether he was in some kind of trouble. You were right."
"I never said I didn't believe you. That's why I want Doug in on this," Donovan reassured him.
"Who?" Tomas asked irritably.
"Doug Greene," Donovan explained patiently. "He's the local constable." Great. First the doctor and then the local copper asking questions. All of this was just wasting time they didn't have. "You're not thinking too clearly at the moment." He put one arm around Tomas's waist and helped him to stand. Tomas swallowed, but his stomach didn't heave as it had a few moments before. That, he hoped, was a good sign. "We'll get you looked at, and then you can tell us what happened."
"Who took Cat?" Mikey asked. "Donovan already asked you and you never told him." He bent down and parted the hay on either side of his hands, his fingers tracing something through it, making no move to do what Donovan asked. "This place feels weird," he mumbled, "just like that stupid tree."
"What do you know about the tree?" Tomas demanded, one hand reaching for the wall to steady himself. Donovan's grip around his waist tightened. Tomas shook his head, ignoring the way the room spun again in response. He wasn't some invalid. He would be fine. They'd find Cathal first and then worry about the rest.
"Got it!" Mikey said triumphantly, straightening up again, something small and shiny between his fingertips. He turned it over in his hand, the action echoing something at the edge of Tomas's memory.
"Give me that!" Tomas attempted to take a step toward Mikey, stumbling after pain jarred his head. His stomach heaved again, the muscles protesting when he tried to pull out of Donovan's firm grasp.
"Hold it, you two," Donovan snapped. "We've got a problem here, and arguing won't solve it." He glared at both of them, although it didn't hide the worry in his eyes or the crease of concern across his forehead. Mikey opened his mouth to protest, as did Tomas. Donovan silenced them with a narrowing of his eyes. Tomas had not seen him angry before, and if this was anything to go by, it wasn't an emotion he wanted to encourage. "We need to work together."
"I wasn't the one arguing," Mikey sulked. He turned the object over in his hand once more, stroking one side of it with one finger. "Besides, I found a clue!"
"Then you need to share it and not keep it to yourself," Tomas pointed out. There was no way in hell this annoying kid was going to pull this kind of stunt again with Cathal's safety in the balance. It had been bad enough with the letters.
The letters! They had to be able to shed some light on this. Alice and Christian were connected to Cathal; he was sure of it now. Cathal's evasiveness was further proof, and the name the red-haired guy, Gwalch, had called him. Lord Emerys. It was too much of a coincidence. There had been too damn many all the way through this, and Tomas had just gone along with them. No longer!
"What is it?" Donovan removed one of his hands from around Tomas's waist carefully, making sure that he was going to remain upright, and held a palm out for the object Mikey was holding.
Mikey shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It looks like a button of some kind, but the insignia is kind of weird."
"Cat found something like this." Tomas could remember it now. The small object Cathal had turned over in his hand, his actions the same as Mikey's, just before he'd blown out the match. Cathal had been spooked by it.
Tomas peered over Donovan's shoulder, trying to get a better look. Another memory gestured to him, taunting him to remember. He reached for it, not quite grasping the details he needed.
"It's a picture of some kind of bird," Donovan realized. "I've seen buttons like this before, on military uniforms. Could it be off something like that?"
"Yes!" Tomas exclaimed, everything falling into place. "The soldiers, or whatever they were, who took Cat. They had shiny buttons on their uniforms." Donovan and Mikey exchanged a glance. Tomas chose to ignore the fact it looked suspiciously like they were each questioning his sanity, or lack thereof. "Don't you see," he pleaded. "It's proof."
"It's just a button, Tomas," Donovan pointed out a little too calmly. "You've hit your head. People imagine weird shit when that happens. You could have a concussion."
"No!" Tomas needed them to believe him. He couldn't do this alone. That was becoming clearer with each passing minute. They needed to work out where Cathal was, and that meant telling them everything, as unbelievable as it might sound. His whole quest, the book, everything, it was connected to this. Of that he was sure. But what proof did he have? Cathal was gone, and now it looked as though he'd never been here.
Wait! God, why hadn't he thought of it before?
Struggling free, he fumbled at his T-shirt, pulling it out of his jeans. "Look," he exclaimed, pointing at his stomach. Donovan and Mikey both peered at it.
"How hard did you hit your head, Tomas?" Mikey said. "So you have a bruise on your stomach. So what?"
"Hold up, Mikey." Donovan frowned. "Can I see your back, Tomas?" Obediently, Tomas shifted gingerly, adjusting his clothing to reveal his back too. Donovan shook his head, glancing at the wall and then back at Tomas. "Okay, that's weird. You've got a lump on the back of your head and bruising on your front. Let me take another look?"
"The guy had one hell of a right hook," Tomas explained helpfully. "He punched me, and I hit my head afterward,
when I fell." No, that wasn't quite right. "Fell the second time," he remembered. "One of them backhanded Cat across the mouth too. He was bleeding."
"Where?" Donovan asked suddenly, scanning the floor in their immediate vicinity.
"Over where Mikey found the button!" Tomas moved to help look, but a wave of dizziness overcame him and he stopped, bending slightly to place his hands on both knees.
Mikey was already scrambling over the floor, parting the hay this way and that. "This is just like on those cop shows Mrs. O'Neil watches." he exclaimed. "Cat's been kidnapped, hasn't he, and we're hunting for clues." Suddenly he froze, staring at something. Donovan was at his side in an instant, shifting into a semi-crouch to get a better look.
Edging forward carefully, Tomas dropped to his knees, the sun trickling through the cracks in the wall highlighting the proof he'd needed, confirmation part of him really didn't want. Donovan shook his head slowly, his expression grim.
"Blood," he said slowly, looking intently at the smeared, rusty brown clinging to a clump of hay beneath it. For a moment Tomas had a sickening flash of the color mixing with the blond of Cathal's hair as he oozed blood, the man holding him hitting him over and over. No! That hadn't happened. It wouldn't happen.
"It's not much, but it might be enough for Doug and Doc McKenzie to do something with," Donovan continued. Mikey reached out with one finger as though he was going to touch it, but Donovan shook his head. "No! Leave it," he warned. "It's not only proof that something might have happened here but...." His voice softened, and he looked at Tomas apologetically. "It might also be a clue as to who Cat really is."
"I don't care who he is," Tomas realized. "I just want to get him back safely." Cathal had been going to answer his questions, tell him everything. Tomas had spent most of his childhood with choices taken away from him; he would do everything in his power to ensure Cathal would not have to go through the same. If Cathal had chosen to leave, it would be different, but he hadn't.
