by D. K. Fields
With the tent’s folds resettled behind them and the painting out of sight, Frant had at last stopped looking back. All the air seemed to leave his body, and he fell to the ground, weeping.
Ruth eyed him sadly then dropped to her knees in the mud beside him. She spoke into his ear. Cora didn’t catch the words and was grateful for that. This was too personal a moment for a stranger to step on. She moved away, keeping the couple in sight but well out of earshot. But in doing so she stumbled upon something else.
‘… and then the mare pawed the ground until she’d dug a hole. Your tale.’
‘The mare picked up the shell and the four leaves with her teeth, and dropped them into the hole she had dug. Your tale.’
‘And with the shell and the four leaves, the mare dropped a bucket. Your tale.’
The voices were those of children, and they were coming from a wagon a few feet away. An awning had been stretched from its side and held in place by a sturdy wooden pole, making a roof to shelter from the sun that had now all but left the sky.
Cora glanced back. Frant was in Ruth’s arms, and she was attempting to comfort him, but there was something restrained about her. From the looks of things, Cora had at least a few minutes to see if she was right about what was happening at the wagon.
Beneath the awning, an old man was seated on a barrel. A circle of children surrounded him. Each was taking a turn to say a line of a story, deciding what it was as they went round the circle. A Wayward school.
It might work.
‘Can I help you?’ the teacher said. Twenty small Wayward faces turned to look at Cora.
‘I hope so,’ Cora said, and ducked under the awning.
*
‘It’s a bit late in life for lessons,’ Ruth said. At the sight of her sister, Cora took her leave from the teacher. There was no sign of Frant.
‘You’re always telling me I need to learn new ones,’ Cora said, stepping carefully along the muddy byways of the camp.
‘True, and one in particular, about trust. The girl – is it done?’
Cora made sure to look Ruth square in the eye. ‘Yes.’
Ruth looked right back, clearly checking for any sign of a lie. But thank the Audience, someone called Ruth’s name, and then she was striding towards a large covered wagon next to the blue tent. One enormous roll of canvas had already been laid on the wagon bed, and a team of Wayward men and women, sweating despite the cool evening, were attempting to load another fat roll beside the first.
Ruth conferred with the small huddle that surrounded her and gave some orders. When there was a gap in the people wanting to talk to her sister, Cora managed to ask where Frant was.
‘He’s gone to his bed, with stories only for the Child.’
‘Will he come with us to Fenest?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘He needs time to grieve. Better he does that without me.’
Cora found that hard to believe, but then what did she know of what Ruth and Frant had experienced?
‘The election is what matters now. That’s what my son died for. I have to tell his story.’
‘And if I have anything to do with it,’ Cora said, ‘you will. But it’ll still be dangerous when we get back to Fenest. Tannir will be there, and anyone else Chambers Morton has paid to stop you.’
‘Just a few more days,’ Ruth said, her face barely visible now in the shadows of evening. ‘Can you keep me safe for a little bit longer?’
‘I’ll do my best.’
They watched the last of the three canvases join the others on the wagon.
‘We start at first light,’ Ruth said. ‘Tell Nullan and Serus to gather their things and be ready to leave the barge. Your horses will be on the bank.’
‘You’re not sleeping on the barge tonight?’ Cora asked.
‘When I can be back under canvas, a saddle for a pillow?’ Ruth smiled. ‘I won’t spend one more minute on Captain Luine’s old wreck if I don’t have to.’
Ruth would be off the barge tonight – Cora’s plan might work. If she could just make sure that Nullan—
‘Cora, are you listening?’
‘Hm?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘I said, Luine has her orders. Once you, Nullan and Serus are on horseback, our contract is ended.’
There was no more mention of Marcus. As far as Ruth was concerned, the girl was dead. Her sister trusted her, and she had lied. As Cora made her way back to the barge, she thought about the bargain she’d struck with the Wayward teacher, and hoped she could trust him.
Twenty-Seven
Marcus had nothing more with her than the clothes she stood up in. At least they were new clothes, and decent, thanks to Chief Inspector Sillian. Cora doubted that even back in Fenest, Marcus had many more possessions. Not much to abandon, but still – Cora hadn’t wanted things to go this way.
Marcus was sitting on the bunk in the cabin, with Serus beside her. The girl was swinging her short legs back and forth, her feet nowhere near the floor. It was well past midnight, and Cora was listening for movement on the barge, one ear pressed to the door. She caught the lap of the river, the occasional stamp and whinny of the horses, and laughter – distant, distracted laughter. On the barge, all was quiet. The three Caskers had drunk the Pretty Lilly dry of lannat.
‘Time to go,’ Cora said, turning around.
‘Time for an adventure,’ Serus said, doing his best to give Marcus a reassuring smile.
He hadn’t been convinced by the plan when Cora had explained, but he’d agreed it was the only option – Cora couldn’t well smuggle the child back to the capital in a saddlebag. And besides, if it did work, Marcus’s life would be much better than what she was leaving behind in Fenest – sleeping in Beulah’s games house, shouting pennysheet headlines day in, day out. Cora kept telling herself that. She thought she’d done right by the girl in the years she’d known her, but now she could see she hadn’t done enough. It was Cora’s fault as much as anyone’s that Chief Inspector Sillian had been able to bribe Marcus. Ruth might not have much pity left in the pockets of her Wayward cloak, but the world had been too hard on her sister. Marcus deserved another chance.
‘Teachers never mean adventures,’ Marcus said sullenly.
‘But the teacher is just helping us, remember?’ Serus said. ‘He’s bringing the Wayward couple who are going to take you to the Steppes.’
‘So you say.’ Marcus’s legs swung more wildly. ‘How do I know this isn’t some trick to get me to go to school?’
‘Because this is serious,’ Cora said. She opened the door and, after another heartbeat of listening, beckoned Marcus and Serus into the passage.
‘Don’t say a word until the barge is out of sight,’ she whispered to Marcus.
‘Where are we—’
Cora clamped her hand over the girl’s boom. ‘Just follow me, all right?’ she whispered.
Serus picked up the sack of provisions he’d scraped together from the galley. With a nod from Cora, they headed out.
Marcus managed to keep silent until they were on the bank. ‘I need to say goodbye to Harker.’ Marcus’s voice had a tremble Cora had never heard before. All words left her.
Serus stepped in. ‘Harker told me to tell you, he’s sorry not to be here right now, when you’re leaving.’
‘He said that?’ Marcus asked.
‘And he also said I should tell you that he’s up and down these waters all the time with Captain Luine. He says he’ll see you soon, when you’re passing this way with the herd.’
Marcus thought about this for a moment, and Cora exchanged a glance with Serus.
‘All right,’ Marcus said, and started walking away from the barge. ‘Tell Harker he’d better be ready to show me them birds’ nests he’s always talking about.’
Cora breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Serus, reaching for his arm. She thought better of it when she saw the look on his face: this was just business. So be it.
‘Cora?’ came a voice f
rom the dark hump of the barge behind them. It was Nullan, weaving towards them with a lantern. ‘What’s going on? Is Ruth all right?’
‘Go – I’ll keep her busy,’ Serus said, and before Cora could answer, he’d dropped the sack of provisions and was heading for Nullan. ‘Cora can’t sleep,’ she heard Serus say loudly. ‘You know what these Gorderheims are like – always chewing over something.’
Nullan laughed. ‘You can say that again.’
‘Seems best to leave them to it,’ Serus said. ‘Have you any of that lannat left?’
Nullan’s groan and Serus’s words faded as the pair went back inside.
Cora nudged Marcus forwards and they were on their way again, heading for the tree where she’d agreed to meet the teacher.
They had no lights with them, Cora wanting to keep as low a profile as possible, but the lanterns dotted about the nearby tents gave just enough light for them to avoid sliding into the river or turning an ankle in the mud. Neither would be a good start for Marcus’s journey.
As the tree came in sight, Cora’s heart sank – there was no one there. The teacher had changed his mind, or the couple had decided against the plan. Maybe Ruth had caught wind of it…
Then the darkness appeared to move, and a shadow stepped forwards. It was the teacher. This might be a story for the Latecomer after all.
Marcus’s steps faltered. Cora gave her another nudge and then felt a small hand slip into hers. Together they walked to where the teacher was standing, two other shadows just behind him. The night was warm and the air had some kind of sweetness: the tree was in blossom. It could have been a beautiful night, if Cora hadn’t been about to send a pennysheet girl away with strangers.
‘I wondered if you’d had a change of heart,’ the old man said. His braid was silver as the moon and his eyes had all but disappeared inside his wrinkled cheeks.
‘Likewise,’ Cora said.
‘I think you can count on this pair,’ the teacher said.
He turned and beckoned. A man and a woman stepped forwards. They looked around thirty-five, which on a Wayward face meant they were probably ten years younger. They wore the cloaks of their realm, and each had a long braid – the man’s black, the woman’s red. They seemed nervous, glancing about them, but when they saw Marcus there was a longing there. Cora could almost feel it.
‘This is the couple I told you about,’ the teacher said, then added in a whisper, ‘The Devotee hasn’t heard any stories of youngsters from them.’
Cora gave the pair a nod. They clutched each other’s hands.
The teacher knelt next to Marcus, his knees making so much noise of protest that Cora feared he might not get up again.
‘So you’re the young Fenestiran who’d like to see the Steppes,’ the teacher said.
Marcus kicked the dirt. ‘I guess so.’ Her voice was the quietest Cora had ever heard it. ‘But I’m not Fenestiran. My mother was a Lowlander. My father… He was a bad sinta, my mother said, so he was probably from a Lowland farm too.’
‘I didn’t know you came from the south,’ Cora said.
Marcus shrugged. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Detective, and you won’t ever know it, now we’re saying goodbye.’
‘Try not to think about it like that,’ the teacher said, getting to his feet again, more nimbly than Cora had thought possible. ‘We Wayward have a phrase for goodbyes that aren’t forever.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Marcus said.
‘When our reins lie still, our horses will find the same path,’ the woman said.
The man beside her nodded. They looked like they might cry. Marcus was dry-eyed, but she hadn’t let go of Cora’s hand.
‘The child will be well-cared for, I promise you,’ the teacher said to Cora. ‘They have wanted a child for some time.’
‘I hope they don’t mind loud noises,’ Cora said.
The teacher looked uncertain. Cora thrust the sack of provisions at the couple.
‘For the journey. We didn’t want you to go without, given the unexpected mouth to feed. That’s the only payment I can offer.’
‘None is needed,’ said the man. ‘We are the ones rewarded.’
Cora turned to Marcus. ‘You’ll have plenty of stories,’ she told the girl, ‘riding with the Wayward.’
‘I s’pose so…’ Marcus kept her eyes on her boots. ‘Do they read pennysheets on the Steppes?’
‘They do, but you won’t be the one selling them. Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘How am I meant to eat?’
‘You don’t have to worry about that anymore, I promise.’
Marcus seemed to mull this over, then gave Cora a stern look. ‘What will you do without me, Detective?’
‘I really don’t know.’ It was the truth, and it stung. ‘But it won’t be forever. Let the reins lie still, remember?’
‘I’m sorry about telling that Seeder bloke everything.’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ Cora said.
Then at last Marcus let go of Cora’s hand and went over to the couple. ‘Be seeing you, Detective,’ she boomed.
‘Make sure you do,’ Cora said.
The teacher, the couple and Marcus slipped between the tents. Cora leaned against the tree and smoked until she couldn’t smell the blossom anymore.
Twenty-Eight
The journey back to Fenest took half the time it had taken to reach the herd, even with the weight of the Hook that the covered wagon bore. Partly it was the speed of being on horseback instead of on the barge, which Cora knew was faster, but it was the pace Ruth set too. The Hook had to reach the capital in time to be displayed for the regulation three days before the Wayward story was told. If it arrived late, the Commission might decide it couldn’t be displayed at all. Cora had seen such pettiness from the Wheelhouse – rules were rules. It didn’t matter if the trouble was an incomplete form to change the name of a whorehouse, or an election that could determine the fate of the Union. Ruth knew that as well as Cora did. There were some parts of being a Gorderheim that had stood her sister in good stead.
They rode from dawn until dusk, stopping only to let the horses drink from the river. Any needs of the riders had to be met then. Cora became so stiff that she felt worse climbing down from her horse – a sleepy-seeming grey – than being in the saddle. When she started to think about sleeping on her horse instead of in the tent that an obliging young Wayward man put up for her each evening, she knew she was in a bad way. But there was nothing to do except hold the reins and look ahead. At least the cut on her face was healing, and Nullan had found her something to smoke, filling Cora’s empty bindle tin with a coarse Wayward leaf that apparently grew well on the Steppes. It wasn’t what Cora would choose to smoke, given the roughness of the leaves which made her chest tighten more than was comfortable, but it was better than being without.
Though it was Ruth determining the pace, her sister tended to ride in the middle of the herd, beside the wagon carrying the Hook, rather than at the front. Cora rode near her, and the safety of the other riders around them meant she didn’t have to worry quite so much. That, too, helped the journey go faster.
About half the herd had come with Ruth and the Hook – Cora guessed it was about two hundred Wayward in total. The rest had their own paths to follow, so Ruth had told her – some taking the breeding pairs to their plains, others taking the expectant mares north to the Steppes. And then there were those who would melt away to find work across the Union. Among them was the couple who’d taken Marcus.
Every so often, Cora looked around to find Serus in the herd, but apart from the occasional glimpse within the mass of people and horses and wagons, she didn’t see him. He was the one who’d decided to put distance between them and now didn’t seem the time to try to change that. He’d helped Cora get Marcus away, and for that, Cora would always be grateful. If that was the last thing they did together, at least it was a good act.
&n
bsp; On the second day of the journey they came to a small town, which Cora remembered seeing from the barge. As had happened everywhere the herd went, people came out of their houses and their shops, their Seats and their schools, to see the long line of Wayward pass by. Nullan’s horse came alongside Cora’s, and the Casker passed her some dried meat.
‘Don’t tell me this is lunch?’ Cora said.
‘And dinner. Don’t eat it all at once.’
‘I think I can manage that.’ The meat was hard and almost sharp in Cora’s hand. She had no idea what animal it had been originally, and she didn’t want to know. Her back twinged, and she made an attempt to stretch awkwardly.
‘Not too much further now,’ Nullan said.
‘I’ll need to lie down for a week. Not that there’ll be much chance of that until after Ruth’s told the story.’
‘Do you know what’ll you do,’ Nullan said, ‘after you’ve finished lying down?’
‘See if they need any security guards at the Assembly. Open a coffee house. Join a wall-building crew if the Seeders end up winning and Morton blocks off the south.’
Nullan took a bite of the dried meat she held, which involved a lot of yanking with her teeth. ‘I’ll take that as a no, you don’t know,’ the Casker said through forceful chewing.
Cora shrugged. ‘Can’t think any further ahead than Ruth telling the story. But I can’t go back to the police. Maybe I should just quit Fenest altogether.’
But even as she said these words, she knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t. Just as she knew Marcus would make her way back to the capital someday. Fenest was more than just a city. It got into your blood.
‘What about you?’ Cora asked.
The Casker’s answer was delayed by a small child shouting with excitement and running in front of the horses at the head of the herd. With practised skill, the riders pulled their mounts neatly out of the way, and the child was soon back in his father’s arms, bawling and laughing at the same time, it seemed.
