Hunter's Legend

by R. J. Vickers

  “Mother!” I said, at the same time my father said, “Ambria!”

  “Cady knows what’s right,” my father said. “She’s entitled to a few secrets of her own.” He beckoned me into the shop, toward a table at the back where the three women involved in running the business often sat and sipped tea until their customers called them over. Their work as Weavers was done in the evenings, closeted away in the confines of their homes.

  “Incidentally, was there a reason you came calling?” my mother asked, her tone reverting to stiffness.

  I hesitated before one of the plush chairs. “Actually, I hoped to pay thanks to your friend, the one who set us up with a reference.”

  “So it worked!” my father exclaimed. “Who was the reference? Anyone we know?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it. His name is Lieman—a member of the higher class, though not the least bit snobbish because of it. He loved fooling the old property merchant.”

  My father grinned. “Served him right, I bet.”

  “Does your friend live nearby?”

  “His name is Taldo,” my mother said. “And yes, he lives just a few blocks from here. Head toward the city gates until you reach Broom Street; his house is fourth on the left.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to go.

  “You don’t want a cup of tea before you head off?” my mother asked.

  “I’ll join you for lunch later, if you don’t mind,” I said. Already I was eager to escape their attention.

  With my mother shaking her head at me, I exited the shop and set off briskly for Broom Street. It was difficult now, after living so many years as an independent adult, to experience once again the weight of my parents’ expectations. They clearly did not expect me to have matured past the child they had once known, and in every move I made there was the possibility of disappointing them.

  I nearly missed Broom Street. It was such a narrow alleyway I could not even see the name until I drew near; the faded wood placard was nestled behind a streetlamp. Hoping I had not stumbled across a shady part of town, I slipped down the street, looking over my shoulder as I went.

  The fourth building down was dark and lifeless. The alleyway itself did not allow much sunlight to penetrate the rows of doorsteps, so the other homes flanking this one still had lamps or candles burning in the windows. I slowed, peering at the bleak residence. Now that I was closer, I realized the door did not sit properly on its hinges. It was not quite open, but the bolt was dislodged.

  Someone had forced entry here.

  Heart beating faster now, I paused in front of the door, peering through the half-curtained window to see if I could glimpse anything out-of-place beyond. The interior was too deep in shadow for me to make out the room.

  On a gamble that whoever had broken into Taldo’s home was long gone, I knocked loudly, waited, and then pushed the door back.

  At first I could not see anything amiss. The door opened onto a sitting room with a dining table crammed in one corner, the kitchen visible in the room beyond. Perhaps Taldo was traveling, and someone had broken in. Yet I saw no sign that anyone had rummaged through his belongings.

  Then I noticed the plate on the dining table. It still held a slice of bread and two poached eggs, though something—a mouse, perhaps—had begun nibbling at the eggs, leaving a trail of yolk off the side of the plate. The chair was knocked askew as well, and the corner of one rug had been scuffed up.

  I needed to escape the place. The shadows were playing havoc with my eyes, bringing up shadowy figures lurking in the corners of my vision.

  Backing hastily out of the sitting room, I wrenched the door open and fled.

  I ran down the alleyway, and could not bring myself to slow until the ambling traffic of Market Street brought me back to my senses.

  A stitch was knotting in my chest, and I clutched at the laces of my dress, breathing harshly. I could not reach my family’s home soon enough. Just outside the door I paused, not wishing to alarm them, and gulped down a few deep breaths before entering.

  No customers had appeared in my absence, which did not surprise me; afternoon was traditionally the time for shopping. I strode up to the table where my parents both sat, my mother examining the rusted hinge on an enchanted locket while my father spread jam on his millet roll.

  “Cady! You look a fright,” my mother said. “What has happened to you?”

  “That house you told me about,” I said warily. “The fourth one down Broom Street, on the left. Are you sure gave me the correct address?”

  “Yes,” my mother said at once.

  “The house is empty. It looks like someone broke in.”

  My father tore off his smock and thrust it at the young apprentice, who had been busy polishing candlesticks; I guessed he was the child of a neighboring family. “Mind the shop for me. If someone comes in, fetch Kiera.”

  The boy gulped and backed away as my parents tore past.

  “You’re certain the place is empty?” my mother asked, glancing over her shoulder as we rounded the corner.

  I nodded, breathing hard. Already winded as I was, I was hurrying to keep up.

  One of Taldo’s neighbors, out scrubbing the front step, cast us a suspicious look as we turned down Broom Street. Aside from her, the street was unchanged. Stopping in front of the same house I had tried, my parents glanced unhappily at one another before my father raised his fist and rapped four times. The sound was gobbled up by the stale air of the alley. He tried again, and this time his fierce knocking dislodged the door and set it swinging in on itself.

  “That’s definitely been damaged,” my father said quietly, noting the ill-aligned hinges and the dented bolt.

  I was grateful to have my parents leading the way this time as we crept into the dark house. My father grabbed a candlestick from the window, lit it with one of the enchanted fire-starters his shop specialized in, and held it aloft as he continued forward.

  “Look!” my mother whispered, leaning over the plate I had discovered earlier. “He must have been taken somewhere against his will.”

  “Not by thieves, though,” my father muttered. “Look at that.” He nudged his toe against something that must have fallen in the struggle—a bulging coin-purse. “They must have wanted him for something else.”

  “What, though?” I muttered.

  My mother turned on me. “This ‘employer’ of yours—he wouldn’t have done away with anyone who knew he wasn’t nobility, would he?”

  “Of course not!” I surprised myself with the vehemence of my defense. If Hunter was a danger to anyone, it was himself. He had a decent heart, beneath all the arrogance. “Nothing of the sort. Besides, if he wanted to do that, he would have needed to remove Lieman as well.”

  “Are you sure he hasn’t?” my father asked shrewdly.

  “Trust me, he would never do anything so cruel. No, this has nothing to do with us.” I made a note, however, to track down Lieman as soon as possible and ask whether he had any further information.

  “Should we search upstairs as well?” my father asked.

  My mother shook her head. “That would be a violation of his privacy. We should inform the city guards straightaway.”

  “What if he has been tied up somewhere?” my father reasoned. “Just a quick look.”

  While my mother and I stood huddled close together in the dark sitting room, my father took the candle and crept upstairs. He poked his nose in each of the three rooms, looked around briefly, and returned to the stairs.

  “Nothing. No sign of a struggle. He must have been interrupted over his morning meal.”

  After my father had extinguished the candle and returned it to the exact place he had found it, we crept out of that grim house. My father was given the task of reporting the breakin to the city guards, while my mother fetched a simple lunch for me, her hands shaking as she carried the tray downstairs. I wondered if they had a housemaid to assist them with meals, or if one of the neighboring children had been coerced into t
he role. The corn chowder had certainly not cooked itself.

  Neither of us was in the mood to speak. I kept glancing at the door, wishing I had thought to accompany my father, while my mother attempted to make small talk with little enthusiasm. When my father pushed open the door at last, setting the bell a-tinkling, I jumped to my feet.

  “What happened? Is someone going to investigate?” I asked. “Did they have any explanations?”

  My father held up his hands. “One question at a time! Of course they’ll investigate. And they don’t know a thing about it. They don’t know the man. Though one suggested it could be a hate crime.”

  “Why would anyone want to hurt Drifters, of all people?” I said. “Our medical knowledge is rubbish compared to what they can do.”

  “Maybe whoever attacked Taldo was a nonmagical medic who wished to do away with the competition,” my father said. “Or someone who kidnapped him to study his methods.”

  I nodded absently. “I need to get home. If I can find Lieman, I’ll ask him if he knows anything about Taldo’s whereabouts.”

  “Good idea,” my father said.

  “And if you hear anything, let me know. My new house is known as the sculpture garden; ask at The Queen’s Bed, and they can give you directions.”

  My father snagged me in a brief hug as I made for the door. “Take care,” he said. “We’ll always welcome you here.”

  “Tell us at once if you hear word of Taldo,” my mother said, her eyes boring into me.

  “Of course,” I said. “Thank you, Father.”

  On my way home, I decided to pay a visit to the tailor to see whether any of our new garments had been finished. Hunter’s suit and one of my dresses were waiting, folded in kidskin satchels, so I tucked them under my arm. As it was, I did not reach the house until late afternoon.

  Two of the ornamental chairs had been dislodged in the sitting room, and two empty jugs of ale sat on the kitchen table beside a tall glass. Several of the cupboards stood ajar, and the fire was smoldering weakly in its hearth. Only after stumbling across Taldo’s empty home would I have made note of so many out-of-place details.

  Hunter was not to be found. I looked in all of the bedrooms upstairs before collapsing across our massive bed. If this had been a smaller town, I would have gone in search of him. In Baylore, though, there were far too many places he could hide. I worried he had gotten himself drunk and stumbled into some sort of mischief, or that he had come across the same abductor who had done away with Taldo. Feeling so ill at ease, I did not even have the heart to remove my shoes.

  It was growing dark before Hunter returned, announcing his presence with a loud slam of the front door. “Cady!” he bellowed at the staircase.

  He was drunk. I was not surprised.

  “Cady? I’m lonely. Where have you gone?”

  Hugging a shawl over my shoulders to ward against the growing chill of the night, I hurried downstairs to reassure him before he did anything stupid. “Hunter, I’m right here. Where have you been?”

  He managed to focus blearily on me. “Where were you this morning? I couldn’t find you. Thought you’d run off. Final straw at last. I’m sorry ‘bout what I said yesterday.”

  I took his arm and steadied him. “Let’s get you some supper,” I said gently. “I just went to visit my parents. Nothing more. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Well, next time tell me first,” he muttered, stumbling after me into the kitchen.

  “Have you heard of a man named Taldo?” I asked. I was pushing my luck, trying to get any sense out of him just now, but I could not get the matter off my mind. “He’s a Drifter.”

  “No, ‘course not,” he said. “Don’t know anyone in this damn city, ‘cept my bloody family.”

  “Well, he’s gone missing,” I said. “I want to find out why.” I handed him a potato I had stuffed with cheese and onions and charred in the fireplace; it had long since cooled, but Hunter bit into it ravenously nonetheless.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” he said unhelpfully.

  Four bites later, the potato was gone. “Any more?” he asked.

  I found a scrap of bread and a bit of leftover soup, which he polished off as well. Finished at last, he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand and massaged his stomach with the other. I hoped he was not about to be sick.

  “Where have you been?” I ventured.

  “I’m not going to tell you,” he said. “Serves you right.”

  “Fine, then. But we should both get some sleep.” Taking his elbow, I led him upstairs, helped him unbutton his overcoat and untie his shoes, and tucked the covers over him. I had barely crawled in myself when he reached over, groping for me.

  “Go to sleep,” I snapped. I would not let Hunter touch me in this state.

  Muttering to himself, he rolled over and let me be.

  Chapter 8

  I was not about to repeat my mistake from the day before. Instead of racing off in search of Lieman, I had a leisurely breakfast while I waited for Hunter to emerge. At last he stumbled into the kitchen, looking wan and disconsolate.

  “When did I get home?” he asked with a yawn.

  “Not too late,” I said. “Where did you go? Do you remember anything from last night?”

  He frowned, thinking. “No, not too much. I think I stopped at The Queen’s Bed, but I must have gone somewhere else after that. Say, where were you all day?”

  A loud knock at the door interrupted us. “Bloody Varse!” Hunter snapped, wincing.

  “Do you want me to get it?”

  When he did not respond, I rose and unbolted the door. It was the Drifter woman standing on the doorstep.

  Immediately I regretted my laziness this morning. I should have donned my new gown; instead I was wearing the least formal dress in my pitiful wardrobe, still travel-stained and faded. Beside this stunning woman, now in a gown of midnight blue, I could have passed for a scullery maid.

  “Is Messer Hunter around?” she asked haughtily.

  “Just one moment,” I said. Slipping back into the kitchen, I whispered, “It’s that woman from the University again! The professor’s messenger.”

  “What does she want with us?” Hunter asked, disgruntled. “I invited her for dinner, not midmorning tea.”

  I shrugged. “Should I tell her you’re busy?”

  Hunter shook his head. Straightening his collar and smoothing his hair, he made his way to the door. By the time he greeted the Drifter woman, his face had regained its color, and he had shaken off any vestiges of exhaustion.

  “Morning,” he said smoothly. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  The woman shot me a hard look. I realized I had been standing in the kitchen doorway, very obviously eavesdropping. “I have business to discuss with you. Something essential to your plans. And I do not think your sister should be included in the discussion.”

  “Too right you are.” Hunter looked at me, gave me a sideways smile that showed he was just playacting, and said, “Go to your room, young missy. Your tapestries won’t embroider themselves. If you haven’t made any progress by the time this woman leaves, I will be very displeased.”

  I bobbed him a quick curtsey and darted past him, up the stairs and into our bedroom. I wondered if he had changed his mind, and was now wary of the professor. His ridiculous orders gave me the impression he was hoping I would eavesdrop. I watched from behind the half-closed door, waiting until Hunter and the woman had filed into the kitchen and closed the door with a satisfying click, and then I crept back down the stairs. I hoped Hunter planned to signal me in some way before they emerged, because I had no easy escape.

  “…aren’t expecting help with the other part of your stunt, are you?” the woman was asking as I tiptoed to the door. A large gap below the door and a gaping keyhole allowed me to hear the conversation uninterrupted.

  “No, of course not.” I heard a banging sound within, and the Drifter woman made a satisfied sound.


  “So your reputation—”

  “All of it has been with the sole purpose of finding one who could help me with my current task,” Hunter said. “And how did you become acquainted with the professor?”

  “Oh, we have known one another for many years now,” the woman said. “But I hardly have the time to go into my own history. I cannot linger here long—I have much to attend to before the day is up.”

  “Of course, Lady—”

  “Samara,” she said briskly. The name rolled off her lips with more grace than anything she said in the Whitish tongue of Baylore.

  “And our urgent business—I presume it has to do with a…delicate relocation?” Hunter said.

  I imagined Samara nodded at this. “Such a large object will need to be transported with the utmost secrecy, preferably at the dead of night. It would benefit the professor to become acquainted with the object in question a few days before midsummer.”

  From their roundabout manner of speaking, I knew Samara still suspected me of listening at the door. A sudden chill ran through me—how much did she know? Could she read my thoughts?

  I shook my head to dismiss the foolish notion. Drifters could do no such thing. Their sole talent lay in healing. There were one or two races reputed to have the ability, if not to read minds, to manipulate the thoughts of others, but they were rare. My fear was unfounded.

  “When do you want to do it, then?” Hunter asked. “As I’m new here, I have a limited social calendar. I am entirely at your disposal.” I could picture his charming smile.

  “Two nights hence would best suit the professor,” Samara said. “He and I will both assist you. Where should we congregate?”

  Hunter paused a moment before answering. “Do you know the long garden running the length of the hill where the Garden District borders the slums? Just at the northern end of that would be best. There’s a weeping willow there—that’s where I will look for you.”

  “Very well,” Samara said. “I will look for you there, two nights hence.”