Zenos stepped back into the house and noiselessly closed the door behind him. He glanced towards Jaytsy’s room where Mahrree had just taken the children after Peto’s bath. When he was assured all was secure he spoke. “You wanted to know when my Guarder contact finally returned. He’s back, hiding in the forest. I spoke with him then came straight over here.”
“Zenos!” the captain snapped. “Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Zenos winced. “He left quickly back up into the woods. I couldn’t imagine that we’d see in what direction, especially after dark. I thought at first not even telling you until morning. I realize now I should have acted more hastily in speaking up. I actually forgot, sir, with the children and all.” He bit his lower lip. “I am sorry.”
Perrin sighed. “It’s all right. I need to develop protocols for such scenarios. The Guarder, I mean, not the children.” He gave him a forgiving smile. “The army has never encountered a situation like this before. So, are our suspicions correct?”
Zenos nodded. “Yes, he claims he’s a spy, but he wants out. He says he’s been in new training for the past few weeks. They’re trying to teach them to lie without blinking, but he doesn’t understand why. Nor would he tell me where this training is occurring. I think we need to treat him carefully. He started getting edgy when I was asking him questions, and he says they’re watching him.”
“A half-hearted defecting spy,” the captain shook his head. “We’ll see what we can do with him. Keep feeding him and getting him to talk. Did he tell you anything we should be watching for?”
Zenos’s expression turned pained, as if he’d been told to kiss a pimply cousin. He’d been dreading this moment, and, when Perrin heard the report, understood why the young soldier was initially hesitant.
“He said the woods were quiet tonight, but he has ‘existed’ in them for only moments. The forest is not ‘speaking’ to him right now, but it has been ‘singing’, so he promised to listen to it.”
Captain Shin didn’t respond to the odd message—he’d heard weirder from soldiers sogged by a bad batch of illegally brewed barrack mead—but instead stared at the ground, deep in thought. “I’m sure there’s a pattern in the chaos of his scared mind. We may find all we need in there if we can just organize it into something we can understand . . .”
He pulled out of his contemplation and looked decisively at Zenos who still wore an apologetic wince.
“Tomorrow morning have Karna block out some time from my schedule. The three of us are going to plot how to work this Guarder. We’ll also draft some guidelines on how to treat spies and send it to the High General and his advisors. We’re going to need their approval. Thank you, Zenos,” he said, returning the private’s salute.
Then he gripped the soldier’s shoulder and smiled. “And I expect you on these steps again, out of uniform, in two days’ time, Shem.”
---
That night Perrin lay in bed, worrying.
Why was it that when Zenos was around, Perrin felt completely at ease with him, but when he left, Perrin found his thoughts full of cold, dark doubts?
Can he really be trusted?
Those words would come to his mind in solitary moments, which struck Perrin as odd. He believed he was a good judge of character. Whenever he met someone that didn’t feel right, a tightness in his chest warned, Keep an eye out for this one. And he was never wrong.
But he never felt that way about Shem Zenos when he was around.
And so now you’re leaving your children with him? Your most prized possessions? Your own lambs?
It was only at times like this, usually in the dark, when a coldness whispered in his mind,The boy doesn’t deserve your trust.
Perrin didn’t get it. That wasn’t the way he usually felt the Creator’s promptings.
He rubbed his forehead and stared at the timbers criss-crossing the dark ceiling, trying to deduce what Zenos may have done to trip this trap of worry in his mind.
Nothing came.
You’re the bear he’s tamed. Now consider—why would mountain lions roll over in submission to him?
Not even Hogal picked up anything unworthy about the boy. Perrin had made a point of inviting Zenos to Holy Day services, and to his surprise, the young man was eager to go. No one else from the fort ever went to listen to Rector Densal, but Zenos did, with rapt attention.
After the first meeting Perrin introduced Zenos to his great uncle, and then he watched Hogal as the two of them chatted. No one was a greater judge of character than Hogal Densal, and later he pulled Perrin aside during the congregational midday meal.
“Excellent young man there, Perrin! I see wonderful things in his eyes.”
“Really?” Perrin was surprised, and relieved. Already he had been taken by the boy, but he wanted a reason—and at the same time didn’t—to be suspicious of him. “The name hasn’t struck you as interesting?”
Hogal shrugged. “Haven’t heard it come up, but I’ll do a bit of asking around if you’d like.”
That was exactly what Perrin had wanted. The rectors throughout the world had their own communication system, quietly outside of the forts and law enforcers. Few people besides the rectors and their wives knew about that, and Perrin was one of those few. He understood that not every missing wife wanted to be found, not all runaway children should be returned to their parents, and some young men weren’t really out simply to “explore the world.”
But apparently Shem Zenos was. No one yet had sent word to Hogal that Zenos was wanted elsewhere.
So Perrin had allowed himself to be won over by the perennially cheerful, astute, and charismatic young man. Zenos never let him down.
So why the worry?
He cleared his throat loudly next to his wife dozing next to him, and Mahrree automatically mumbled, “Peto’s crying?”
“No, but I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve been thinking . . . about Zenos watching our children.”
She chuckled groggily. “I can’t believe he agreed to that. In a way, I wish we could spy on him the entire time to see how well he does.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he nodded in the dark. His spy glass at the fort could come in handy.
“Perrin,” Mahrree said, now more awake and with an earnestness in her voice. “Can I say something about the private?”
Perrin tensed next to her. Here it comes. She could evaluate character as well.
“You may not like what I have to say, but I just can’t keep it in any longer.”
He nodded again, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. He needed to hear it from someone else, and not only from that unfamiliar voice in his mind. He needed confirmation that he should be suspicious, that Shem Zenos—
“Here it is,” Mahrree announced. “While I was watching him with Peto, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Shem Zenos is THE most adorable soldier I’ve ever seen!”
She giggled as Perrin groaned. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting.
Then again, as he continued to pretend he was annoyed with her evaluation, he realized that was exactly he was hoping to hear: Mahrree liked Shem Zenos, too.
“I still think we should find him a girl,” Mahrree decided. “Some of my former students are his age. One of them might be a good match. I know—Teeria!”
Perrin cringed. “The giggler?”
“No,” Mahrree said. “That’s Sareen.”
“So the hair-tosser, then.”
Mahrree sighed in exasperation. “I told you—Hitty’s visiting her grandmother for a few seasons.”
It wasn’t as if keeping up with the comings and goings of teenage girls was the biggest priority in his life. “So . . . the smart one?”
“Yes! Shem strikes me as the kind of boy that would appreciate a thoughtful girl like Teeria.”
Perrin pursed his lips. “She’s rather calm, though.” That was a nice way of saying dull, sober, and as vibrant as a rotting cabbage.
“And a go
od balance for his exuberance, I would think. Teeria would be a good match for such an excellent young man.”
Excellent young man.
Everyone thinks that, Perrin thought to himself.
So why wouldn’t the doubting voice leave him alone?
Chapter 6 ~ “We’re trying to make a good impression!”
Leaving the house two days later happened in starts and stops. Mahrree had hoped for an early snow to cancel their plans, but the late Harvest day was sunny and the cold was tolerable. Before they left, Mahrree had to kiss her babies.
Then kiss them again.
Then check their cloths which she had just changed.
Then remind Shem, for the fourth time, all about feeding them if they should return late.
Then she was about to do something else that no one would ever know about, because that’s when Perrin finally picked her up and hefted her over his shoulder like a bag of grain. He carried her to the open wagon he borrowed from the fort while Jaytsy happily waved and called “Bye-bye” to “Ma” and “Dog!” from the door. Shem held Peto, who didn’t even notice her leaving. He was too busy poking Shem’s face to make him say “Ow!” in silly ways.
Perrin plopped his wife on the front bench of the wagon.
“Stay!” he commanded in the same voice he used on the dog, and she sat there obediently, albeit grumpily. He never took his eyes off her, as if she might bolt if he did, and he climbed in next to her and slapped the reins on the horses. Soon they were off towards the south end of the village to see what all the new house excitement was about. Mahrree was sure she could hear her babies crying in the distance, but Perrin refused to turn around.
“This will be good for you, I promise.”
“How?” Mahrree asked miserably.
“I’m not sure yet, either,” he said, fighting the urge to glance behind him.
Mahrree noticed. Her husband was always slightly paranoid; it was part of his job. Maybe he was concerned about Guarders visiting his home when he wasn’t there.
“The private—I mean, Shem—didn’t wear his sword,” she massaged her hands. “And he won’t know where yours is hidden.”
Perrin patted the long knife secured in his waistband under his brown leather jacket. “I’m sure he has his long knife somewhere on him. And I showed him where the other knife is in the secret drawer of the eating table.” He began to smile. “Then Zenos put on that overly-grave expression of his and said, ‘Sir, I don’t believe in letting children play with knives.’”
Mahrree couldn’t help but chuckle. “He’ll be all right with them, won’t he?”
Perrin shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Said he has more experience with children than I do. That might be true, depending on how much he watched his nieces. I suppose our two most important possessions are safe. He’s becoming quite skilled with the sword. Nearly bested me the other day in practice. I’ll have to sharpen up a bit.”
Mahrree sighed. “It’s not that I don’t trust Shem, but I feel like I’ve abandoned our babies.”
“Maybe we can remember what it was like when we were courting,” Perrin suggested.
“Courting? We never courted properly!” Mahrree reminded him. “We debated until you got tired of losing to me, then you showed up on my doorstep when you got tired of missing me. Now we’re both just tired!”
Perrin smiled and wrapped his arm around her. “Now this is something I haven’t been able to do for awhile without someone small becoming jealous.”
It took her some time, but eventually Mahrree agreed that it was pleasant to look up and around her for once, instead of always down and into someone’s changing cloths. As the horses trotted through the village, she and Perrin realized how much they’d been missing. Poe wasn’t the only young man in fancy clothes. Scattered here and there were other people in ‘outfits’ in vibrant colors and extravagant textures. Mahrree had seen some people dressed up at the market in the late morning, but now in the afternoon there seemed to be even more examples of impractical clothing.
Then again, she was never one to pay attention to what people wore. It didn’t seem worth noting, unless someone wasn’t wearing anything at all.
When they passed a man in bright purple suit coat and trousers, Mahrree nudged Perrin. “Do you think you’re a purple man?”
Perrin glanced down at his rough cotton brown trousers and his comfortably worn leather jacket. “Do I look like a purple man? I didn’t even know that was a color you could wear! Maybe they think that’s ‘progress,’ but I certainly don’t. No, I don’t want to worry about mussing up my ‘outfits.’ And I like knowing exactly where my clothing came from. Did you hear that silk is worm vomit?”
Mahrree curled her lip and gave him a withering sidelong glance. “First, that purple suit wasn’t silk. It looked more like worsted wool. And second, I doubt silk is worm vomit! How do these stories get started, anyway?”
He grinned. “That’s how I explained the origination of the silk cocoons to Poe. He confided to me that he was worried about where his shirt was really from. His friends kept telling him it was bug droppings. He was rather pleased to hear it came from the other end.”
Perrin glanced down at her plain woolen gray skirt.
“So, tell me,” he started slowly, “are you at all interested in silk? I couldn’t help but notice you admiring Mrs. Hili’s dress. That really was something, I suppose.”
Mahrree thought about that. “Yes, it was something. But not something I think I could see myself in. The fabric feels like thin water. I touched Poe’s collar to see. But if I don’t feel comfortable feeding a baby or gathering eggs in it, I don’t think I’d enjoy it.”
They travelled past the more expensive shops where they never bothered to go before. Mahrree saw more odd colors in clothing—even orange—and she wondered how many carrots and pumpkins were sacrificed for the dye. Maybe that’s why they weren’t having the catapults. The eggplants were needed for men’s purple suits.
Of course her mother would correct that notion and tell her something ridiculous, such as the purple dye came from boiling seashells or something.
Finally Mahrree said aloud, “I wonder how much the silk costs?”
“About a week’s salary for some of the fancier dresses,” Perrin said casually.
“That’s madness!” she decided. She turned sharply to her husband. “And how would you know that, Mr. I-think-silk-is-bug-droppings?”
“Worm vomit. I said ‘worm vomit.’”
“Still, how did you know?”
“I was just checking, in case you . . . I don’t know. Felt like you needed something,” he hedged. “We’re not rich, but the army pays enough, and we do have some stashed away in the cellar, and we’re not exactly poor people, and . . .” Perrin didn’t know where to end his rambling.
Mahrree was suddenly very aware of the green pea smudges on her faded tan tunic, and pulled her cloak around her tighter to hide them. “Perrin, do you think I need a dress like that?”
“I don’t really know what you need,” he admitted uncomfortably, “but I want you to have something nice, something that you’d like. You could choose something today, if you wish.”
She saw the damp spot on her skirt. She stopped trying to identify damp spots when Jaytsy was only a week old.
“Do you want me to look like Mrs. Hili? I mean, I know I don’t look exactly like I used to. I think I know what ‘frumpy’ means now, but I can change that. If you wish,” she added lamely.
Perrin was quiet before he shook his head and chuckled. “Do you know what this conversation reminds me of? How awkward we were when we ran into each other the first time in the market, and we flattened your bread between us. Remember? But Mahrree, I learned to tell you exactly what I think. And so here it is: No, wife. I definitely don’t want you to look like Mrs. Hili.”
She turned and kissed his shoulder.
“She’s far too heavy,” he added. “I could never pick her up without stra
ining something vital.”
Mahrree laughed. “You’re terrible, Perrin!”
Perrin grinned. “Maybe dresses for you would be cheaper, since you’d require only half the cloth.”
“Now, stop! You’re just being rude.”
His mouth dropped open. “And she wasn’t rude to us? Did you hear how she was talking to us the other night about the children? Or were you really taking a nap there on the front porch?”
Mahrree shrugged wearily. She really didn’t want to revisit that conversation.
Perrin continued. “Now, my wife, do you want to see me in purple? Or orange? Or—” he offered a fake shudder, “—pink? Because for you, my wife, I would wear it,” his voice was full of sarcastic solemnity. “I will wear pink worm vomit for you.”
Mahrree was laughing so hard she couldn’t answer.
“Right over there,” he suggested as the horses trotted past a new shop with striped suits displayed in thin, clear windows. “On the way home, just for you. We’ll stop and you can outfit me however you wish.”
Mahrree finally recovered enough to protest. “If you wear pink bug droppings or worm vomit or whatever it is, I’ll find me another man in uniform! Please, please, don’t do it. What would be next, men in skirts? Women in trousers? No, keep your leather and your cotton. All traditional and safe sources of clothing. I’m really not that progressive!”
The rest of the way to the new houses they shamelessly laughed at ‘outfits’ they passed. They nearly fell off the carriage when a man emerged from a shop with a hat nearly as tall as his head. They were still giggling uncontrollably like children—or two adults who hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in well over a year—when they pulled up to the new houses.
Nothing here was humorous as they took in the peculiar scene before them.
A small tidy shed with the word “Office” painted neatly above the door sat near the entrance of a wide road which led to several homes under construction.
While the house shapes varied slightly one from the other, the overall effect was to suggest that a giant artist had been making very proper and precise—yet wholly unimaginative—blocks of gray. And because Mrs. Giant didn’t like them, he decided to drop his enormously dull sculptures on the world at exactly the same distance apart.
Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge) Page 14
