Shell's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  Henry said, “But you don’t want us to mention that knife at the next village? Right?”

  She shook her head, “While I generally try to think the best about people, I understand greed, too. That knife is the only thing here that is a direct link to a family that will recognize it. It is probably worth more than a small village. I’ll trust myself to do what is right with it until identified.”

  Shell liked her attitude. She was worried first about the families who must stay awake on dark winter nights thinking about those relatives who had disappeared, never to be heard from again. If possible, Camilla would provide closure for a missing father, son, wife, or sister. Locating one was much better than none, and one might also solve the deaths of two or three if the one traveled with others.

  Backpacks and bedrolls ready for travel, he took them directly to the path the wolf had told him about. All at the cabin was left for others to return and to hopefully do what is right. But he knew that a village could do little by itself. Most had a single person as a peacekeeper, a part-time farmer or storekeeper who had no experience with what they left behind. A city might do more, depending on the officials in office—or it might do nothing.

  Word of the find might leak to the population, and a treasure hunt might ensue. A crooked official might seize everything and keep it for himself and his cronies. Shell decided that the wealth in his backpack could easily be stolen again if left at the cabin, but if he and Camilla retained it, their family would use it to help others, and perhaps to fight Breslau.

  Guilt made the backpack heavier until he came to the realization that spending part of the money to fight Breslau and prevent an invasion of their kingdom was helping the dead’s family and friends. Instantly, the backpack rode easier.

  The forest they traveled held few evergreens, but the dense growth of trees with wide leaves made a canopy so thick it was nearly impossible to see the blue sky. Between the trees grew a tangled undergrowth of weeds, shrubs, bushes, vines, and flowers. The mass of growing plants crowded each other and had crept onto what had once been a small road. It had narrowed to a path, and in some places Shell had to look ahead to see where it went because of the overgrowth. In a few more years, it would fade from existence when the plants took better hold.

  They traveled in single file, with Shell at the lead. He watched for footprints of people, or other signs anyone else had used the path in recent times, but the only thing he noticed unusual were the tracks the wolf left near soft dirt or mud. He knew the wolf was ranging ahead, as usual. It had flushed rabbits, an owl, squirrels, five deer, and a porcupine it knew to stay away from.

  Camilla followed him and asked in a voice it would be hard for Henry to hear, “Do you think I’m right about what we found back there? I’m talking about keeping the money.”

  For Shell, the answer was simple. “If you knew, or had any way to find out who the rightful owners are, it would be different. Even if you somehow knew all the names, who was carrying what? How would you divide it?”

  Later, when they were taking a break in a patch of rare sunshine in a clearing, Henry said to Shell, “I don’t understand what you meant about my share of the farm’s crops.”

  “The family that bought your farm didn’t have enough money for the full price I asked. They paid you what they could, and each year they will send one of them to find you with the worth of a portion of what they grow.” Shell kept it simple, ignoring the percentage or term.

  “I’ve been thinking. You are taking me to live with relatives that I don’t know.”

  Shell glanced at Camilla before continuing. He didn’t want her entering the conversation when she didn’t have all the facts, but she seemed to understand. “You share the same blood with your relatives.”

  “They might not like me, or even know that I’m alive. Their house might be too small, or I might not like them. What if the father beats his children?”

  “All valid questions we don’t know how to answer. But I will tell you this to ease your mind. When we get there, you tell me your concerns, and we’ll deal with them.” Shell kept his voice soft and understanding, trying to alleviate the boy’s fears.

  “What can you do?” Henry asked.

  Shell shrugged. “To begin with, you own enough silver in my purse that you can find a house or small farm to buy, along with a few animals, seed, and a farmhand to show you how to make a life. If meeting your relatives doesn’t work out, we’ll find you a nice place and set you up. Or you can buy a house nearer the city and work on the docks or anywhere else. You’ll have a home and money to buy food.”

  Henry scowled. “I know I’m only fourteen, but then tell me this. How can you sell a run-down farm with no animals or crops and buy another with all those things, and still have money left over for a farmhand? Can you tell me how that works?”

  Shell exchanged another look with Camilla, who nodded her preapproval of what he was about to say. “Henry, you have helped us, and we appreciate it. So, I will use a little of the money we found at the cabin to supplement buying you a nice farm if that is what we decide. Don’t argue. Your money will pay for most of it, but you are part of this, and we owe you.”

  “What I was going to say is that I’d rather go with you than have another farm. I don’t like living on them.”

  Shell nodded in understanding. “Listen, if Camilla and I were going on a business trip or visiting our families, you would be more than welcome. What I have not shared with you is a secret.”

  “You can’t tell me?”

  “I am going to tell you part of it, but I’m searching for the right words,” Shell said.

  Camilla placed her hands on her hips and said to Shell, “For the sake of the Old Gods, let me do this. Henry, we’re heading on a mission for our families, a dangerous one. One of both of us may die before the new moon.”

  “I still want to go.”

  She shook her head. “If you were five years older, maybe. But if we took you along, our families would be so disappointed in us for placing a child in danger, but what we can do is stop where you live on our way back and visit you. Maybe things will change by then.”

  Tears fell from wet eyes. “Pudding could protect me.”

  Shell said, “The wolf is a fighter. I may need him to protect me, in fact, I probably will.”

  Henry said, “Promise to stop and see me. If I’m unhappy, you’ll take me away?”

  “We want you to be happy. If you’re not, we’ll need a different plan,” Camilla said. “Now we change the subject. We talk about our story.”

  “Story?” Henry asked, obviously confused.

  Camilla said, “I think we’ve almost reached the road, so we’re probably close to the nearest village. There are dangerous things to speak of, and you don’t know which is which, so you should speak when spoken to, but say little. Say good morning, if it is said to you, but say nothing about Pudding, or the dead bodies back there.”

  “I wouldn’t get you into trouble, I promise,” Henry said.

  “We know that. But here’s the thing. We may have to lie or to keep some things unsaid, so none of us is suspected of what happened back there. If the sheriff or constable gets a whiff of a lie, all three of us may spend the winter in a cold, wet cell. If they decide we had anything to do with those murders, three ropes will have nooses with our heads in them.” Camilla’s words were striking him like stinging insects. Henry almost flinched at them.

  He said, “I won’t talk to anybody, and I won’t leave your side.”

  Shell said, “They might talk to us separately, to make sure we are telling the same story. So, we need to discuss it now, and then if they do that, only answer what questions you must, and do not volunteer anything. Tell them about your beating and that you are getting things mixed up in your head and don’t remember.”

  Camilla said, “By the way, the bruises on your face look better, and the swelling has gone down a lot since yesterday.”

  “Before that my one eye
was swelled almost shut.”

  She said, “You’ll probably have bruises for a ten-day, but each day will be better.”

  Shell realized it neared noon, and they needed to get to the village, or town, and report the murders quickly or they would be spending at least one additional day. This time, Camilla took the lead and before long they came to the road. She looked left, then right and shrugged over which way to go.

  The clop of horse hooves came from the right. Soon a tall horse with an old man leading it came into view. He stumbled to a stop and took a careful look at them before coming closer, but even then, he halted a dozen wary steps away.

  Shell said, “Good day, sir. Can we ask which way will take us to the nearest town?”

  “Bretton is right behind me a short way.”

  He couldn’t help himself. Shell said, “Sir, you seem scared of us.”

  The old man didn’t introduce himself, nor did he relax. “Things happen around here. A man must watch out for himself. I suggest you do the same.”

  Shell glanced at the bruises on Henry’s face where the man was looking and understood part of the wariness but suspected the unsaid fears with the farmer had more to do with the disappearances of people in the area. He said, “Well then, I thank you for the information. Camilla, Henry, we need to go.”

  As they made a wide berth around him, the old man used his horse to shield himself from them getting too close to him. Once they were past, the clop, clop of the horse speeded up. Shell didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the man and didn’t blame him for his fears. There must be wild stories told about the evil done nearby, the missing travelers and the people hunting for them, and he suspected that the reputation of the area would be sullied for years.

  Camilla came up to walk beside him. She said, “I didn’t know how we were going to get past him.”

  Henry said, “He had a knife hidden behind his leg.”

  “I can’t hold that against him,” Shell said, irritated that he hadn’t noticed the knife.

  The road wound around a hill and down a slope. In front of them, far down the road, several plumes of smoke rose, and as the road opened into a valley, the village of Bretton stood before them. Even from the hill and distance, they saw that the village appeared almost deserted, and the buildings dilapidated. At least two buildings had recently burned to the ground, leaving black scars on the ground where they once stood.

  But the remaining buildings were little better off. One seemed to lean in one direction, and a second the opposite. The walls were unpainted, or the whitewash worn off since the last time it had been applied. A lonely looking milk cow was staked in one yard, but it was the only animal in sight. Not even a dog wandered out to meet them.

  Camilla said, “I don’t like what I see.”

  Shell agreed. “Maybe we can just find the person in charge and move on. Tonight.” But even with those words, he reached out and touched the wolf with his mind, finding it already on the far side of the village, waiting. Its mind clear and eager, not the fear and danger Shell expected. But it wanted to move on. It didn’t like Bretton.

  They walked closer, and as they passed the first ramshackle building, Shell felt the eyes on them, but when he looked at the nearest house, a curtain of a window was quickly pulled closed. A man stood at the corner of another house, a hatchet in hand, a defensive stance that told Shell that one move in the man’s direction would have him fleeing. The fear was palpable, almost a scent they could smell.

  Henry walked at their rear and said, “There are at least twenty houses. Where are the children? And dogs, chickens, and goats?”

  They reached the single cross street. Turning right took them west, and Shell said as he turned, “This way. We’re leaving here.”

  Neither protested, and they moved faster down the road, walking in a tight bunch in the direction of the waiting wolf, their eyes searching, and their ears hearing none of the familiar sounds they expected. The houses and buildings looked weary, forlorn, and many stood empty, tall grass in front, and weeds taking over.

  A man slowly stepped from a doorway ahead, a sword prominently at his hip, his right-hand resting on the pommel. He walked to the center of the dirt street and paused, feet spread apart, facing them. A sad smile found its way to his lips. When they drew nearer, he said, “Leaving so soon?”

  Pudding? Shell ventured the single thought. The wolf had moved closer to the village, but remained calm. The wolf relayed no animosity or danger. Shell returned his attention to the man. “Is that your business?”

  “It is.”

  While Camilla and Henry remained where they were, ready to fight at the first indication, Shell was detecting something else as he walked carefully closer. Yes, the man prevented them from leaving the town, but there were laugh lines around his eyes, and more beside his mouth, the kind that a man earns after years of good humor.

  Shell pulled to a stop a few steps away and asked, “Why is it your business?”

  “I’m the constable, appointed by the Earl of Princeton, himself. I’m making it my business to know why each person is entering, leaving, or passing through our village.” The words were soft, sincere, and said with iron just below the surface.

  An idea entered Shell’s thinking. This man didn’t wish to fight or delay them; he was conducting deadly business, meaning possible deadly to himself, not Shell. But if he had truly been appointed by the Earl, he held the King’s authority. “Constable, I see that your village is about to fall down. Then you will be out of a job.”

  “Why are you here? I demand an answer.”

  Shell nodded and said, “I will certainly answer, but first I need to know why your village is almost deserted.”

  “Most have left in the last few years.”

  “Leaving their homes and buildings to fall apart? Would that have anything to do with tales of missing people around here?”

  The sword was drawn before Shell could move, the point held near his throat. Shell glanced to where he expected to see Pudding charging to his rescue, but the wolf didn’t move from the bushes he hid behind. The wolf still didn’t think the constable meant to harm him, although the blade didn’t waver. He held his arms out, palms empty. “I think we might be able to help you. My name is Shell, and this is Camilla and Henry.”

  “What are you doing here? I won’t ask again.”

  “We’re on our way to Fleming from over near Bear Mountain. Henry has lost his parents, and we’re taking him to live with his relatives.”

  “By the Six Gods, two more people missing?” The man’s face paled, and he looked ready to faint, not fight.

  Realizing the incorrect assumption the man had reached, Shell stepped closer to the blade, “No, I’m sorry, he didn’t lose them around here. There was an accident. In their barn at home.”

  The point of the sword wavered.

  There seemed no reason to belabor the truth. The constable was obviously aware of the problem and doing what he could to resolve it. Shell said, “But on our way, we found a lot of dead people.”

  “You found them? Are any alive?”

  Shell shook his head. “We also killed two.”

  The sword touched his throat. Camilla snapped, as she stalked forward, “Put that damned sword away and listen to him you fool. Would he be telling you all of this if he was part if it? We’ve had a couple of hard days you are not going to give us another.”

  Shell hadn’t turned his head to look at Camilla, but suddenly she was standing a single step in front of the constable, her face red with anger, and fists balled. Shell said, “I’d listen to her if I was you.”

  The constable let the tip of the sword fall near the ground, then he half-turned and slipped it into the scabbard before turning back to Shell. “I am sorry, son. Everyone around here is scared, those few of us left. Now, you say you found something?”

  Shell felt more eyes on them from the veiled windows. He nodded to the door the constable had come from and said, “Can we d
o this off the street?”

  “Of course.”

  On the way, Shell tried to decide how best to explain. Inside was a kitchen and a table with two chairs. Shell reached for Henry and spun him around, then reached deep into his backpack. His probing fingers found a ball of cloth and he pulled it out and then spilled the contents on the tabletop.

  “Great Gods, what is that?” the constable hissed, not touching any of the rings, bracelets, chains, or medallions.

  Shell pulled the second and third bundle out and dumped them beside the other. “We found all that. We want it returned to the owners.”

  The constable sat heavily in one of the chairs. “How in the names of the ancient Gods am I supposed to do that?”

  “We think that when word of this gets out, people will contact you and describe a ring, or necklace, or whatever to identify their friend or relative. You can identify some of the dead people with that on your table.”

  The constable pulled his eyes away from more wealth than he’d probably ever imagined. He said, “Tell me about them. The ones you killed.”

  Shell relayed the story quickly, explaining where they had placed the two murderers in the forest, and the ravine that stank so much they hadn’t gone near. He didn’t mention the wolf, but let the constable think he and Henry had slain the men. Shell didn’t mention the coins he and Camilla carried, either, but for the most part, the rest of the story was short, clear, and true.

  The constable said, “You will go with me to this cabin? Take me there?”

  “No,” Shell said. “We have important business, but Camilla has drawn pictures of the two men, and she can draw you a map that will take you there.” He pulled the oilskin from his backpack, careful not to let the coins inside jingle, and handed him the two folded images of the dead men. He wouldn’t want to have to explain the coins when he didn’t fully understand if taking them was right.

  The constable reacted to the second drawing by saying, “I’ve seen this man. He’s been here many times.”

  “We figured they had to buy supplies somewhere,” Shell said.