He lifted off the pillow, gulping in breaths. The pungent aroma of herbs and sweat hung heavy in the air. Seth’s nose couldn’t ignore the stench any longer. Getting out of bed, he hurried to the window and opened it. The cold air of early morning felt good against his face. Rubbing his eyes, he looked out across the empty fields. How had he gotten to Paddy's Inn?
Adjusting the small lantern on the table, he raised the lights in the bedchamber. A simple chest of drawers stood against the wall. He lifted the plain white pitcher from its top and poured cool water into the basin. The sensation was heaven upon his face. Seth closed his eyes, forcing the fog of illness from his mind. Memories, full of horrific images, came at him in a rush. His memory of that night grew stronger now as anger pushed aside the grief. Some moments were missing, but one detail burned in his thoughts. Pavel Sandor, his mother's murderer, was still on Marianna.
Clean clothes and a pair of boots waited for him in a chair next to the chest of drawers. Steadying his weakened body against the wall, he pulled on the trousers. The effort it took to finish this simple task helped him to understand how close to death he'd actually come.
Sunlight hadn't quite reached the hall as he made his way to the common room. The inn was quiet this morning, as if he were the only guest. A chair squeaked in the corner. Fergus McCloud sat at one of the tables. His stern features concentrated on the books and parchments spread out before him. Body remaining still and upright, he used his left hand to ease the walking stick a bit closer.
"Emma and I may leave this shabby prison today. Doctor McFadden insists you stay here until your strength returns." The headmaster's hard eyes remained upon the parchment in his hands. "I expect you to recover soon, boy. You’ve been enough of a bother. I will not have a malingerer living in my house."
"What makes you think I'd stay under your roof for a moment longer than I must? My reasons for remaining friendly with you are gone."
"So, the truth is out at last." Fergus lifted his gaze and gave him a humorless grin. "What will the town think of your sainted mother when her secret comes to light? Who will be the saint then, eh boy? Their dearly departed Anne McCloud or the man who raised her bastard son?" He struggled to his feet and began gathering his belongings. "Your mother may have catered to your every whim, but I will not. You will do as I say, boy, or you will be out on the street. And another thing. I don't want you near those Logans again."
"I'll be out of your home as quickly as I can manage, Headmaster. We need not see each other again except in passing."
Fergus’ crippled figure lumbered out of the door. He spared Seth one last nasty look. It held the same wild anger he'd seen the night the headmaster had fought with Seth's mother. She'd warned Seth they were alone and without means the night she died. He understood now what she meant.
Paddy pushed the kitchen doors open with his back. Dishes rattled as he carried in a breakfast tray. Riley came in behind him, a half-eaten sausage link in his fingers. The other hand held firmly to the pot of fresh tea. He grinned a welcome, but his good humor disappeared when the headmaster's door slammed shut. Riley hurried around the bar to stand beside Seth.
"What did old Fussbottom have to say?"
"He was simply being his usual charming self."
"I'll bet." Paddy slammed the tray down a little too hard. Sausages rolled off the plates to hide amongst the utensils.
"Dismiss me out of my own rooms and complain about my food, will he? Good riddance to the foul creature. Teb! More breakfast! Seth's awake and hungry. Have a seat, boys."
They took their plates and plucked up the stray sausages. Seth sniffed at the meat in his fingers. It smelled of pork and thyme. His stomach growled in demanding gurgles until he took a bite. Even grief couldn't sway his need for food.
"Okay, Seth?" Riley sat down beside him when Paddy had gone back to the kitchens.
He nodded. "How long have I been here?"
"Nearly a week."
He'd been in a sick bed for almost a week while a killer was free to roam about the island? Too much time had passed. The trail for Sandor had grown cold, but there was still a chance. The villain's fear of the ranger had been evident even in Seth's stupor. He'd been warned to watch over Seth. Sandor was still close.
Other memories suddenly pushed their way into his thoughts. A white face and blue lips. Cold, dead hands. Seth pushed away the image quickly.
"They’ve buried my mother then."
Grief had come into his life without warning. Its heavy presence invaded the room, muting his quiet words. Forks clinked on plates as they ate in silence. Riley slumped in the seat next to him. Rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, he was struggling to find the right words.
"I'm sorry, Seth." Riley put a tiny vile onto the counter beside his plate. "You dropped this while you were, um, not yourself."
He plucked it up and held the tiny bit of glass closer. Remnants of a rather foul liquid coated the bottom. This vile he remembered well. The taste of death would haunt his nightmares for a good long while.
Their host pushed back into the common room carrying more eggs, potatoes, and sausage. He nodded with pleasure as he looked upon Seth's empty plate. The dish didn't stay empty for long. Paddy piled on more potatoes and meat.
"I’m sorry for quarantining your pub. Did it cost you business for an entire week?"
Paddy gave him a wave. "No worries, Seth. I made out the better for it. Someone gave me a full week’s lodging for the entire inn. A stranger came just before the constable and Riley here brought you in the wagon. He paid me a little extra to keep silent, but I reckon I can talk about him to you."
"A stranger? Was he tall? Taller than me, I mean? And did he wear a great cloak?"
"You met him then?"
"Yes. We've met."
This ranger was taking a great deal of interest in him. Seth sorted through his remaining memories from the night of violence. He'd worn a badge on his chest with “Jalora Legion” spelled out in gold letters. Sandor had feared him, but Emma treated the ranger with deep respect.
"Did this ranger give you any idea why he's taken such an interest in me?"
Paddy closed his lips tightly and pushed away from the bar. Sweat had formed along his brow and bubbled up on his bulbous nose. Shaking hands began to fuss with the dirty dishes as he stacked them on the tray.
"Raiders didn't kill my mother. Someone else murdered her and tried to kill me too. The ranger came into my room and saved me from someone with a heavy Tslavic accent called Sandor."
Paddy’s face turned white and he gripped Seth’s arm in warning. "Pavel Sandor? Are you absolutely sure? No. It's not possible. That murderous snake can't be here on Marianna. Seth, promise me you’ll not speak to anyone about what happened or mention his name again. Danger will follow if you do. You too, Riley."
Riley shrugged. "I don’t know enough to tell anything."
"That’s enough excitement for you today. I should have kept my mouth shut as it is."
"Wait. What about the ranger, Paddy? What is the Jalora Legion? Please tell me. I've so many questions."
The older man frowned and wiped at his sweaty head again. Eyes normally willing to hold Seth's gaze waivered and looked down at his hands. He shook his head slowly.
"Please, Paddy. You don't know what it's like to find out nothing you thought you knew about yourself is the truth."
"I suppose not. Very well, you have to right to know about the ranger at least. Before I settled here, I lived in Lea where their legion headquarters is." His quick glance to the door was full of fear. "I’ve seen them in action. When a ranger pulls his sword, nobody stands a chance against him. Fastest thing on two legs, they are. Let’s hope he doesn’t return to Haven Bay anytime soon."
"He seemed willing enough to help me, though he definitely wants something in return."
"They aren’t sweet and cuddly, boy. A friend of mine got himself into trouble with the law once. He made the mistake of trying to fight his way t
o freedom. One of those rangers split him right in two. There. That's enough of that."
Paddy picked up the tray and pressed his back against the double doors. "Keep what I've told you to yourselves. Trust me. You don't want to interfere in ranger business."
"Why don't we just ask Emma about the ranger?" Riley asked when Paddy had left the room. "I saw them together. Emma seemed very friendly with him."
"The ranger has left Marianna. He's not our primary concern right now. I have to find my mother's killer. He's going to pay for what he's done."
Somewhere Pavel Sandor was watching and waiting. Their battle of wits was about to begin.
The days passed much too quickly as Seth recovered. Dread at returning to the McCloud home was regrettably replaced with acceptance. His first morning back in the somber dwelling found him standing before the mirror to regard the unthinkable. The Grey Cliff Isles had many different waistcoats men wore to mark them in their trade. Marianna had four types alone. He’d been cursed with the dullest among them. Fingering the unadorned black waistcoat of a scholar, he frowned at the image. Even the buttons were dull.
"This is no longer my fate," he whispered to the sickly looking young man in the mirror.
The future with its unknown paths was no longer a worry. His will was intent upon one thing, finding his mother's killer. The father who had abandoned his child, his mother's true identity, and the mysterious ranger would have to wait. He'd seek out their mysteries after his next meeting with Sandor. Provided he survived the exchange, of course.
A loud bang beneath him announced the start of the day. Good. The headmaster had left for school. Now was the time to search for clues from his mother's secret life. Steadying his nerve, he crept to her bedchamber door. He reached up on the door frame where she'd kept her key. His fingers came away empty.
"Your uncle has the key." Emma came to stand at his back. "He refuses to let me pack up her things. I think he's taking her death harder than he'll admit."
Her sympathies for the man rankled. He let the cold facade he used with the headmaster stretch across his face. Emma, too consumed with her own grief, didn't seem to notice his bubbling anger. She patted her eyes with a worn handkerchief. Dressed in bonnet and cloak, she appeared ready for a long walk on a cold morning. Sprigs of dried heather peeked out of the basket she wore on her arm.
"Where are you going this early, Emma?"
"I've a bouquet for your dear mother’s grave." She pulled out the heather. It was tied with white ribbon as was islander custom for a mother who had lost her daughter.
"Will you come with me today?"
The raw wound his mother's death had carved out in his heart opened again as he looked upon the white ribbon. Its purity, simple and honest, seemed unfitting for his mother or the woman gifting it to her. Lies upon lies. He no longer trusted his memories of home and family.
"I'll be late for class."
Seth slammed the front door and hurried into the square. White row houses with their tiny yards towered over him. His chest tightened. He was suffocating here. Many of the women stepped out on their porches to eye him as he ran by. They flew to each other in a frenzy of whispers and shaking heads. Seth ignored them, setting his attention on the towering school down the row.
Several of the students, friends he'd known his entire life, turned away and began their whispering. He wasn't in the mood to endure their curious looks or the sympathetic postulations from his professors. Passing by the gate at a fast clip, he headed for the fields to the north.
The Marianna countryside was a friendlier place in the daylight. Wet grass clung unnoticed to his boots as he hiked through the fields. His mind considered the possibilities as he walked. Sandor had to be someone familiar with Marianna. The villain had chosen the ideal location to ambush his victim, catching him upon a lonely road with no moon for a guide. Sandor had also mentioned he'd been watching Seth and his mother for years. The killer had to be someone who came to the island regularly. A sailor from a merchant ship or one of the Grey Cliff Island Revenue Men who came to Haven Bay twice a year, perhaps? Seth made it a point to speak with visitors. He'd met only a handful of Tslavians. None of them had been overly friendly.
Mind whirring with possibilities, Seth's feet took him to the charred field where the ambush had taken place. The fire had seemed more destructive during his fight with the raiders. Retracing his footing as best he could, Seth came across the cut ropes once binding Alice. He took a few paces forward to the spot he'd last seen the Amity raider. Kneeling down for a better look, he searched the area. Scorched earth and trampled grass were all that remained.
Then a sudden flash of sunlight on metal caught his eye. A golden coin was pressed into the ground within someone's muddy boot imprint. Seth plucked it from the dirt and wiped off the image minted into the gold. Great wings blanketed a creature with giant teeth and a misshapen snout. It appeared to be some sort of a monster. He rubbed the palm-sized coin against his coat, but the image was still encased in dirt. This coin wasn't from the Grey Cliff Isles. The Amity raider must have dropped it as they fought.
"Aren't you supposed to be in school, young master McCloud?"
Constable McTavish stood at the edge of the burned section of grass watching him. His uniform was pressed and neat. Boots shined under the morning sun. The constable's clean appearance didn't hide the red of his eyes or the pale face telling of many a sleepless night. Seth tucked the coin in his pocket. Standing, he brushed off his trousers and joined him.
"There are better ways to spend my time, sir."
"Like looking for your mother's killer?" The constable shook his head. "I know how you feel, Seth. You want to know the who and the why. I understand. I felt the same after my wife was killed. Her death is why I joined the constabulary."
The worn and solemn face looked out over the fields toward Haven Bay. He wiped at his tired eyes and gave Seth a patient smile. "These are hard men. It's dangerous for you to go hunting about on your own. They may find you. Next time luck won't be on your side. Do you understand?"
Seth nodded. He understood and knew the constable was likely right. It was foolhardy to investigate Sandor on his own, but even the risk of danger couldn't deter him. Nothing would stop him from finding his mother's killer.
"I'd better get to class, Constable."
Classes were in session when he entered the school. The double wooden doors of the library stood like guardians at the end of the empty hall. Seth had spent so much time reading the books within, the staff had given him a key. He hurried through the doors and locked them again. A cup with the shallow remains of the librarian's tea rested upon the desk. He dipped the coin inside and swirled it about until the dirt washed away.
Seth lit the fireplace and began wandering the shelves. He gathered all the books he could find on Tslavia. There weren't many. Islanders didn't bother with the other nations in Andara unless it directly impacted their industry. Most of the books were at least twenty years old and focused on economics or agriculture. He'd found a few pages about Tslavia's eternal war with its greatest enemy, Valdeon. Writings about the bloody wars didn't tell much about the people, rather they focused on loss of riches.
He pushed the books away and sunk down on the tabletop. Nothing. He'd found a clue, but had no way to interpret its meaning. A loud smack shook him from his morose thoughts. One of the books had fallen from the table. He picked it up and fingered absently through the pages. Then he saw it. The book's author had included an image of a monster matching the one on the coin.
Under the illustration was the notation, "The Gargoyle, symbol of the Von Wolkhurst Family."
He found their family name under the index. Fingers swiftly turning the pages, he came to the spot. Several pages were missing. Seth ran a fingertip along the rough stumps of paper. Someone had hastily ripped them out. Grabbing the next book and the next, he searched intently for signs of the Gargoyle and its family. Any reference to the Von Wolkhursts or the beast's imag
e had been ripped from every one of the books in the school's library. He gripped the golden piece tightly in his hand. Who were these Von Wolkhursts and how did an Amity raider obtain one of their coins? One person could shed light upon its purpose, but Pavel Sandor was as much a mystery as the Von Wolkhursts.
Chapter Eleven
Seth joined the rest of the students returning home along the Main Row. Many a cheery greeting from passersby came their way. The citizens of Haven Bay were anxious to enjoy their week’s end. Town had resumed its normal, ordinary routine despite the killing a week prior. Annoyed by their short memory, he left the Main Row to cross the small plot of land separating it from Farm Row.
Stopping to lean on the stone wall along the roadside, he brought the golden coin into his hand. His finger traced along the gargoyle's body. The hideous face snarled up at him in mockery. Humiliation and fury returned as his memory added more detail to the night Sandor had so easily defeated him. He shook his head with gritted teeth. If Seth were to stand a chance against the villain, then he'd have to learn how to fight with sword and fist.
"Ho, Seth!"
The Logan boys, sporting their finest togs, walked in a line upon the Farm Row from eldest to youngest. They were ready for a free night off the farm. Though the Haven Bay Pub was bound to be a little wild tonight, few were willing to start trouble with the Logan boys. They worked together, drank together, and fought together. Seth was glad he was a friend of the family.
Riley brought up the rear of their company. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers, he stared at the back of the brother directly before him. He was markedly shorter than his siblings. Seth and everyone who'd ever met Riley were careful to avoid the topic. His brothers weren't as concerned about stirring his temper. They never let Riley forget he was the baby of the family.
The Lords of Valdeon Page 12
