Purah squeezed my shoulder. "You appreciate how the army feel about sorcery."
"They used mages for healing when Glynn last worked in Brimbank." A tight band constricted my chest. Glynn told me about the battle when his old girlfriend died. He'd ordered the mage to heal her, but he hadn't. Glynn wore the guilt of surviving like a coarse hair shirt.
"The army use men of healing, kept on short leashes." Purah held his thumb and forefinger almost together. "Not young female witches. Definitely not one with startling skills in necromancy and a tendency to rush headlong into danger."
"I don't rush into danger."
Evie and Purah exchanged sharp glances. I blew out a long sigh. I didn't chase danger but somehow, as Glynn and Purah often said, I had a knack for finding trouble.
Purah plucked a ripe pear from the bowl on the old scratched table. He found a sharp knife from the draining board, sliced the fruit into perfect quarters and handed one to me.
I bit into it and deliciously sweet pear juice dribbled onto my chin.
"Glynn will write again." Purah laughed and passed me his crumpled but clean handkerchief. "In the meantime, have you forgotten what's arriving today?"
Licking the sweet juice from my lips, I pushed the letter away. I'd read it three times, it held no other information.
"Your goats," Purah said, "four of them, three rather cute females and a randy looking male. I'm forecasting a plethora of baby goats soon."
My goats, the first step to making this estate I’d inherited self-sufficient. My grandmother kept goats and the old account books showed how profitable they'd been, especially her Ravenswood Manor soft cheese. People still wanted, and paid for good produce. We could make it succeed.
Glynn's letter pushed their arrival out of my head.
"Don't expect them to stay in the field you've allocated for them. They'll jump, ram, and eat their way through any obstacle."
"You've been anti-goat from the start—"
Purah tapped his fingernails against the tabletop. "Who organized them for you?"
"You, of course." I swatted his hand. "But you complain about stinky bucks, noise like screaming kids, and horned heads barging into everything. I like to think about the wonderful goat’s cheese, yoghurt and soap we will make and sell."
"You are such an optimist, my dear." Purah tweaked my ear like an elderly uncle might.
He looked pleased with himself, probably for changing the subject. Maybe he thought he'd distracted me from Glynn and whatever danger he'd walked into.
"Revitalize yourself with fruit and we'll finish the gate to keep them in." Purah grinned and winked at me. "I promise you, it won't keep them in."
I'd been looking forward to settling my new goats into the old barn, introducing them to their pasture, and watching them make themselves at home. Looking forward to showing Glynn my foray into responsible adulthood.
That was before the letter.
My thoughts turned back to Glynn. He wouldn't let me face danger by myself. I wouldn't leave him to his fate either. Glynn could be injured or missing, or worse. He could also look after himself. I forced my breathing to slow and reined in my fears. Worrying wouldn't help.
Blast this heat! I'd have to leave very early in the morning. This evening, I'd help with the gate. First thing tomorrow, before the sun fried the air, I'd ride into Winterhurst.
I cast a furtive glance at Purah and Evie. I wasn't rushing into danger. I'd ask a few questions. It wouldn't hurt to try and find out what happened in Brimbank, or discover the easiest way to get there. Just in case.
Soft ginger-feathered chickens clucked around my feet and pecked at my toes. I brushed beads of sweat from my forehead and scattered feed across shaded stubble just outside my kitchen window. Tuesday morning. The sun hadn't yet risen but already heat rose from the ground in hazy waves.
"It's time to get moving," I muttered to the hens. They seemed to cluck a warning. Perhaps I was starting to see omens everywhere.
Purah had already left to circle the neighboring towns. After the debacle with Rose, he'd promised to earn money to help with the upkeep of Ravenswood, and so far, he'd been good to his word. If I wanted to get into town, before the sun seared bare skin into tanned leather, I needed to get going. I scattered the last of the crumbs on the ground and hurried back to the bedrooms.
Evie drifted on the wide landing outside my room. She smiled, though her shoulders drooped. "If you insist on going, at least wear the sun-hat."
"I have to go, Evie." An empty feeling wallowed in the depths of my stomach. I hugged her close; her coolness lifted the hairs on the back of my neck and sent delicious ripples of chilled air down my damp back. "How else can I find out what's happening? I'm not waiting here until a newspaper or another letter arrives."
"You have duties here at Ravenswood, and in town."
"I'm popping into Winterhurst to see what I can find out. I'll be back this evening, as soon as it's cool enough to ride Splash back."
"What will you do next? When you can't find answers to your questions, or if you discover something that makes you fearful for Glynn's safety?"
"I'll decide then." I rifled through my wardrobe absentmindedly.
Evie nudged me to one side, and found a fine cotton tank top and wide linen pants.
"What would I do without you?" I found Evie's hands and squeezed. "We could've been sisters."
"You'd get about looking like a charity case." She squeezed back, her tone radiated warmth. "Unusual siblings given I'm one hundred years' dead."
"Dead or not, you've chosen to stay here, and I'm glad."
She kissed my cheek. We were much the same age, but Evie possessed a maturity earned from a lifetime in service. Ghost or not, it pleased me to have her by my side. I hung close to Evie. I could raise Rose anytime I wanted. That's what necromancers did. I pulled the pants up over my underwear and wriggled into the tank top. Early on in my training with Purah, I'd raised Evie, without her permission. The experience had been horrible for Evie, a lesson in seeking consent for me. Luckily it worked out, in the end. But not Rose, I couldn't do that to her. We'd never spoken about death and its aftermath. I didn't know what she wanted. I didn't have her consent.
Evie draped one of my father's old long-sleeved shirts of fine faded blue cotton over everything and arranged the hat on my head. My face seemed to peek from above a bundle of rags.
We stared at one another for a few seconds, and burst into laughter.
Evie's face creased with fine lines. "Please do nothing rash."
"Don't worry. I won’t." I wrapped my satchel across my body and caught sight of Evie's raised eyebrows in the mirror. "Don't look at me like that."
Evie drifted to the door, hiding her somber face behind a pretend sneeze.
The stable already felt like an oven. My handsome black and white splashed horse glanced up at me and snickered as if to say it's too hot to do anything.
I scratched gently between Splash's eyes. "We'll get oats and an apple at the Inn, I promise."
I squeezed my satchel into a light saddlebag and led him to the edge of the forest. We trotted to the stream that wound its way through Ravenswood toward the Wye River. A longer route than the old road to town, but lined with trees. We used it often in mid-summer; the old bitumen road into Winterhurst was too hot for anyone's feet.
I wasn't the only one who'd started out early to beat the heat. Only one stall remained in the Inn's stables. I pulled off the saddle, settled Splash next to troughs of fresh hay and cool water, and headed to the lane that led to the town square.
People in wide-brimmed hats or carrying umbrellas trotted from one shady spot to another. The smell of spicy barbecued meat wafted down the laneway. A woman, her deep voice graveled with use, sang an invitation to sample strawberry and plum flavored iced treats.
I ran my fingers through my sticky hair. I might have enough small change for one of those iced treats. Jamming my hat back on my head, I scurried toward the market.
In the middle of the market, I jolted to a stop.
My mouth dropped open as I stared at the wrought iron newsstand.
The newspaper headline BRIMBANK UPRISING in bold black capitals filled half of the first page. An empty feeling in my stomach swirled like a snowstorm. What had Glynn walked into?
3
The headline bored into my eyes. A crowd of people thronged around the Newsagent's table in the middle of Winterhurst market. I pushed my way through a group of shoppers, thrust a new-halfpenny into the pay-box and grabbed the second to last copy of the newspaper. My nose twitched as I stumbled past tables of ripening berries, bottled honey and beeswax, and pungent smoked meats.
Away from the humming crowd, on a carved bench under a large ash tree, I spread the paper open across my knees. Several soldiers presumed dead. The city in lock-down. No one allowed in or out. According to one lurid article, undead swarmed throughout the abandoned buildings in the old city, their numbers rising daily. Another article mentioned Major Buckley, recently returned to Brimbank, and already had success dealing with a trio of undead.
Major Buckley? Glynn’s letter hadn't mentioned a promotion.
A flush of heat rushed to my head. Why keep it from me? There’d be an explanation. Perhaps he received the promotion when he arrived in Brimbank and knew nothing about it when he wrote.
A gust of hot wind fluttered through the leafy canopy overhead, and flapped the cloths spread over the vendor’s tables. I unclenched my fingers and forced myself to keep reading.
People still lived in gated communities around the edge of the city. I'd always thought everyone who survived the old plague moved out to towns like Winterhurst to start afresh. Over five pages, in article after article, people clamored for the army to get the situation under control. I sprang to my feet and strode to the lamppost. Sweat ran down my back and stuck my shirt to my skin. Glynn wouldn't just train new sergeants in the background. He'd throw himself in front of whatever attacked his men.
"You are as pale as your hat. Don’t worry, it’ll be another media beat up, ten times worse than it is." The newspaper editor laid a wrinkled hand on my shoulder.
"Where did these reports come from?" I met his quiet gaze with my own.
He rubbed his chin. "The usual places, from the Brimbank office mostly."
"This reporter, do you know him?" I pointed at the biggest article in the Winterhurst paper.
"Not that one." He shook his head slowly. "Must be a new guy." He shrugged and moved on to his next customer.
Something wasn't right. The interviews read like a movie script rather than the way real people talked.
Media beat up or not, something undead was happening in Brimbank. Staying in Ravenswood wasn’t an option anymore. I had to go.
I could be away for a few days, everyone would manage without me. I scrunched my hand to my hair, my goats would be fine, my responsibilities and duties to the town and the Council weren’t going anywhere.
Too far to ride Splash. Too far and far too hot. Even if I rode him at night, I'd have to find somewhere safe to leave him during the day. Too risky. The new steam train was running to Brimbank, I needed to take the coach to somewhere with a station.
Mrs. Crowder, the postmistress, would know how to make the trip.
My determination wavered. I stumbled back to the bench and flopped against the seat. What if I got there, and Glynn didn't want my help? Didn't want me there with him? What if Glynn left suddenly because he wanted to keep me away? What if the only thing I did well, the only skills I thought I possessed, didn't match my delusions? Had Glynn raced to a battle with a bunch of undead and left me behind because he doubted my ability?
I shook the tension from my shoulders. If that happened, I'd deal with it. The sun addled my brain, melted my heart so it didn't pump in tune. He'd done nothing to make me think he doubted my strengths, nothing to make me think he didn't want me anymore.
A cold realization tightened my chest. He'd scribbled a note, avoided talking with me, and dodged my questions. If he thought I'd be in danger, he'd leave me behind in a heartbeat.
He needed me whether he liked it or not.
With the newspaper still clutched in my hand, I straightened the strap of my satchel across my chest and marched to the post office. No one stood at the counter, so I banged my palm against the small bell next to the cash register. From behind the store, a chair leg scraped against the floor. Crockery clinked, a wrinkled hand parted faded blue fabric, and old Mrs. Crowder shuffled out from the curtain behind the counter.
"I must travel to Brimbank." The words tumbled from my mouth.
Her gaze ran across my face to my white hand still gripped around the newspaper. She lifted her eyebrows for a second, then pulled a binder from under the counter. She licked her thumb and traced a wrinkled fingertip down the page. "The train from New Maidstone will be the quickest for you." The clock on the wall counted seconds that felt like minutes. She flicked to another page. "The early morning coach will get you there. We don't travel between 10am and 4pm in summer. Tomorrow's is full though. You must take a seat on Thursday's coach."
"No." My pulse raced. I couldn't wait another day.
Mrs. Crowder lifted her head sharply. "You'll have to wait love, the coach is filled with a family traveling together."
"I'll sit up front, with the driver."
The drivers wore white in summer—white trousers and shirts like county cricket players, but with a long, hooded coat draped over their bodies and covering everything from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes.
I'd raided my mother's wardrobe. The clothes I wore now wouldn't be too bad, maybe a little thin. Even at 10am the sun's rays would crisp bacon on a plate. I'd need something thicker, more substantial.
"In this heat?" She patted my hand to get my attention. "You're talking like a crazy woman. You will get heatstroke. Besides, you've only just got back to Ravenswood, to us." She waggled her finger at me. "Is it that young man of yours, our police captain?"
None of her business, but I couldn't help nodding. Mrs. Crowder had been the schoolmistress for more years than anyone could remember. She hadn't taught me, but I still felt like a junior student in her presence.
"I didn't know about Brimbank..."
"None of us did until we read it this morning." Mrs. Crowder nodded toward the paper in my trembling hands.
Today was Tuesday and the newspaper was printed on Sunday from reports delivered last week. "I can't wait until Thursday."
"There's nothing I can do for you." Mrs. Crowder returned the binder under the counter. She stared into my face. Her lips pressed together in a thin line.
"It's official council business." I returned her gaze.
"No, it's not." She straightened her spine. "You made that up."
"I decided based on information we have all only just learned."
Mrs. Crowder's brows drew together, her face tightened. She didn't look convinced.
"I'm a councilor and this visit is official council business." I leaned across the counter to emphasize my point.
"Whether it's official or not, I can't squeeze you into a coach that is already full."
"You said you don't travel between 10am and 4pm in summer. I can dress for an early morning coach ride next to the driver. He is out in the sun, isn't he?"
"He's used to it."
"And I will be prepared for it."
For several long moments we stared at one another. It felt like neither of us would give in.
With a deep sigh, Mrs. Crowder pulled the binder from under the counter again. "You can ask my son, Wyn. He's driving tomorrow. If he says it’s all right, you can go with him. I must still charge you, though. Half price, that's the best I can do, fifty new shillings."
I released my clutch on the newspaper and sighed, a mess of words had inked onto my sweaty palm.
I fumbled in my satchel and pulled out a wad of notes.
"You can pay me tomo
rrow if he agrees."
"How much is the train fare?" I quickly counted the notes in my hand. Two hundred and thirty new shillings, and not much more at home.
"It's two hundred and fifty for the ticket from New Maidstone to Brimbank."
A heavy groan drizzled from my mouth. If Purah didn't return home today with more cash, I'd not only have to persuade Wyn Crowder to let me on his coach without an ugly scene, I'd also have to stowaway on the train. I'd told Mrs. Crowder it was official business. She didn't sit on the council, but she carried influence in the town. I needed to turn my lie into a truth.
Back outside, the bright orange sun climbed in summer's vivid blue sky. Even with my hat pressed forward, the brilliant light brought tears to my eyes. I skirted around the edge of the market and rehearsed my request on the way to the town hall. With the train line completed between New Maidstone and Brimbank, and the extension to Winterhurst almost half done, Brimbank seemed closer than ever. What happened there mattered to us. It would be a fact-finding mission. Plus, I could offer Winterhurst's support. By the time I got to the gilded double doors at the town hall, confidence straightened my shoulders and I strode into the foyer in high spirits.
"You're sure you want to do this?" Purah handed me my travel bag.
Last night he'd tried to argue with me, but in the end, he gave in. He'd kissed the top of my head, wished me good luck and graciously given me the money I needed, plus extra for an emergency. My gut told me this emergency in Brimbank wasn't the kind easily solved with cash.
"Positive." I squeezed his hand. "Thank you for lending me the extra money, and for getting up so early to chauffeur me into town."
"Easy come, easy go. It's not a loan. I'm always lucky with cards." He winked at me. "Take care. Come back to us soon."
"I will. Brush Splash for me when you get back."
Standing outside the coach stables, as the last few stars disappeared in the hazy sky, tightness rippled across my shoulders.
Purah nodded and waved as he climbed back into the carriage. I shouldered my bag, fixed a smile on my face and set off to convince Wyn Crowder, the coach driver, to take me to New Maidstone next to him in the driver seat.
Heroines and Hellions: a Limited Edition Urban Fantasy Collection Page 130
