As much as I admired Valory’s skills, one thing did worry me. She was at home in the wild, but what would happen once she walked into a town for the first time? I knew from experience that the first taste of any new community could be overwhelming and I didn’t have super senses. Furthermore, I had been brought up around people. Crowds didn’t bother me. From the way Valory talked, she’d never been around more than two people at a time and hadn’t even met ten people in her whole life.
I decided to address the problem later that night after we’d pulled leather hides over a framework of fallen branches. We sat outside the tent and roasted meat over a fire.
“Valory?”
“Yeah?” she said, poking our soon-to-be dinner with a forked stick. “What’s eatin’ you?”
I took a deep breath. “There are a couple things we need to get straight if we’re to keep a low profile.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Valory said, waving a hand carelessly. “You don’t really have to call me ‘Your Highness.’ I was just making a bit of a joke.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s not what I meant. Actually, it would probably be safer if you called me something else.”
“That’s easily done,” Valory said, removing a drumstick from the animal on the roasting spit. She bit into it with unrefined zeal. “Whaf oo want me kawl oo?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. I can’t understand you.”
Valory swallowed and wiped her sleeve across her mouth. “I asked what you want me to call you.”
“Call me Rachel,” I said. It was the name of my best friend in elementary school. “Even if you slip up and call me Emma, do not, under any circumstances, call me by my last name.”
“What’s your last name again?” Valory asked.
“Never mind. Just call me Rachel. Remember that. The second thing you’ve got to keep in mind is to be quiet.”
Valory scowled over her drumstick. “What are you gettin’ at?”
“In town, people who make a lot of racket draw attention. That is exactly what we don’t want. I’m not saying don’t talk to people. Just be polite and keep your voice down. The main thing we’ve got to do is to listen. You’re good at that. Listen especially for any news of Ivywild or any mention of the name ‘Finbarr.’”
“You mean your friends who came up this way? You think they’re still around?”
“I can only hope that somebody knows where they are,” I said dubiously.
A warm breeze blew through our tent that night. I looked forward to a morning of melting snow. Instead we woke up to rain. The showers put Valory in a grumpy mood.
“Blast and soot and jellied lizard eggs!” she exclaimed as she rolled up the sopping wet tent. “I knew I smelled something coming yesterday! I thought it would finally be a nice little springtime thaw but would you look at this mess?” She kicked the bones from last night’s dinner into a muddy puddle.
At least it felt warmer out. I felt happy watching the snow melt until we got under way again and found the mud to be ten times harder to walk through than snow.
The only bright spot of our morning’s journey was that the trail became better defined and we started to pass little camping spots or sign posts that showed we were on the right track.
At just past midmorning, Valory stopped in her tracks and sniffed deeply. The rain, now a light drizzle, clung to every needle and leaf of every tree in shining droplets. Valory had loaned me her hat to help guard against my being recognized. Now free, Valory’s crow-black hair glittered with beads of water all around her face. Looking at her, I realized that she had a beauty all her own. Though her face sometimes evoked shades of Marafae or Hagan, she possessed an inner light that softened her harsh features. I couldn’t help but think how lucky it was that she’d been brought up far away from the intrigues of a royal court. She knew nothing of betrayal or power lust. Such things might have stifled her inner light.
“We’re gettin’ close,” Valory said. “I smell chimney smoke and cooking meat and something else that’s like bitter bread.”
“I’ll bet that’s the ale in the pubs,” I said. “How much further?”
“I make it out to be another hour or two down into the valley.”
I felt a burst of energy. I couldn’t wait to find out what had been happening in my beloved Ivywild. I felt a little scared, too. I hadn’t forgotten High Priestess Grimmoix's warning. If I lived until summer, then Ivywild would be destroyed. It was just now creeping up on spring. I mused darkly that there was still plenty of time for me to kick the bucket if I couldn’t prove her wrong first.
“There you go again,” Valory said, shaking the moisture from her wings.
“What?” I said.
“Sometimes you get this funny dazed look and I can tell your mind is off wanderin’ somewhere far away. You need a leash for that thing.”
I shrugged. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Uh huh,” Valory said with a coy grin. “What’s his name?”
“I wasn’t thinking about a boy! I was just thinking of home and how it hurts being away and not knowing where all my friends are.”
“And one of those friends is a boy, no doubt,” Valory said. “Oh, come off it. You talk about Ivywild like loads of people live there. You can’t tell me at least one of em’ didn’t steal your fancy.”
It was no use denying things to Valory. She had an uncanny knack for detecting guilt. “Well, I suppose there was a boy, once. Not Hue. I told you about Hue, remember? This was a different boy.”
“What was his name?” Valory asked, suddenly engrossed.
I had never used Hugo’s fake name to Valory. Over the last few months I’d made peace with Lev’s memory. He was a part of my past that would never go away, and that was all good and well so long as I could hate King Hugo the way he deserved.
“His name was Lev,” I said quietly. “He was big and dark and mostly unpleasant to be around.”
Valory snorted. “Sounds like a winner.”
“He had other qualities,” I said. I remembered how his fleeting smile could make me feel invincible. “He was fearless, always throwing himself into battle. He was brave and confident. He answered to nobody.”
Valory stopped grinning and became reverently wide-eyed. “I don’t know much about menfolk, but that sounds like a good’un. What happened?”
A painful tremor made me wince. “He’s gone.”
“Like, dead?” Valory asked. “Or did he just skip down river to find a new fishing spot?”
“Yeah,” I said, and didn’t offer any more explanation.
The rain stopped by the time we came upon the town. By then the scents of civilization were so strong that they overwhelmed me.
“Phew!” I exclaimed, pinching my nose shut. “Did they name it Feegman’s Boot because it smells like someone’s foot?”
“It’s a good guess,” Valory said. “Hullo, what’s all that?”
We had crouched behind a woodpile near the entrance to the muddy little town. Valory zeroed in on a nasty-looking Fay man in a red cape.
I ducked lower behind the woodpile and hissed, “That’s one of the duke’s men! What are they doing all the way out here?”
“I dunno, but he’s not alone,” Valory said, tossing her head in another direction. “There’s some more patrolling the town border on the other side…and something else. I don’t see it but I smell it.”
I heard a note of worry in her voice. “What’s it smell like?”
“Death.”
Not sure what to make of it, I surveyed the parts of town I could see. The place was nothing like the orderly village at Ivywild. Layers of grime covered all the streets and buildings in Feegman’s Boot. Most of the buildings were made of split timber that should have been torn down years ago. Livestock and poultry roamed the streets, leaving piles of dung everywhere. Over the unpleasant aroma of animal waste floated the sickly bitter scent from the pubs.
“Halt!” said t
he nearest red cape to a Hobgoblin man trying to enter the town. “What business do you have here?”
The Hobgoblin stomped his hoofed feet. “Come off it, Mister. We go through this every time I come down from my homestead for a bit o’ drink at Natty’s bar.”
“Be off with you,” said the duke’s man, waving the Hobgoblin through.
“Criminey!” Valory whispered. “They’re interrogatin’ everyone who comes through!”
“Not to worry,” I said, pulling the hat down low over my eyes. “Just do like I said and don’t draw attention. You’ve still got your furs, right?”
Valory held up her catch.
“Good,” I said. “Then let’s do this.”
We walked nonchalantly onto the main road. Valory’s wings made nervous twitching sounds underneath her coat. I tried to keep my head low without looking too suspicious.
“Halt!” said the guard. He had crooked yellow teeth and pockmarked skin.
“The duke sure doesn’t spare the handsome ones for these sorts of places, does he?” Valory mumbled.
I jabbed her in the ribs with my elbow.
“Name and business,” said the guard.
Valory straightened up. “We’re fur traders. My name’s Valory and this is my cousin, Rachel.”
“Cousin, eh?” the guard said. He gave Valory a suspicious glance and then leered at me. His breath almost made me gag. “How come she doesn’t look like you?”
“She’s been dreadful sick this winter,” Valory said. “It’s given her skin a funny color. I reckon she picked up one of them wasting diseases from a traveling sailor, you know? She’s been coughin’ and wheezin’ and she’s pretty much had to live in the outhouse, if you know what I mean.”
I squirmed uncomfortably and fought the urge to punch Valory in the arm. The guard bought it, though. He gave me a disgusted scowl and waved us through.
“Ouch!” Valory said after I had given her another none-too-gentle poke in the ribs.
“You deserve it,” I said. “Don’t go making up wild stories. You shouldn’t have said I was your cousin. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a Slaugh.”
Valory’s lower lip jutted out. “Slaugh, Hobgoblin, Fay, Gnome—what difference does it make? We all have to eat, sleep and breathe just the same.”
“It makes a world of difference when we’re trying to stay out of trouble,” I said. I paused to take in the row of pubs and shops on either side of the street. Each one sounded more unruly than the last. “We should probably pick one of these places and see if anyone inside knows anything okay, Valory…Valory?”
She had spotted someone down the street. “Hey, that looks like Trapper Toussant. HEY MR. TOUSSANT!” She jumped up and down and waved wildly.
An old man turned, appeared to recognize her and waved back. He wore a ratty old fur flap hat and he had so much facial hair that I couldn’t tell if he was a Fay or a Hobgoblin.
“Well I’ll be jiggered,” he said, limping towards us. “Is that little Valory of Signal Mountain? Where’s Almyra?”
“She passed away last spring,” Valory said. She squeezed the man’s mittened hand. “It’s been ages! Why didn’t you come see us after the thaw last winter? We sure could’ve used some of your Yeti hair rugs.”
The old man spit a wad of brown juice into the street. “I didn’t get no Yeti hair last winter, nor this one either. Those danged critters started wanting too much trade-in for a bag of hair. In my younger days I’d a snuck up on em’ while they was sleeping an’ shaved it off their backs, but that ain’t for me no more. Nope, I’m just an old layabout now. I’m real sorry to hear about Almyra, though. Who’s this?”
Feeling unimportant in the midst of their Yeti hair discussion, I had turned my back in order to better examine the town. Valory grabbed me by both shoulders and shoved me in front of Trapper Toussant like I was a prized fish.
“This is Rachel. She spent the winter with me. Rachel, this is Trapper Toussant. He used to visit me and Almyra.”
Our conversation had drawn the interest of one guard. I caught him watching us over the collar of his cape.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Toussant,” I said. Then I leaned down low and whispered, “Is there a better place we could talk?”
The old man’s eyes slid sideways to the watchful guard. “Aye. Follow me.” He hooked his arm through Valory’s and said in a loud voice, “Let me buy you girls a pint! I know the fur trade can make you real thirsty!”
He made a show of whistling gleefully all the way down the street as he led us to the loudest, most rickety building of all. A faded sign out front said “Natty’s Bar.” The roof sagged. The large front window only had one pane of glass. The rest were broken out and patched over with boards. Years of mud and dung caked the front steps. The smell of potent drinks wafted through the broken window along with raucous shouts of customers who had already drunk their fill.
I hesitated. Natty’s Bar didn’t seem like the kind of place to have a peaceful conversation.
“Don’t be a tree stump,” Valory said, tugging my arm. “Let’s see what’s inside!”
“I don’t know. Maybe we should try somewhere else.”
Trapper Toussant turned and winked at me. “There’s no need for resistance, honey. Natty’s has the best brew in town!”
I checked behind us to make sure no guards were paying attention. Satisfied, I gave a little nod. The old man strolled through the swinging doors. Valory and I followed him into a smelly, smoky room with grizzled Fay men slumped over a bar and Hobgoblins and Gnomes arguing in dusty corners.
“Good Afternoon, Natty,” the old man said to a Brownie woman behind the bar.
Natty held a pipe between her lips. She removed it and exhaled a cloud of blue smoke. “Good Afternoon, Trapper. What’ll it be?”
“The usual,” Trapper Toussant yelled over the racket.
Natty grunted and pulled on a tap lever. No liquor came from the tap. She nodded at Trapper Toussant.
“This way,” he said. He led us to a booth in the back of the room. There, beneath the table, a trap door lay open.
Beneath the main pub was a whole other room. It was just as filthy, but much quieter. It held a table with six chairs and one dim lantern. Against the backmost wall sat a bench with a pile of dirty rags atop it.
Trapper Toussant removed his hat. Brown, pointed Fay ears sprung out from beneath his gray hair. “I apologize for the secrecy,” he said, “But y’all came into town at a bad time. Pull up a chair and I’ll spell it out for you over tea.”
I almost declined the offer of until I spied a clean teapot and cups waiting beside a clay stove. I kept my mouth shut and slid into a chair.
“What’s this room for?” Valory asked as she tested one of the wobbly chairs for herself.
“This?” Trapper Toussant said. “Just a store room me and my buddies have used for conducting business for years. We used to have gambling tournaments down here, but now it comes in handy when we don’t want to be bothered by those muscle-heads from Larlaith.”
“How long have they been here?” I asked.
Trapper Toussant dropped a ball of leaves into the pot. “Two full moons ago, I think it was. One of em’ showed up with a message from the duke. Some nonsense about improving quality of life through better protection. We didn’t think much of it at first until more of the duke’s men came. They disbanded our local deputies and said they’d take over law enforcement themselves. Then they started collecting ‘protection taxes’ from all the shops. Bunch of malarkey if you ask me. What us rugged folk couldn’t protect ourselves from, we’ve always made peace with. Well now these red-caped goons have got the whole region like a rabbit caught in a snare.”
Anger warmed my blood. “Do you think this group of men is rogue, or are they still taking orders from the duke?”
Trapper Toussant shrugged. “We don’t get no news from Ivywild.”
I sagged in disappointment. “Nothing?”
The o
ld man plinked a teacup down on the table in front of me. His mouth twitched as he filled it. “If we did, what would you want to know?”
Valory leaned her elbows on the table, causing the whole thing to tilt.
“Don’t be playing around with us, Trapper,” Valory said. “You know something.”
He shook a finger at her. “Never could get anything past you. I know of somebody who knows something.”
“Well don’t hold out!” Valory said. “Where is this person who knows what you don’t know that we want to know?”
Trapper Toussant gestured towards the bench. I realized then that what I’d mistaken for a pile of rags was actually a man lying down in very tattered clothes. He was horrifically thin with scraggly white hair.
“Looks like he’s sleeping,” Trapper Toussant said. “Poor fellow. That’s all he does.”
“Who is he?” Valory asked.
“Don’t know,” Trapper Toussant said. “Some of the town chaps found him out in the woods a few days before the duke’s men showed up. He was near thirsted and starved to death and crazed right out of his mind. We got him inside and patched him up the best we could. For days he rambled on and on about the strangest things—weird stuff that would make your skin wanna crawl right off your bones. Gave me the jitters, I tell you what!”
“Like what kind of stuff?” I asked.
“Yeah, what stuff?” Valory echoed, tipping the table again.
Trapper Toussant took a deep breath. “It’s like this,” he said in a low voice. “That vagrant thinks the duke is doing experiments on people. He claims he escaped from a prison in the eastern marshes where they torture folks. Half of what he said was so mixed up we couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, but there’s something amiss all right. When he was halfway in his right mind he had one of them city accents—kind of like you.” He gazed at me. “One day he mentioned Ivywild, so I reckon that’s where he’s from.”
I studied the sleeping figure. He was nothing more than skin on bones. There was something unnatural about it, though. He didn’t look like a normal person who had been hit by old age or illness.
The Flute Keeper's Promise (The Flute Keeper Saga) Page 24
