Shepherd Hunted

by Christopher Kincaid

  “Drink first, girl.” She put the willow tea to the girl’s lips.

  “My own kid is sick. Maybe I will try this smoke trick.”

  “She isn’t asking for money at least. All the hucksters want it up front.”

  “Evelyn?” Tera asked.

  The hazel gaze was distant. Evelyn tilted the cup before laying it aside. “Good boy, Timothy. You drank it all. Run along. Your father’s waiting.”

  Evelyn set the girl on her feet. With a cry, the girl’s mother scooped her up. The girl wheezed, but those terrible wet coughs were gone.

  “A miracle!” the old woman said. “When my daughter had those coughs…”

  Tera guessed it was something in the tea that did the trick. Although she knew a doctor giving a proper bloodletting would do the trick too. As long as I’m not the one under the knife.

  “Evelyn, I saw Timothy—”

  “Be back in time for supper, Timmy,” Evelyn said. She stood and climbed the stairs toward the inn door. She seemed no longer aware of the people around her.

  Tera swallowed her words. Tera knew the woman well enough to know it was useless to speak with her when she was in a spell. I hope Timothy will stay away from the demon. Tera ignored the urge to seek the man out and find the demon. Patience was her greatest weakness, but she had to trust God. He led her here to be a part of divine justice. The demon couldn’t remain lucky forever. She smiled at the people before following Evelyn. The handful of men and women argued among themselves. Their gazes locked on Evelyn’s back.

  “Be on time, my Timmy. I am making deer-stuffed pie tonight,” Evelyn said.

  “Thank you!” the mother called. “Thank you.”

  Chapter 3

  Timothy nodded at the bored militiaman for the sixth time. Timothy’s legs and body ached, but walking helped his nerves. Honheim’s outer walls were a good circuit to walk. The chill air on his warm face helped him stay distracted. He had to keep his mind distracted. No. What he really needed to do was speak with Kit and apologize. He forced his legs into another circuit around the city. The sound of approaching hoofbeats came over the stone walls.

  Banners streamed behind a brave procession of red uniformed soldiers. They jogged in file with muskets resting on their shoulders. Rich, eye-jarring fabrics covered wagons that creaked behind the neat ranks. Blinds kept Timothy from seeing who rode within. He rejoined the saluting militiaman at the gate.

  “What is going on?”

  “Pricked if I know. That is the Lord Heim.” The man stood stiff.

  Timothy frowned. “I thought Ealos and merchants ran the city.”

  “Outsider, eh?” The man relaxed as the last wagon passed. “The merchants may pay my wages, but it’s Lord Heim who calls the shots. All those soldiers of his are trained men.” He shifted his halberd. “I am just for show, shamed to say, and for knocking heads when louts get drunk.”

  A knot of uniformed men passed through the gate and stopped. The militiaman stiffened further somehow. Timothy tried to fade into the background.

  “This gate is to be closed until further notice,” the soldier said. His leather face hardened. “This gate is now under my command.”

  The militiaman saluted. “Sir.”

  The soldier jerked a thumb. “Inside. Now.”

  What’s going on? Timothy swallowed at the dark look the soldiers shot him. The gates banged closed, locking the militiaman and Timothy inside with the hard-faced soldiers. Timothy and the militiaman moved away.

  The militiaman scratched his scalp and then shrugged. “Pricked if I know. I am going for a pint. Care to join me?”

  “No, thanks.” Timothy waved the man off.

  “Suit yourself.” The man shouldered his halberd and ambled away.

  Timothy took the opposite street, frowning to himself. The city was quiet other than those soldiers. It had been quiet since yesterday. He wondered if perhaps it was a custom to have a period of silence after such a rowdy week. It had been—what?—two days since he messed up with Kit. He had spent two nights in cheap, rundown inns. He passed through the market. A few people browsed the stalls. Their drab clothing looked strange after the week of bright festival clothing and costumes.

  The scent of honey rolls pulled Timothy toward one of the stalls. The merchant smiled, a mere twist of the mouth. Exhaustion pulled at the man’s eyes. Timothy welcomed the cold wind against his face as he glanced at the hard breads and rolls spread on white cloth. The merchant pulled his goatskin coat closer about him. Timothy’s fur coat kept the wind out—the coat Kit had bought.

  Kit. He had to apologize. She was right. What he did was terrible. He should have told her back when he first found the account in that book. He wished he hadn’t found the account at all. Timothy took a deep breath and coughed.

  The merchant leaned back. “You are not catching are you? Stay back from me anyway.”

  “Huh? I wanted to buy a honey roll.”

  The merchant gestured but kept his distance. “Take it and leave the money on the table. Just two pence. Take it and go.”

  “Did you see Lord Heim pass through? Do you know why they were in such a hurry?” Timothy laid Kit’s money on the stall, selected the roll with the most honey, and took a bite. Melanie’s tasted better.

  The merchant relaxed but still stayed well back from Timothy. “I’ve heard only rumors. Rumors enough to make me want to close shop and get out of town. Rumors people don’t want to utter unless true. Methinks people are waiting and hoping rumor is all it is. I think today will be my last day. I’ll not be waiting for that.” He shivered.

  “Rumors?” Movement pulled at the corner of Timothy’s gaze. What he saw felt like ice splintered Timothy’s chest. The merchant said something, but Timothy didn’t hear.

  Kit stood across the square, wearing a fur-lined hat. Her hair cascaded in small red rivulets, and she laughed behind a delicate hand. Trent, dressed in full crimson with shined black boots, posed. He paraded a floppy green hat spiked with a black feather. Timothy couldn’t quite hear what the man was saying. Kit laughed harder and lightly touched Trent’s ruffled chest. She glanced in Timothy’s direction.

  Timothy found himself vaulting behind the stall counter.

  “What are you doing?” The merchant fell backward. “Get out of here.”

  “I don’t know what I am doing.” Timothy felt foolish. His warm face grew hot. He ignored the merchant’s protests and peeked over the counter. Kit and Trent stood at a stall that sold river stone jewelry. Kit pointed at one.

  “Get out of here now before I call the watch.” The merchant backed against the wall and breathed through a kerchief pressed to his nose.

  Timothy slithered around the stall. He slid behind a wagon loaded with oak barrels. He could make out Kit and Trent’s legs from under the wagon, but he still couldn’t hear them.

  What am I doing? Timothy felt light-headed. His heart slammed against his chest. What was Kit doing with Trent? She isn’t! Could she be? Is he? His mind raced in every direction. He had to hear what they were saying. He crept closer. He dove behind an empty stall.

  “A beauty such as you,” Trent said.

  “If only you saw me in the river gathering stones. I was such a beauty then, I am sure, with my skirts hiked and mud to my knees.”

  “I count the mud lucky.”

  Timothy peered around the stall. Trent held Kit’s hand. The peacock bowed. “Beauty is more than appearance. Although you look ravishing without that silly costume. You would make a wonderful business partner. I would be honored if you were mine.”

  “Is it me or the source of my stones you would be honored to know?” Kit asked.

  “In all honesty, both.” Trent flashed a smile and kissed Kit’s hand. Kit’s eyes narrowed. Couldn’t the man see Kit was insulted?

  Timothy half climbed over the stall before he realized what he was doing. Kit glanced over. Timothy fell back, and his head bounced off the cobblestones. Lights flashed in his vision. He lay on
the cool stones. Nausea and foolishness roiled his stomach.

  What am I doing? His chest ached. He wiped his eyes, hoisted himself up, and peered over the counter. A few people wandered past Timothy’s view, and it took a moment for him to find Trent and Kit again. Kit glided with her arm through Trent’s. Timothy forced his clenched jaw to relax. Kit looked over her shoulder. Her shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. Why?

  Timothy sat in a daze. How could he apologize now? What difference would it make? It wouldn’t be long before Kit punished Trent for his insults on her tail. The thought of Trent seeing her ears and tail made Timothy dizzy. Trent had wealth and looks. He could see Kit home better than Timothy could.

  And yet.

  Timothy bolted up. An elderly woman squeaked and dropped her basket. Timothy laid a hand on his hot forehead, and his cheeks burned.

  “I am an idiot,” he said. But he followed after them anyway. Why, he could not answer. He fell in behind a man lugging a barrel over his shoulder. Timothy peered around the man’s wide back.

  Trent wrapped an arm around Kit’s shoulders.

  Timothy stumbled into the worker. The barrel slipped and crashed. The man cursed.

  Kit looked back.

  Timothy dove into the mouth of an alley and gasped for air. He had never felt like this before. He had thought that all he had to do was apologize and everything would work out.

  Kit already had things worked out.

  What else could he expect? He had betrayed her. He had kept the murder of her home a secret. How would he feel if things were reversed? The same as Kit: betrayed and alone. Friends did not keep such important things from each other.

  Some friend he was…and he had thought he could be more?

  “Stop stalking and get over here, husband.” Kit’s voice grabbed Timothy’s ears. “I know you are over there. Join us.”

  Timothy took a breath and left the protection of the alley. Trent and Kit sat on the edge of a fountain jutting from the side of a grand building. The columned face glittered in the sunlight, and a sign creaked in the wind.

  Timothy’s stomach sloshed.

  “Why, husband, what have you been doing? You have dirt all over your face.” Kit shook her head. “No matter. You do what you want regardless of my feelings.”

  Timothy wiped his face on his coat sleeve.

  She laid a hand on Trent’s arm. “Master Mohmed was just trying to convince me to join him on a business outing.”

  “Please call me Trent. All my closest friends do. My…associates have told me now is a good time to try business at the town of Porez.” Trent met Timothy’s gaze, and he laid a hand on Kit’s. “Your wife is quite astute in business, Master Clarke. As astute as she is beautiful.”

  Kit arranged her skirts, letting her leg brush against Trent’s. “If only my husband paid me the same attention as you, Master Mohmed.”

  Distant shouts drifted on the air. Trent’s smile wavered. He looked about. Kit’s hat lifted.

  “I am sure he thinks the same as I do for you. Business demands promptness. We need to leave today lest the deals I know of cool. You will make a wonderful partner.”

  Timothy’s hands clenched. A stride would be all it would take. The man would not see it coming. Timothy was not a fighter, but Trent never wrangled sheep. Timothy could remove that hand from Kit. A smile tugged at the corners of Kit’s mouth, and he hesitated. What did she find funny?

  “Today? Oh, I cannot leave without my husband. He is a fool, but he has his moments. He insists on staying in the city. Why, he even hasn’t slept in our room these last few nights. So busy he is.”

  “These are cold nights to sleep alone,” Trent said.

  “Yes, quite cold. A large bed gets icy when a husband is away. But he does work so!”

  “Of course. Your husband—”

  Kit skewered Timothy with her gaze. “Likes his business secrets, as does his wife.”

  “I have learned wives are better at holding secrets.” Trent squeezed her hand, and Kit grimaced. Trent cocked his head and looked at Timothy. “I wonder what secrets your wife holds from you.”

  Kit’s gaze locked on Timothy as if she expected something. He didn’t trust himself to speak. It was all he could do not to smear the peacock all over the street. Not even Tahd made Timothy feel like this. He felt disgusted at his rage. That disgust seemed to stoke the fire even more.

  “I am not so fortunate with women. Certainly never with one as lovely as you.” Trent flourished his free hand.

  “Many men do not know what they have until she is gone. Many women too for that matter. I like to think a marriage does not exist if trust is betrayed by either the man or the woman,” Kit said.

  “I agree. Marriage is like business. If trust is lost, a merchant had best resort to begging. A man no one can trust,” Trent looked from Timothy to Kit and back again, “is no man at all.”

  “Trust is such a fragile thing and so easily lost by anger.” Kit glanced at Timothy and looked away.

  Timothy turned without a word. He trembled. The distant shouts seemed to be more frequent.

  “I trust we will leave this afternoon? We must leave.” Trent’s voice quivered.

  Kit called after Timothy, “Where are you going, my husband?”

  “Do what you want.” Timothy didn’t care how harsh he sounded. He had never wanted to kill another man until now. Instead, he ran. Running was better than spilling Trent’s brains over the cobblestones. Timothy ran blind, toppling people. He dashed into another alley and slowed, leaning against the wall. The stone felt cold against his hand. He grasped for calm. Timothy felt like a cup overflowing with more being poured in.

  Kit was gone.

  But why should she not be with Trent? The man had money and intelligence. He seemed a match for her. Timothy failed to match wits with her most of the time. Why should she want a failed shepherd and dullard scribe? Trent could hire guards. Even with the money they—Kit—earned from the river stones, they could not do that.

  She was better off with Trent, safer.

  Fatigued dragged at Timothy. It was too much. Sweat slid under his coat despite the cold. It was a warm coat. Timothy closed his eyes and forced down nausea. Sweat slicked his forehead now, and exhaustion pulled on his eyelids.

  “I really am pathetic.”

  He slipped down the brick wall and rested his forehead on his knees.

  * * *

  Shouts shattered Timothy’s sleep. He jerked awake, feeling more tired than when he had sat down. The sun’s rays held red. How long did I sleep? His body ached, but he forced himself to stand. Waning evening light filtered through the buildings. Moping didn’t help anything. He needed to get his stuff from Melanie’s and go home with Sister Tera. It was finished. Timothy didn’t want to break his promise to Kit. His mother’s voice echoed in his mind, but there was nothing for it now. It was time to go home.

  Timothy stumbled around people, only dimly aware of people filling the street. Distant shouts seemed to urge the people along. A couple saw Timothy and crossed to the other side of the avenue. They wore scarves over their mouths and noses. Timothy didn’t know how they could stand wearing such heavy clothes. He opened his coat to let the air cool his soaked shirt. He still felt lightheaded, but he knew it was only his nerves causing that.

  Someone jostled him. People strained at small carts loaded with furniture. Many more raced past with overstuffed bundles strapped to their backs. The crowd increased as people trickled in from the side streets. The surge caught Timothy up and moved toward the eastern gate. A dim part of his mind wondered what was going on. The rest of him felt like wool stuffed with dried mud. He wiped his sweating face and followed the crowd. His mind wandered.

  Even as a child he had felt alone, except for Aunt Mae. Evelyn couldn’t remotely be called a mother. There had been no other children in the abbey. Books and sheep. Those were Timothy’s friends. Well, there was Kyle later on. I hope Kyle is all right. He was sure Kyle mana
ged to escape from that mess back at Fairhaven. Likely he was happily grumbling about his marriage with Henrietta.

  The mob stopped. People squeezed against him. He pulled from his feverish thoughts enough to notice how everyone clustered around the east gate. The same soldiers Timothy had seen earlier faced the crowd holding spears and halberds in formation.

  A woman shouted. “You are going to kill us! We have to leave!”

  “We have to leave. What about our families?”

  “You are thinking the same thing.”

  The lead soldier thumped his halberd. His bellow cut through the noise. “Go home and stop listening to rumors.”

  Timothy noticed the strangeness around him. Panicked parents held children in their arms. People had their possessions strapped to small carts or on their backs. Not all the carts held furniture. He could make out bare feet peeking out from some of them.

  What is going on?

  “Sir.” A young man in a militia uniform stood at the front of the crowd. “I have a baby…I—”

  “Go home,” the grizzled soldier said.

  “It’s not too late.” The young man stepped forward. “It’s only been a day since it started. It is not a rumor. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. So fast. It must have started during the festival.”

  “No one is to leave the town. That is Lord Heim’s order.”

  “You can’t make us stay here!”

  “What about the children?”

  “Lord Heim left us to die.”

  “It is the Black Death all over again!”

  People shouted, thrusting fists and holding young children in the air. The soldiers shifted in their formation. The captain’s voice boomed over the noise. “One last warning. Go home. Anyone trying to leave will be punished by death.”

  The crowd pushed forward. The soldiers shoved against the tide, and several people yelled in pain. The noise drove the mob into a frenzy. As one, they pressed tight against the soldiers, heedless of bared steel.

  Timothy struggled against the surge of people that crashed into him. More people rushed from the streets to join the flood. More than a few were children.