Never Trust a Dead Man

by Vivian Vande Velde

Page 8

 

  "Merton knew you had my knife?" he asked, just to make sure he was understanding correctly. "All along?" It couldnt have been all along.

  "He was the one who found it," Farold said. "You dropped it that day everybody was helping Snells widow with the hay mowing. Merton found it in the grass after wed finished eating, and we thought it would be a good joke, after youd been showing off with it, as usual - "

  "I. . . ," Selwyn protested, interrupting. But he couldnt deny it. He was proud of the knife his father had brought back from the wars. He did have a tendency to take it out whenever he had an excuse to show off the elaborate handle, the finely wrought blade of high-quality steel that honed to a much sharper edge than the villagers common blades. Instead, he asked, "Did Raedan know, too?"

  Farold shrugged. "I didnt tell him. But maybe Merton did. We were tired of hearing you brag about it," he finished. "I said Id keep it because we both knew if Merton had it, hed never be able to keep a straight face once you started asking. But I would have given it back. "

  "Did he know where you kept it?" Merton? he thought. Merton, and maybe Raedan?

  Farold gave a leathery shrug of his wings. "I dont think I ever specifically said," he told Selwyn. "But it was in my clothes chest - easy enough to find. "

  "I dont think a man goes into another mans room intent on killing him and only then thinks to start looking for a weapon. "

  "Why would Merton come into my room intent on killing me?" Farold asked.

  "Why else would he come in, in the middle of the night, quiet enough not to wake you?"

  "We dont know that he did. " Farold was raising his voice, just as Selwyn was. "I thought you said it was Linton who killed me. "

  "I dont know," Selwyn shouted at him. "I dont know who did it. I said it might be Linton. Maybe it was Merton. Maybe it was somebody else. I wasnt there, too stupid to wake up from being murdered: You were. " It was hard to think of Merton as a murderer, but then it was hard to think of him as a thief - or, at best, as a trickster who was willing to let the trick go on even as Selwyn was being left in the cave to die.

  "Well, dont take your bad temper out on me," Farold said. "Id rather eat bugs than take this abuse. " He fluttered off into the night, leaving Selwyn truly alone.

  Chapter Ten

  When Selwyn awoke after a few hours of fitful sleep, he was surprised to find Farold had returned and was once more hanging upside down from his branch. After last night, he wouldnt have been surprised to find himself abandoned.

  Selwyn drank from the river and found a few more handsful of berries, but the season was nearly over and most of the berries were withered and brown and did little to satisfy his hunger. And in all this while, Farold hadnt budged. "Farold," he called.

  Farold continued to hang, his wings wrapped around himself.

  "Farold, time to go. "

  No reaction.

  Maybe he had decided to return to the afterlife, as he had threatened. Or maybe the bat body itself had died. Where would that leave Farold?

  Alarmed, Selwyn poked at the tiny form, which shuddered and pulled its wings tighter - proving it was alive, anyway. "Go away," Farold mumbled sleepily.

  Selwyn leaned in closer, so that he could simultaneously poke a second time and yell into the bats enormous ears: "Farold, you lazy lout! Wake up!"

  The bat snarled at him, showing an incredible number of tiny but very sharp teeth.

  Selwyn jumped back, but the bat didnt lunge. It once more closed its eyes.

  "Farold," Selwyn urged. "Its morning. "

  "I know," Farold said, never opening his eyes. "Bats are nocturnal. "

  "Youre not a bat," Selwyn tried to reason with him. "Not really. "

  "Tell my body that. Besides, I was up all night"

  "So was I. "

  "Maybe some fool has turned you into a bat, too," Farold said. "Maybe you better check. "

  Selwyn shook Farolds branch. Farolds tiny clawed feet held on. He opened one eye to glare at Selwyn. "Go away," Farold told him. "Come back at sunset. "

  "Im not going to waste a whole day waiting for you. " A whole hard-earned day.

  "Then go without me," Farold said. "You were the one who had to have a nap last night when it was a sensible time to get started. Dont talk to me about lazy. "

  "We agreed," Selwyn said, which they hadnt - not exactly - "that it was no good going at night. The villagers would have run us off. "

  "You cant fight instinct," Farold said from around a yawn.

  Selwyn didnt dare leave him. Farold might not be able to find Penryth on his own. Last night, at the beginning, he hadnt known that bats cant stand; he had barely been able to manage flying. Things would have to look disconcertingly different for someone who only recently found himself merely a fingers length long and traveling by air. But how did one transport a bat who wasnt up to transporting itself? Elswyth hadnt given him any sort of pack - apparently she had judged a pilgrim should travel light. He certainly didnt want to carry Farold in his hand all the way. Looking around, he saw the straw hat Elswyth had made from one of her squares of wool. Carrying Farold in the crown of the hat would be only marginally better than carrying Farold in the palm of his hand. He said, "Well, as long as youre going to hang on to that branch, could you just as well hang on to the brim of my hat?"

  Farold once more opened one sleepy eye. "That would look silly," he pointed out.

  "Do you have a better idea?"

  Farold sighed. Selwyn put on the hat. Farold let go of the branch and fluttered to take hold of the back edge. He was hardly any weight at all, dangling back there. "I told you to have her make me into a dog," he said.

  Selwyn circled around Penryth to go first to his own home. He had no idea how he would explain what had happened and convince his family that he was really himself, but he couldnt bear the thought that they were imagining him dead or, worse yet, in the process of dying.

  As he approached, crossing their recently harvested field, he saw no signs of activity, not even smoke from the kitchen fire. A few chickens scratched in the yard, ignoring him.

  He opened the door and called in, "Hello. "

  The only answer came from the direction of the back of his hat. "Cant you keep it down when normal people are trying to sleep?" Farold muttered.

  Selwyn refrained from saying that Farold hadnt been normal even when he was alive.

  He stepped into the house and immediately saw that no one was home, not even his grandmother, who rarely moved from her favorite place by the edge of the hearth. The room was not in disarray: The floor was well swept the way his mother always kept it, the beds made, the table cleared, the benches where the family sat for meals neatly tucked beneath the table where they belonged. Selwyn poked at the ashes in the hearth and found them completely cool. No one had cooked here this morning and then let the fire go out. That might mean that they had left yesterday or earlier - but he didnt think that was likely: No matter how angry they were at the villagers for sentencing him to death, they couldnt just leave a working farm and assume they would be able to start again someplace else. More likely, someone had decided that his family shouldnt be left alone, not while there was still a chance of his not being dead yet, for that might lead them to plotting to get him out of that cave.

  Surely, he told himself, surely they are well and safe.

  He found food: more evidence, if he had needed it, that his family hadnt deserted the farm, for no one sets off just as winter is lurking around the corner and leaves good food behind. There was half a loaf of bread, so hard he had to dunk it in water to get it soft enough to eat - indication that it had been sitting here since about the time he had been taken. There were also fruits and vegetables that he ate unprepared and raw until finally, finally, his stomach was full again.

  "Hey!" a voice bellowed from behind him - not, this time, Farold.

  Selwyn whirled around and found Merton standing in the doorway.


  "What are you doing here?" Merton demanded.

  "What are you doing here?" Selwyn countered, remembering the business with the knife.

  Merton narrowed his eyes at him. Hed been carrying a rake - their rake - over his shoulder, but now he swung it out in front of him, its sharp metal tines pointing at Selwyn.

  He cant recognize me, Selwyn reminded himself He sees a stranger - a stranger whos in a house that doesnt belong to him, eating food that isnt his.

  Trusting Farold would have the sense not to speak, Selwyn lowered his gaze, to look meek and not out for a fight. He said, "Begging your pardon. You frightened me half out of my wits. Im just a poor hungry pilgrim who got separated from the rest of his company. Ive been wandering, lost, for the better part of two days. This was the first house Ive seen, and I came to beg food. I didnt see that anyone was here. "

  Merton didnt say anything, and Selwyn couldnt tell how reasonable he found the story.

  "Im sorry," Selwyn said - as a pilgrim, there was no way that hed know this wasnt Mertons house, so he pretended he thought it was - "Im sorry I took your food. Id be happy to do work for you, to make it up to you. " It would, in fact, be a good excuse to stay, to find out more about what had happened the night of the murder.

  Merton slowly lowered the rake. "Its not my house," he said, which was a relief: Selwyn had recognized the possibility that the farm might have been taken away from his parents, for having a murderer for a son. Merton added, "Im just looking out after the animals. . . " - he hesitated - "while the owners . . . are away. For a day or so. "

  The animals. Of course, the animals would need tending. Selwyn realized the chickens would have rushed right up to him at his approach if they hadnt eaten in days. If the goats had been left loose without food, they would have wandered off for good; and if they werent loose, they would probably be close to starving by now. "Thank you," Selwyn said earnestly. "Thats very good of you. "

  Merton, who had no way of knowing why this pilgrim should be so grateful for his care of somebody elses animals, frowned in puzzlement.

  "I . . . ah . . . have vowed to offer a prayer at the shrine of Saint Agnes of the Lake for all the good people I meet along my journey. "

  Which wouldnt include you, Selwyn mentally added. Take care of my animals, but leave me to die. He gave Merton a bright smile.

  Merton said, "Well, the people who live here are good people, too. Offer up a prayer for them, and Im sure they wouldnt begrudge you the food. "

  "Do they need prayers?" Selwyn tried to sound innocent. "Especially?"

  Merton looked surprised but only answered, "Doesnt everyone?"

  "Who are they?" Selwyn asked. "Where are they?"

  Merton narrowed his eyes suspiciously again. "Ask a lot of questions, dont you?"

  Selwyn said, "Id like to thank them. Im sure what I ate here today saved my life. "

  "Ill thank them for you," Merton told him. "Im here much of the time, my farm being the next one over. "

  It wasnt, but perhaps Merton was only suspicious that he was a thief and was warning him that the place would be well watched. Selwyn hoped he hadnt looked too surprised, for neither pilgrim nor thief would know that Merton had lied.

  "Well, God bless you and the people who live here," he said. "May each of you be rewarded for your actions as you deserve. " The second part, at least, he could say in all sincerity.

  Merton scowled, which Selwyn thought might be evidence of a guilty conscience.

  Then again, it might have been because he caught sight of the back of Selwyns hat as he passed - with Farold the bat hanging from the brim.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Oh, that was well thought out and skillfully done," Farold told him as they headed down the road to the village. "Learn a lot, did we?"

  Leave it to Selwyns luck that Farold couldnt have slept through that ill-handled exchange. "Be quiet," he grumbled. He glanced behind to see if Merton was making sure he was really leaving and saw that he was. Merton was watching him while raking the patch of garden his mother kept, which would yield vegetables till the first frost if kept clear of leaves and debris. That might make up for giving my knife to Farold to teach me a lesson, he thought, but it wont make up for not speaking up when that knife turned up IN Farold. Merton stopped raking and glowered. Selwyn waved, lamely, which couldnt have done anything to allay Mertons suspicions that he was a thief.

  "So who are we going to interrogate next?" Farold asked from his position on the back of Selwyns straw hat.

  Selwyn decided he wouldnt let Farolds persistent belittling undermine him. "Give me your advice, oh wise bat," he said.

  Farold considered. "I could really use a drink. "

  Selwyn stopped, took hold of the hat, and swung it around so that Farold hung, upside down and swaying, in front of his face. "Dont even think about it," he warned. The idea of a drunk bat was enough to send shivers up his spine. The idea of this particular bat drinking too much - and who was to guess how much was too much for a bat? - was enough to leave him breathless.

  "You look as though you could use some of Oriks ale yourself," Farold told him. "It might get rid of that nasty twitch youve developed in that one eye, and maybe even make you better company. " Before Selwyn could get his mouth open to answer, Farold continued. "Besides, what better place than a tavern for people to gather and discuss one another and one anothers business?"

  Selwyn thought about it. "Maybe youre right that the tavern would be a good place to get information," he conceded. "But - first of all - I have no money. And - secondly - what am I going to do: Walk in there and say, My bat and I would like a drink of ale, please?"

  "Pilgrims are always begging," Farold pointed out.