“We’re not hiring.” The portal started to close.

  “Wait! Wait, wait, wait, my good man. All we seek is an interview. Surely that can be…arranged?” ’Twas the jingle of our purse, not the plea in Fisk’s voice, that opened the portal again. The guard surveyed us and saw no threat. The portal slid closed and the great door opened, for ’tis hard to palm a bribe through a peephole. A silver roundel changed hands.

  “I can’t do much for you.” The guard was a sturdy fellow, with freckled skin and thick arms. “I told you, she’s not hiring. Leastways not normal folk, and you look too smart to meet her other standards. Although…what’s his name?”

  I knew a moment of panic, for I’d not thought to provide myself with one. But I had to say something. Fortunately, I remembered to stammer. “S-s-s-s—”

  “Sammel,” Fisk cut in. “He can’t talk much, but he’s a good worker. If there aren’t any posts in the house, we might consider lowering ourselves to—”

  “Sorry, mate, no posts anywhere. Try the port.”

  “My good fellow, if we could just see the stew—”

  “Sorry. Can’t help you.”

  The door was closing.

  “Wait!”

  The door closed.

  “Curse it.” Fisk kicked the door. “I hope your nose rots off!” he yelled.

  I heard a chuckle on the other side of the thick planks, but there was no other response.

  Fisk swore under his breath all the way down the hill. “At least we can go to Lord Dorian now,” he finished.

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? She’s locked up in that place like a payroll in a vault! She’s got guards patrolling the walls! She probably never goes out without dozens of them. Noble Sir, we’re licked. Beaten. Finished. We. Can’t. Do. This. Am I being too subtle for you?”

  The darkness of Fisk’s hair emphasized his familiar glower.

  “I admit this is a setback,” I told him. “But we haven’t even started yet. We should go into town and establish our identities. If we had references, the steward might agree to talk to us.” And given a few more days, mayhap I could think of a better scheme than this dishonorable charade.

  We rounded a bend and the keep vanished from sight—which also meant they couldn’t see us. I took Fisk’s arm and led him off the road.

  “I want to scout the area.” Sitting on the first convenient log, I pulled off my boots, removed those accursed cloth pads, and rubbed my aching shins.

  “There’s not much point in scouting a mark you don’t intend to rob.” Fisk’s expression was a weird mixture of determination and pleading. “Haven’t you got it through your head? This woman is dangerous!”

  “Look, all I want to do is circle around the keep.” I tried to sound more confident than I felt. “There’s only two guards and they’re watching the killing ground, not looking into the trees. I want to see the terrain—”

  “In case we have to make a run for it?” Fisk asked dryly.

  I couldn’t deny it. “I also want to see who comes and goes. Mayhap we can get a job delivering their supplies. Or we might think of something else, if we observe them a bit.”

  Fisk’s gaze was steady. “Sir Michael…you’re crazy.”

  I laughed. “You’ve only just realized that? Really, Fisk, most people figure it out the moment I introduce myself.”

  His lips twitched, and I knew I had him. Smiling, I pulled my squire into the woods behind me.

  Moving in a wide circle through densely wooded hills is harder than you’d think. By the time we stopped for mid-meal our boots were muddy, and we were leafy, scratched, and itchy with sweat. I hoped Fisk was enjoying himself as much as I was.

  “Never more than two guards,” I noted. “If those clouds come in, a man in a dark cloak could probably make it across the open ground without being seen.”

  “And then camp outside the walls, waiting for the guards to come out and skewer him when the sun comes up.” But Fisk looked thoughtful, despite his words. “Besides, if those clouds come in it will probably rain. Maybe even snow, if it gets any colder. That’d be wonderful, for a man wearing a dark cloak in a killing ground.”

  There was more conversation in the same vein. By late afternoon we’d circled two thirds of the keep, and we still hadn’t any idea for getting in—much less getting the lady out.

  “What’s wrong with going to Lord Dorian?” Fisk grumbled behind me. “He’s supposed to be the upholder of justice, so let him uphold it. That’s his job.”

  “So it is, but…Lord Dorian wants to claim Cory Port,” I said. “I greatly fear he may care more about that than he does about justice.”

  “Of course he cares about justice. His sheriffs arrested me, didn’t they? I think that’s a fine indica—”

  Fisk was so involved in his speech that he walked into me before he realized I’d stopped moving.

  “What is it?” He peered around me.

  I didn’t answer. The meadow stretched before us, nearly covered with evenly spaced blood oak saplings.

  “The keep’s burying grove.” Fisk’s voice was hushed. “They had to have one…didn’t they? Sir, what is it?”

  “Look at the trees, Fisk. They’re all young. All these graves have been dug within the last…ten years, I’d guess.”

  We both knew how long Lady Ceciel had lived in the keep.

  Fisk took a deep breath. “She’s been busy, hasn’t she? Come on, she couldn’t have killed that many people. There are, what, forty graves here? Someone would have complained when all their neighbors went missing. And if she killed them, wouldn’t she conceal the graves?”

  “Then how do you explain it? Only plague results in groves like this, with all the trees so close in size. And there’s been no plague on this coast in the last ten years.”

  “So maybe…” Excitement lit Fisk’s face. “Maybe she’s trying to hide something else—like treasure!”

  “Of all the…and you called me crazy! Why under two moons would she bury treasure?”

  “Because she’s afraid it might be taken away,” said Fisk promptly. “Because it was gotten illegally.”

  “By being in league with pirates, like in that stupid play? That’s absurd. And even if something like that was true, you’d hide your money where you could reach it quickly, in case you had to flee.”

  “It might be hard to hide treasure,” said Fisk stubbornly, “in a house full of servants.”

  That was ridiculous. But so was assuming she could kill this many people without anyone stopping her.

  “I know one way to find out,” I said. “Come on. If we cut straight west we’ll hit the road, and be in town by sunset.” I turned toward the woods, walking off so abruptly that Fisk had to scramble to keep up.

  “Why are we going to town?” he asked.

  “To buy a shovel.”

  We had to buy a lantern as well. By late evening a blanket of clouds had indeed rolled in, bringing with them a scent of rain that foretold a storm later in the night.

  Away from the torches that lit the streets ’twas very dark. The Creature Moon was almost half full, but the huge Green Moon showed only a sliver of itself, and the light that leaked through the clouds was barely enough to keep us on the road.

  The woods were worse, for the thrashing branches distorted what little light there was, slowing our pace to a groping crawl. But even Fisk didn’t propose we light the lantern. The guards’ attention was directed to the ground around the keep, but a moving light will draw anyone’s eye.

  We had no fear they’d hear us; the wind whistled in the treetops, sent fallen leaves skittering over our feet like panicked mice, and altogether made enough noise that we had to stand close to hear each other, since we didn’t dare to shout.

  Actually we didn’t have much to say. The closer we came to the burying grove, the quieter Fisk became, and I knew neither of us really expected treasure. He made no protest when, on arriving, I took up the shovel and handed him the lantern.

  There were several hills between the grove and the keep, so we could light it without risk. It took several minutes to find the newest grave—so freshly dug that when I loosened the earth around the sapling and lifted it away, the soil around its roots held the shape of the bucket it had been potted in. No expensive magica to mark this grave. If what I suspected was true, ’twas strange she’d marked the grave at all.

  Fisk held the light and I dug—carefully after the first few feet, for the thought of my shovel piercing…anything…sent a chill creeping up from my belly.

  Not that I didn’t feel chills already, for there’s no spookier task than digging up a grave on a dark, windy night. Had I been alone, I don’t think I could have done it.

  When my shovel blade struck the yielding mass, my stomach turned over. Fisk set down the lantern to help me clear the earth from the canvas-shrouded body and heave it up beside the grave. The stench of decay reached through the wrapping, and I swallowed, bracing myself, before drawing my knife and slitting the stitches that held the shroud together.

  I looked up and met Fisk’s somber gaze. The lantern shone steadily, which meant his hands weren’t shaking. He was doing better than I. He nodded readiness and I flipped the edges of the shroud aside. But neither of us was ready for the sight that met our eyes.

  Fisk stepped back, choking. The light flashed away, but not soon enough—the image of the mutilated body was imprinted on my mind. I swallowed hard, trying to quell my nausea, listening to Fisk’s harsh breathing.

  “Sorry,” he said. But he didn’t bring the light back to the corpse for several minutes, for which I was grateful. I found I was standing several feet away from the grave, with no memory of having moved.

  When Fisk turned the light back, we were both prepared. And indeed, someone had restored the body to a semblance of dignity.

  ’Twas a boy in his early teens, with the flatish face of a simple one. His torso, which had been slit from throat to groin, had been stitched back together, though little effort had been made to conceal the fact that his internal organs had been terribly disturbed—removed and thrown back haphazardly, from the lumpy look of his abdomen. His head had also been opened, and roughly stitched.

  I was still trying not to be sick when Fisk said, “Dissected. We aren’t the only ones to be curious about this boy’s death.”

  “If that’s true, then he was dead when it happened.”

  The fact that my squire was able to make deductions and I wasn’t shamed me into looking at the corpse more dispassionately. Fisk was right—this was a healer’s investigation, not a sadist’s sickness. The thought calmed me somewhat.

  “We’ll never be able to figure out what he died of, that’s for certain,” I said. Even if the body hadn’t been so badly mistreated, I don’t think I could have touched it.

  “It can’t have been anything obvious.” Fisk knelt and pulled the canvas back over the boy’s corpse. “Or they wouldn’t have needed to dissect him. Poison perhaps?”

  “Or disease.” My eyes wandered over the grove. Some of the graves were quite small. I shuddered. “Or even natural death. The simple ones frequently die young.”

  “This many of them?” Black fury grated in Fisk’s voice, and I knew how he felt. I’d only said it because I didn’t want the horror to be true. If she had killed all the poor children she’d so “charitably employed,” I had to bring her in. A wave of desolation told me, for the first time, how much hope I’d clung to. That somehow she’d prove innocent, and I’d find some way to escape spending the rest of my life as Rupert’s steward. Day after day of safety and sameness, as season followed season in an endless cycle until I died.

  ’Twas only now, as I truly faced its loss, that I realized how much I loved the life I’d led this last year. For all its discomfort and uncertainty, every morning had promised new adventure, every curve of the road new beauty, and every stranger the possibility of interest, or friendship, or even enmity. I didn’t want to give it up—I couldn’t.

  “We should have thought of the simple ones.” Fisk’s quiet voice held a deep, hot anger I had never heard in him before. “They were the only people she could kill without anyone protesting.”

  Outrage burned away despair. I could never ignore this, never condone it. Even if it meant life as Rupert’s steward. “We need help, Fisk. Lord Gerald. He’s her liege lord. He has to act on this when we tell him.”

  “Are you certain? Cory Port still brings him…”

  Fisk’s gaze fixed behind me. Turning, I saw fire in the woods, four wind-whipped torches…coming straight toward us.

  “They’ll have men behind us too,” I said. “That’s how I’d do it.”

  Fisk dived for the lantern and turned it out, but the glow faded too slowly. He threw it into the grave, plunging us into darkness, and I heard the glass shatter.

  “How under two moons does she always know where we are?” he howled in a whisper. “Come on!” He grabbed my arm and started for the woods, stumbling when I didn’t move.

  “You go. I’ll hold them as long as I can.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “No. Think, Fisk! If she catches us both, she’ll kill us. She has to—we’ve learned too much. But if you get to the authorities, she won’t dare kill me. Run. Now!”

  ’Tis very useful to have a practical squire. A nobler man might have stayed to argue and gotten us both killed. Fisk cast one more look at the approaching torches and took off like a deer…well, almost. He tripped over something once, but he rolled to his feet and ran on without a second’s pause.

  I hoped he remembered what I’d said about men behind us, for those too-obvious torches had to be beaters, driving us into ambush. If I saw that so clearly, surely Fisk would…or would it be as obvious to a townsman? I wished I’d said more. I wished…

  Four men stepped out of the woods. They looked surprised to find me waiting, but not disappointed. Their torches were set in spiked holders, and they thrust them into the ground as they advanced, drawing short clubs that reminded me of the last fight Lady Ceciel had arranged for us. Why not swords? I had no idea, but at the sight of those clubs hope flared in my heart—not of winning, not against four, but of holding them long enough to give Fisk a chance.

  The flickering light concealed their faces, but I didn’t have to see their faces. I was fighting for my squire, myself, and for all the poor souls whose graves lay around me, whose murder these men had willingly ignored.

  I was quite ready to bash someone. I waited until they were almost upon me, raised my shovel, and charged.

  CHAPTER 13

  Fisk

  Running like a madman through the cursed, tripping darkness, I heard Sir Michael’s war cry. I tried to close my ears to the thuds, grunts, and shouts that followed, for he was right—the best way I could help him was to escape, and come back with a sheriff and a big gang of thugs.

  Something, a fallen branch, a tree root, wrapped around my ankle and brought me down. This time I crashed into a tree when I fell. Lying there, stunned, with the dead leaves rattling past my face, I realized that if I continued to run around like a wounded moose, they’d be able to find me by sound alone once they’d finished with Michael. And hadn’t he said something about other men? Yes. Other men behind us. That was how he’d do it.

  It was possible Lady Ceciel wasn’t that smart, but I wasn’t prepared to bet my life on it.

  Two lives, really.

  I shivered and crawled into the shadow of the great tree on which I’d almost brained myself. At this point, I wouldn’t bet a brass fract against Lady Ceciel. How, how, how did she always know where we were? The first few times I could understand it, but tonight?

  I could no longer hear the fight, so either it was finished, or I’d passed out of hearing range. No matter. The only thing I could do for my stubborn employer now was to get out of here. I waited for several minutes but saw and heard nothing. Not that I could have heard anything short of a shout. With all these dry leaves, on a quiet night I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  Picking out another large tree, I waited for the next patch of clouds. In the ensuing darkness I hurried forward, tripped, fell flat, and crawled the rest of the way.

  I hate woods.

  I spent a lot of the next ten minutes on my hands and knees. The damp forest mold was soft, but there were scores of stones and branches buried in it, and I swear I crawled over every one of them. I was crouched by a thick clump of bushes, catching my breath and rubbing a bruised palm, when a shout came from behind me.

  “Ho, the woods! We got one—did you get the other?”

  “What other? We haven’t seen anyone.”

  The answering shout came from a rock a hundred yards ahead of me, and my heart leapt into my throat. I’d planned to use that rock for cover.

  “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him? He ran this way.”

  The voice was coming nearer. With fervent thanks for the rushing wind, I burrowed into the bushes. My cloak was a sober brown. Surely on a dark night, in the midst of a clump of bushes, half buried in fallen leaves, I would be invisible…. Of course, the branches were bare. It would depend on whether or not my pursuers looked.

  The man behind the rock emerged. “What do you mean, he went this way? I told you, we haven’t seen anyone.”

  “Curse it, you must have missed him. How could you? She said it’s our jobs on the line if we let them get away!”

  They were close enough now that they didn’t have to shout, and I could still hear them clearly. I kept my eyes shut, not for any sensible reason, but hoping like a child that if I couldn’t see them, they wouldn’t see me.

  “I tell you, no one passed this perimeter.” I heard the footsteps of other men approaching and a rumble of agreement. “He must have circled back while you were fighting with the other one.”

  “Could he have been that smart?”

  I wished I had been. I’d have been on the road by now, instead of cowering in a pile of leaves. I also wished that someone would say something to indicate that Michael was all right.

 

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