Deniably Dead (Arucadi Series Book 4)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “She’s lying. Anyway, she said she tells fortunes. That’s not my fortune. That’s something I did months ago.”

  “I told you I see the past, the present, and the future,” Zauna said. “I can’t tell which it is except by what I’m told by my clients.”

  “Well, I’m not your client. I don’t want to hear any more.”

  Zauna nodded, but looking back into the crystal, she saw that it had other ideas. A new scene took place there with this same boy at its center. “Wait,” she said. “It is showing me something else, a different scene, but you are in it. It shows me a woman in a bed, and you are standing beside the bed, holding the woman’s hand. Her hair is a mix of black and gray, she is very pale, and she looks quite ill. She is looking up at you, and you are speaking to her. Her eyes close, and you—you seem to be crying.”

  “It’s all a lie,” the boy shouted. “You’re here to spy on me, like I said. And you’re telling me this to get me to go home. But I won’t! It’s a trick, and I won’t fall for it.”

  “I’m only telling you what I see,” she said.

  The boy drew back his fists, ready to strike her, but the leader intervened. “See what it shows about me,” he said.

  She nodded and gazed into the crystal. “I see a scene forming,” she said. “Oh my! I see a man, a tall man with dark hair and a whiskered face. He has his belt in his hand, and he’s beating you with it. I see a resemblance that makes me guess it is your father. You are wearing short pants, and he’s striking you with the buckle end of the belt, leaving red marks and gashes on your legs. I see you back away from him. You turn and run to the door with him following. You pull the door open and dash outside. He stands in the doorway. He doesn’t follow you but it looks like he’s yelling at you.” She looked up. “I gather this is a scene from your past?”

  The boy looked down at his feet. “Yes. That happened the day I left home for good.” He raised his head and glared at her defiantly. “He used to beat me all the time. For no reason. I got tired of it. I’m better off on my own.”

  He was probably right. “Let me see if I can bring up something from your future.” Zauna peered into the crystal sphere. “Yes. I see a scene taking place, and you are in it, looking a bit older. You are facing a well-dressed, gray-haired man. He has one hand on your shoulder. He’s smiling. So are you. He takes your arm, and you turn and walk away with him as the scene fades. I’d say it indicates a definite turn for the better in your future.”

  Another boy, the one who had choked her, stepped forward. “You see anything about me in that thing?” he asked.

  She studied him for a moment. He looked older than the others, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with a set jaw and a scowling face, an expression she guessed he wore often. She looked into the crystal. “I see you just as you look now. Two Peace Officers stand, one on each side of you. Each has hold of one of your arms, and they are leading you away. You pull free. One draws a pistol and aims it at you. You run. The officer fires the pistol. You fall onto the sidewalk. Blood flows from a wound in your side.” She looked up. “I’m sorry. Your fortune doesn’t look very favorable.”

  “Do I die?” He asked the question in such an offhand manner that he might as well have been asking about the weather.

  The scene faded. “I can’t see the outcome,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “This is all rubbish,” he scoffed, pulling a long bladed knife out of a sheath clipped to his belt and looking at the leader. “I say let’s take any money she has and get rid of her.”

  “I second that,” the runaway said.

  “Hey, she hasn’t done me yet.” One of the two boys for whom she had not yet searched in her crystal stepped in front of her. “I wanna see what she sees about me.”

  Had he just saved her life? Or at least granted her a short reprieve? She gazed into the crystal. The boy’s face filled the globe, looking exactly as it looked at the moment, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed beneath a wild shock of black hair. It was as though the crystal were a mirror. Then suddenly the crystal filled with blackness.

  Startled, Zauna looked up and saw the boy collapse. Behind him the boy whom she’d seen shot held his knife, now dripping blood, and she understood that the blackness meant death.

  “Now, your turn,” said the youth with the knife.

  “I think not.”

  At that unexpected voice, the gang members whirled around. A peacekeeper stepped into the alley, pistol drawn. Several others followed and fanned out to surround the boys. Two of them grabbed hold of the boy with the knife. A third took the knife from his hand and stepped back, leaving the killer positioned exactly as Zauna had foreseen.

  “She set us up,” accused the lad who’d been the first to see his past and his future.

  A peacekeeper addressed him. “Young Master Chilsom, we’ve been on your trail for some time. It seems we got here just in time to prevent a crime that would have brought all of you before the provincial court. This woman had nothing to do with it, but we’ve been just outside the alley, listening.”

  “Sorry we delayed too long and caused this young thief his life,” another said, nudging the body of the slain boy. “Didn’t see that coming.”

  Neither had Zauna. But she had seen what came next. The killer broke free just as she had seen and lunged toward the officer holding his knife. A pistol shot rang out. The young man fell. An officer stood over him, his gun smoking.

  Another officer calmly addressed Zauna. “Ma’am, if those are your belongings strewn around on the ground, we’ll help you gather them up, and then one of us will escort you safely to wherever you were going when these young troublemakers accosted you.”

  “I’d just come in on the train from Marquez and was heading for a ticket office where I could book passage on a boat to Highport,” she said, and began to gather her trampled and dirtied clothing. She spotted the little book, a dirty footprint now defacing its cover. She brushed it off and returned it to the box.

  “The ticket offices are all closed by now,” the officer said. “We’ll see you to an inn instead. Is this the box you were using to carry that?” He pointed to the crystal ball and stand.

  “Yes. I had my clothes packed around it to keep it safe,” she explained.

  He retrieved the box and waited while she placed the crystal and its stand inside, then stuffed the clothes in around it. “These will all have to be laundered now,” she said sadly.

  “We’ll get you to an inn where you can get laundry service,” he said. “And a dining room if you need a meal.”

  “I do, and I’m so grateful to you. For saving my life and for being so kind.” She looked down at the young man whom they’d shot. “Is—is he dead?”

  “Not yet. I doubt he’ll survive though.”

  “Never can tell,” another officer said. “These street kids are tough.” Turning to the runaway, he said, “Master Chilsom, you’ve fallen into bad company. We’d lock you up with the others, but your family is desperate to have you return home. Your mother has been taken quite ill and your father fears for her life.”

  By this time Zauna had her box repacked, and the Peace Officer led her away before she heard the boy’s response to the others.

  “I owe my life to you peacekeepers for rescuing me,” she told the officer. “You came just in the nick of time.”

  “Well, ma’am, actually,” he paused before continuing, “we were close by when we heard your scream. We could have come in sooner. See, we’ve been tracking the gang, looking for an opportunity to grab Terrell Chilsom at a time when he was separated from the others. So we were waiting just outside the alley listening. That was clever of you, to divert them by telling their fortunes. Interesting. Well, anyway, of course we rushed in when we realized your life was in danger. So in the end, we had to take Chilsom with the rest of the gang present. But we couldn’t let them hurt you. I’m sure they must have scared you badly though.”

  “I’ve been in scary situations before, office
r. I wasn’t really afraid until that older boy stabbed the younger one. And since you came in right after that, I didn’t have much time to be frightened.”

  “You’re a brave woman,” the officer said admiringly. “I’m taking you to the best inn in town, and the Peace Department will pay this night’s lodging to make up for delaying as we did.”

  “You’re so kind. In return, I’ll be happy to read your fortune.”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. Thank you for offering, but that isn’t necessary. Or wise,” he said. “In my line of work, it’s better not to know what lies ahead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BONES

  Back on the road, Lore’s gaze roved over the fields of golden grain lining the roadway and stretching from it to the horizon. The stalks waved placidly in the light breeze, a calming sight except …

  Find a body in that sea of grain? Or bones? More and more Lore doubted Blue’s wild tale, but even if he’d told the truth, Lore saw no way of finding the spot where Blue had claimed to have dumped Kyla. He watched for any sign that a horse and rider had passed through the grain, but he saw nothing.

  Discouragement rode with him on the plodding horse as he stared across the endless fields. He should probably turn back, try to reunite with his companions. Yet he continued. In his depression and hunger he lacked the energy to turn the horse around and retrace his route.

  Hours passed. His head nodded, his eyes closed, the horse’s rhythmic swaying lulling him to sleep. Had the horse not stumbled, jolting him awake, he might have missed it. A large space in the field he’d almost passed by had been trampled down, the grain stalks ground into the dirt as by the passage of an army. Certainly more than a single horse and rider had caused the destruction, but he decided not to pass by the only field that had caught his attention during his long ride. The afternoon had grown late, the day would soon end, and until now he had nothing to show for the day’s long ride.

  He turned the horse into the field. It occurred to him that, if nothing else, he could dismount and let the horse graze on the grain. He let the horse pick its way carefully through the ruined field, looking all about him as they proceeded. In the distance upright stalks marked the end of the devastation. As he drew nearer to that boundary, the horse turned abruptly to the left. And stopped. Lore dismounted and viewed what the horse had seen first. Not he but his horse had discovered Kyla.

  She lay as though sleeping, her clothes torn and dirty but still covering her. He bent down and ascertained that she was neither less alive nor less dead than when he’d last seen her, lying in her coffin. He found no sign or odor of decay, nor did he detect any breath or other sign of life. He bent and lifted her into his arms, surprised by how light she was. And cold, though not deathly so.

  Dead or alive? One moment he thought, dead; the next, he thought, alive. He was as conflicted as ever about her condition and the wisdom of this expedition. But he had found her, and that meant that now, at last, he could search for his companions and, when he found them, they could complete this mission and return to a normal life.

  He hoisted her onto the horse and held her there while he searched for a way to steady her and get himself onto the horse behind her. Again the horse solved that problem for him. It lowered its head, allowing him to let Kyla fall forward to lie on its neck, while her legs draped over the side. It walked slowly forward to stop at a stump that for some reason had been left in the field. It proved just the right height when he climbed up on it to allow him to mount with little difficulty. He could almost believe it had been left there for that very purpose.

  Giving thanks to the Power-Giver, he turned the horse back to the road. As he went, it occurred to him that he had stepped on or found none of the bones Blue had described the field as being filled with. Nothing had crunched beneath his feet or beneath the horse’s hooves. And nothing gave any indication of what had trampled down the grain, allowing him to spot Kyla.

  The horse had at least eaten some of the fallen grain while Lore had been examining Kyla. He wished now he’d had the foresight to gather some to give the horse later and maybe even eat some himself, though raw grain held no appeal for him.

  When he reached the road, he thought to turn the horse to go back the way he’d come. The horse had other ideas. It refused to move no matter how hard he pulled on the reins or pressed his knees into its sides. Cursing its stubbornness, he considered dismounting and trying to pull the horse around, but if he dismounted, he doubted his ability to remount. Hungry, tired, and still sore, he was too weak to argue with the horse, and so he let it have its way. Night would soon fall. Perhaps he’d find a farmhouse where he could ask for lodging or a barn where he could take shelter.

  He began to pass groups of people trudging along the road. Where had they come from? There had been almost no traffic on the road since it branched off from the main road from Marquez to Harnor. Pescatil did not seem to attract travelers. The groups he passed wore ragged and dirty clothing. They might be field laborers, although he started passing them early in the day. Along with men, they included women and even children. They took no notice of him as he passed but kept doggedly plodding along. Perhaps he should ask them about a place to stop for the night, but neither their appearance nor their lack of interest in him encouraged even that slight conversation. A more ragtag assortment of folks he had never seen. Besides, if he stopped a group, they couldn’t help noticing Kyla, and how would he explain her? So he kept going, albeit slowly, as he and the horse were exhausted.

  When he sighted farmhouses and buildings that marked the approach to a town—and that town could only be Pescatil—he felt great relief. At the same time he worried about how he could explain Kyla to an innkeeper or a householder who might otherwise be willing to grant him a night’s lodging.

  He’d have to invent a way to explain Kyla, but at present all he could think of was finding some place where he could get food. He had gone so long with nothing to eat that his hunger pangs had become only a dull ache in his gut, something to be ignored. Now, with the prospect of finding food no longer a distant dream but a distinct possibility, his hunger revived, driving out all other considerations.

  He stopped at the first farmhouse he came to, lifted Kyla from the horse and laid her on the ground behind some bushes where she would be out of sight of anyone who looked out a front window or came to the door. He knocked on the door, and after a short wait an old man in worn trousers and a patched shirt opened the door and peered out at him with an expression that mingled curiosity and concern. His leathery face spoke of a lifetime of hard work.

  Lore explained his need for food and lodging as well as care and stabling for his horse.

  “Ah,” the man said, frowning. “We don’t get many visitors here in Pescatil. Not since—“ he broke off, his frown deepening. “Well, anyway, I can’t help you out myself. I have a sick wife and no room to spare. The only inn in town’s been closed for years, but Mistress Carran on Lantern Road has a spare room she sometimes rents out to the occasional visitor. Serves meals, too, I believe, and she could probably provide a place for you to see to your horse.” He craned his neck to look out at the horse. “Poor thing looks near done in,” he observed.

  “I’ve had a long ride without provisions,” Lore admitted. Where’s Lantern Road and how do I find Mistress Carran’s house?”

  “Go on down the road just a bit. You’ll see a lane turning off to your left. There’s no signpost, but you’ll know it by the lamppost on the side. That’s where Lantern Road gets its name. Turn down it and you’ll come to an empty house on your right, and just a ways past it a second house. That’ll be Mistress Carran’s place. You can tell her you got directions from old George. She knows me. She’ll likely take you in.”

  Lore thanked him and returned to his horse. “Not yet, boy, but with luck we won’t be going much farther before we find a stopping place with food and shelter.” He walked the horse to where he’d left Kyla, picked her up, and put her on the horse.
Seeing nowhere from which to mount, he walked, leading the horse, and hoping that either he would come to something to climb up on or that the walk would not be long.

  He was still walking when he came to the lane leading off to the right, a lamppost beside it as the old man had described. Thankfully, he soon came to the empty house, a sad sight with its windows and door reduced to gaping holes and some of its weathered boards hanging loose He made a sudden decision. Seeing no one nearby, he halted, lifted Kyla from the horse, and carried her to the deserted house. He judged it prudent not to carry her to the house where he hoped to find lodging, How likely was it that he would be welcomed if he bore with him an apparently dead woman?

  Going inside the decrepit structure, he walked through it and found an interior room that seemed reasonably sheltered, where she should be safe enough. He saw no evidence that anyone had been inside recently; the house had a feel of having been long deserted and forgotten. Laying her down near the wall of the room, he murmured a reluctant apology to Kyla for the abandonment and a promise to return and check on her frequently. Not that he thought she could hear, but it eased his conscience to speak the words aloud.

  Returning to his long-suffering and patient horse, he led it on down the lane until the house he’d been told of came into sight. And a welcome sight it was! In stark contrast to the deserted house where he’d left Kyla, this house looked well kept with a flower-bordered walkway to its front door and lights already glowing in its windows though daylight, albeit dimming, had not yet turned to night.

  He hurried down the pebbled walkway and knocked on the door. It was opened by a wisp of a woman, gray hair piled in a neat bun on her head, a clean apron covering her old-fashioned, high-collared dress of faded blue.

  “Mistress Carran? My name is Lore Kaplek. I’ve had a long journey, and I’m in great need of food and rest, as well as a place to care properly for my weary horse. I stopped at the first place I came to on the way into town, and a man by the name of George told me I might find lodging here.”