by J. K. Holt
Tess slid out of the saddle, groaning as her feet hit the ground. Her butt ached and her legs seemed uninclined to change from their bowlegged position. She took solace in noting that Fish’s predicament mirrored her own, and she saw Loren grimace as he dismounted, though he gave no other indication of his suffering. Now it was Tess’s turn to roll her eyes.
“What should we do with the horses?” Tess asked.
“We’ll brush them down and then put them in the stable,” Rosie answered, stepping closer to Tess and lowering her voice. “If you and Fish can see to them, I’ll take the leech here inside. There’s only the wife there right now, and she was heading towards the kitchen to put together an early dinner for us when I came out. I think I can get him upstairs with no one noticing if I do it soon.”
“Right,” Tess answered.
The stable was modest but clean. It took over an hour for Tess and Fish to groom and feed the horses, and they stank of sweat and road by the time they entered the warm, dark interior of the ramshackle house. Rosie was nowhere to be seen, nor was the innkeeper’s wife, so they followed a staircase to the top floor, another dark affair with short ceilings that felt claustrophic and gave off the illusion of the walls shrinking. Tess fought the urge to duck.
There were two closed doors at the end of the hall, and they knocked on the first one they came to. Rosie’s voice called out from the other side, and it opened to a tiny space with a double bed pushed against the side of the wall. Rosie stood in the far corner, cutting an apple, while Loren sat on the mattress, hands still tied. Blood dripped from his mouth, and one eye was nearly swollen closed. He kept his eyes down, a scowl upon his cold, sculpted features. Fish sucked in a breath and made one step towards Loren before stopping and turning to Rosie.
“What’s this?” Fish said, his voice measured, fists clenched. “Did he try to escape?”
Rosie frowned, popping a slice of apple into her mouth. “Not as such.”
“Then what happened?” Tess asked.
Loren chuckled without humor, swiping at the blood so that it smeared across his chin. “Nothing to worry about, darling. Just some unfinished business with your hired muscle. Though I’m beginning to think the wrong one of us is tied up.”
Tess studied him as he sulked and felt a brief pang of pity that she quickly stifled. Still, it felt wrong. A glance at Rosie confirmed that she was nonplussed by Loren’s comments; she continued to carve her apple, looking over the point of her knife at Tess and Fish as if to gauge their reactions to Loren’s current state. Each one of them seemed to be waiting for another person to react, with the stakes higher than any of them might realize.
In a moment of stark clarity, Tess saw her previous interaction with Rosie for what it was- an attempt to get Loren alone, the first opportunity Rosie would have had since the fight outside the shop weeks ago. An angry blush rose in Tess’s cheeks, but she bit her tongue; she felt the fool. This behavior wouldn’t stand, but any necessary confrontation with Rosie couldn’t be done in front of Loren- she couldn’t let him see they weren’t a cohesive group or he’d exploit it.
Tess pulled a rag from her pocket and tossed it to Loren. “Clean yourself up,” she said. “If you need water, I’ll fetch you some. Fish,” she said, dragging his attention to her, “can you stay here and watch Loren for a bit? I’m sure Rosie could use a break and I need food. We’ll bring you both some as well.”
Anger crossed Fish’s face, his nose twitching as if he smelled something foul, but he nodded. “Fine. Go.”
Tess wondered if Rosie would choose the moment to stage a power struggle, but she merely shrugged and tossed her half-eaten apple to Loren. He caught it with one hand out of reflex, lest it hit him in the other unbruised eye. Rosie sauntered past Fish towards the door, patting him on the back as if she’d done him a favor. But Tess was certain Rosie was wrong if she assumed Fish was angry because she’d not allowed him to shed first blood; no doubt he harbored intense anger towards Loren, but Tess had read his body language as protective. Fish’s moral backbone was rigid, and he wouldn’t take kindly to hurting Loren without reason. It was one of the reasons he’d agreed to this plan, knowing that Loren would certainly be killed if he was left in the Reed’s care for much longer.
But Tess also wondered if it was more than that. As wounded and raw as he was, she suspected that Fish still carried some feelings for Loren, a fact that likely caused him no end of shame. She wondered now if bringing him along wasn’t another form of torture, to be so close to the person who had broken him. Was she so short-sighted to not think this through?
Rosie led the way back downstairs, indicating a table near the hearth before settling herself into the nearest seat. Tess sat across from her. “Should we look for the innkeeper?”
“I imagine she’ll come out when she hears us,” Rosie said. “She’s just beyond the way, in the kitchen. Or she was, last I saw her.”
“Alright.” Tess angled herself forward, tucking her hands between her knees, and waited until she caught Rosie’s gaze. “You know we have to talk about it.”
Rosie scoffed. “What? He’s got a split lip and a black eye. I think he’ll live. I haven’t mangled him beyond repair. Not yet, at least.”
“That’s not the point,” Tess said.
“Oh? What is then?” Something fierce glimmered in Rosie’s eyes, and she took on an almost feral look. “If he was brought along to be fed from a silver spoon, please enlighten me. It’s only that I seem to remember him being the person who blurred Russ, along with countless others, likely enough. So I’m a little confused as to why you’d take issue with him getting just a sliver of justice repaid to him.”
Tess groaned, pushing herself back from the table in exasperation. “I’m not arguing that Loren doesn’t deserve his treatment, or that you haven’t earned the right to punish him. But if you push him, he’ll eventually push back. He’s got too much pride not to. I don’t know, maybe that’s what you want. Maybe it will justify your behavior towards him more in your own mind. But it won’t help us. It won’t get us closer to understanding what’s at the root of any of this, because once Loren is dead, we’ve lost our last lead to figure out where we’re going.”
“And how do you think we’re going to get that information from him without torturing him, then?” Rosie snarled. “Do you really think he’ll just realize he has a soul and decide to switch to our side? That we’ll just bond with him and swap stories over the fire and all get along? Are you delusional?”
The escalation stalled when a large woman bustled out from behind the door carrying a large tray. “Thought I heard voices,” she said cheerily, oblivious to the tensions at the table. “You said there were four of you, dear,” she chided Rosie. She dropped the tray on the table, containing several bowls of thick stew.
“There are,” Tess answered, forcing a smile. “The other two are upstairs- if you leave the tray, I’ll carry the food up to them and we’ll bring the dishes back down to you when they’ve finished.”
“That’s fine,” the woman replied. “Just be careful navigating it up the stairs.” She sniffed the air delicately. “Tell you what- I’ll get you a few buckets of warm water as well. It’ll give you the opportunity to clean up after a hard day on the road.”
Rosie snorted softly as the woman bustled away. Tess ventured a wan smile. “Did she just insinuate that I stink?”
“Oh, she did more than insinuate,” Rosie replied. “Though I can’t imagine that fact is news to you. I’m surprised you haven’t begun attracting flies.”
The joke was meant in jest and Tess was grateful for the olive branch, if also slightly more self-conscious. She excused herself to bring the tray upstairs and left it with Fish at the door. When she returned, Rosie was well tucked into her bowl. The hearty stew was delicious and immediately comforting, and they spent several moments in quiet while they filled their stomachs. When she finally put down her spoon, Tess chose her words carefully.
“This
is hard. I’m sorry.”
Rosie eyed her as if sensing a trap. “Sorry for what?”
“For what I’ve asked of you. And of Fish. Loren has hurt us all, but he hurt you both more deeply than me. So to ask you both to come along, biding his presence… I see now that it might have been a little- well, to use your word, delusional.”
The stew had made a warm well in her stomach, and Tess wrapped her arms around her body as if to absorb the simple comfort it offered while she waited for Rosie to answer.
When Rosie meted out her response, it was equally conciliatory. “I’m sorry, too. I was wrong the other day, when I said you couldn’t understand because you hadn’t lost everything.”
Tess raised an eyebrow in question, prompting Rosie to continue. “I only mean that it was wrong for me to minimize what he did to you.”
“Ah,” Tess said. “On the Blackbirder.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to tell you what happened that night?” Tess said.
Rosie slanted her eyes. It looked as if she would dismiss the question for a moment, but she thought better of it. “Yes.”
Tess closed her eyes, centering herself. “They came and took me from my bed at the Muddy Gull. Someone hit me, knocked me out, and I came to aboard the Blackbirder. I was bound and gagged. I threw up, I think. Yes, on the floor. There was a big man… his name was Bram. And Loren, and eventually someone named Mr. Winslow. They questioned me about you all, and when I wouldn’t answer, Loren bruised a few of my ribs for good measure.”
Rosie grunted, disgusted. Tess smiled grimly. “Well, he had the decency to offer me a choice between that and my fingers, being the gentle soul that he is.”
“Sadistic arse,” Rosie muttered.
Tess frowned. “No, I don’t think so. He didn’t seem to take pleasure from it. He was just… detached from it. Like it was a means to an end. Anyways, after they’d pulled what information they could from me, they decided to weigh me down and throw me overboard, after the idea of blurring me and returning me to shore seemed too tedious.”
A sneer of disdain marred Rosie’s face. “Too tedious. Quite right. They would think that way, wouldn’t they?”
“It would seem so. So I was pretty well licked, and then Bram the brute came back in the room, when the others were gone.” A surge of bile rose in the back of Tess’s throat, and she swallowed it, determined to continue. “He tried to force himself on me, and I fought back.”
At the admission, Rosie’s eyes found Tess’s, hardened and fierce. “I hope you gave the bastard hell.”
“I did, but it wasn’t enough. He gained the upper hand- had me pinned. And that’s when Dray appeared. I didn’t know how at the time, but he’d climbed through the window. He killed Bram.” Tess inched closer to Rosie, conspiratorially. “And then he untied me, and threw me out the open window.”
Rosie drew back, disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am!” Tess insisted. “I hit the water and it was like I’d traded one hell for the other.” She was grinning now, despite herself, and Rosie was doing the same. “I thought, ‘I’m saved!’, and then he just tells me not to scream and chucks me into the water. Dead serious!”
A laugh escaped Rosie’s lips, and she slapped her leg. “Draker Reed, savior and executioner.”
“Exactly!” Tess laughed. “Of course, he and Fish got me out of the water and into Della and rowed me back to shore.”
The shared moment was beautiful, though Rosie’s face again became still at the mention of the boat. “They saved you, then. I can see why you feel you owe them so much.”
A silence punctuated the air that had only moments before been filled with camaraderie. Tess suspected she might know the reason, but she didn’t broach the subject further. Instead, she shook her head. “Yes, they saved me, and I owe them. But they weren’t the only ones. You did, too.”
At Rosie’s puzzled expression, Tess continued. “When Loren and the lampreys ambushed us at the bakery- do you remember? One of those buffoons had me pinned, and he was choking me. And then you appeared, like a bat straight out of hell.”
Realization dawned in Rosie’s eyes. “I knocked him off of you.”
“Yes.”
Her look grew cold. “I killed him, you know.”
“Yes, I do.” Not certain how it would be received, Tess reached out a hand to place softly on Rosie’s arm. “I’m glad you did. He would have killed me for sport.”
Rosie looked down at Tess’s hand. “I didn’t remember that he was on you, you know. Only that he was there. And I was so angry. I still am.” She sucked in a ragged breath, sorrow marring her face. “I’m angry all the time. Sometimes I have a hard time remembering what normal used to feel like.”
Tess didn’t answer. She kept her hand where it was, and sat with Rosie. A lonely moment passed. Then another.
Finally, Rosie slid her arm out from Tess’s grasp. “Let’s go back up. You need a bath, and I’m sure the water’s been boiled already. Be a shame to let it get cold.” She detached herself from her chair and sauntered from the room to seek out the innkeeper.
Tess felt lighter, somehow. She sniffed herself and coughed. Rosie was right- she desperately needed a bath.
∞ ∞ ∞
The group continued north for several days, the landscape stodgy and unchanging. Inland, the plants and vegetation were leeched of color, and even the sky seemed a duller blue. Clouds scurried past, heading east with the wind, towards the ocean. Though the days were milder, winter still clung to the land, the road often soggy with snowmelt. The horses carried on, their shoes providing purchase where human feet would slip. Tess was grateful for Tommy’s even temper and sure steps.
In the mornings, the fog would lay low on the fallow fields, and the world seemed suspended in the distorted haze of illusion. Noises conjured images of monsters beyond the mist, and Tess would hunch lower, instinctively reaching for the safety of the ground, for somewhere to hide. But ultimately, no monsters appeared, and the group trudged on, quiet footfalls of horses on the thick earth. Eventually, the haze would dissipate, the slow burn of the sun shearing it from the ground.
It was tedious but not difficult work. By the third evening, Tess’s legs were fractionally less sore from the riding, and she appreciated the simple monotony of grooming and feeding the horses.
Except for the first evening, the group had ridden each day until the early winter darkness began to descend. There were enough farms or small towns that they had been able to secure indoor lodging every evening, bartering with work or paying outright for the beds and room to stable the horses. For Rosie, this type of haggling seemed second nature, with Tess and Fish all too happy to allow her to manage while they saw to the horses. Rosie took first shift with Loren each evening, and she managed to keep from inflicting any more damage upon him.
Loren continued to put up no resistance in their current journey, quiet and in his own mind most of the time. If he spoke, it was in answer to a question, or to point out an obstacle in the road. He was civil and courteous. It was beginning to make Tess’s skin crawl.
She had no doubt that he had been devising his own plan, using the long hours while riding to consider options. She would often turn around and catch him staring at her as if she was a slight puzzle he was attempting to solve. She remembered easily his words about her while she was with him, suspended in his consciousness:
Different. Special. She might be a piece to what we’re looking for.
Loren was a shark, calculating and cold. He would wait until they’d grow accustomed to his presence, lulled by his meek demeanor into a false sense of security, and then he would strike. Their comfort with his presence would be their undoing.
She checked his knots several times a day.
Tess awoke on the third night to the feeling of stiff hay pushing into her side. The four of them were bunking in the rafters of a barn, above the horses. The air up top was warm but smelly, and the hay wa
s a less than desirable material for sleeping on, though they’d used their rolls and were making the best of it. Tess sat up, wondering if a noise from one of the others had woken her. A swift canvas of the other sleeping rolls ensured that she was the only one awake, and nothing else seemed out of place. She was about to slip back into her roll when she paused, considering Loren’s form as he slept. He was on his side, hands tucked into his stomach, though they remained tied. Beneath his eyelids, his eyes moved back and forth, as if surveying everything even while he slept. Tess could see that he was dreaming.
She crept closer, cocking her head to the side as she watched him and debated. She had no idea if it would work like this, but she was anxious to see if she could again tap into his subconscious. There might not be a better opportunity than this to test her theory.
Before, she’d been touching him. She crouched, reaching out a hand to rest it as gently as possible on his shoulder. He didn’t rouse at the touch.
She leaned closer, lowering her head so that it was a few inches from his own, and closed her eyes. Leery of yanking him from sleep, she was gentle in her reach. She could feel his presence boiling ever closer, and she joined the experience.
She was looking through Loren’s eyes, and he was in a dark room, the grey furniture visible only in silhouette. He was searching for something, hands groping in the dark. Breaths came hard and fast, his pulse echoing out of his chest and into the room, reverberating in a staccato of sharp tones.
“Where is it? Where is it?” he said, frantic.
A door opened, creaking shut as footsteps approached. At the sound, a whimper escaped Loren’s lips. He continued his furtive searching.
“Have you found it?” a female voice whispered, her figure just out of sight behind him.
“No,” Loren said. “But I will, just give me more time.”
“Time, time… we have no more time. It’s all closing around us, you know this. Was I wrong to trust you with this? Will you fail me, Reydon?”
Reydon? Is that his name? Tess tried to turn his head, her head, to see the figure behind her, and was discouraged to find that she had no control. It was like she was inserted into a character in a movie, the plot already set.