"The coins are ours?" asked Timmy.
Nodding, Oliver said, "Those are my instructions."
Tommy asked, "Does the sender understand what will happen to all of us if Blackthorn finds out about this little conspiracy?"
Conspiracy? That was a clue to Oliver about what the message said. "The sender understands more than you can imagine." That wasn't a lie, not at all. Oliver had no doubt that Scholar Evan was one of the smartest people in the three towns.
Tommy said, "We need time to think this over."
"The sender told me there is urgency in this matter. When can I expect your answer?"
Tommy looked at his brother for some kind of consensus. He looked back at Oliver. "Can you come here again tomorrow night?"
Oliver nodded but said, "The sender would like an answer sooner. I can come here early in the morning before you leave for your drill. I will only be here for a moment. At that time, give me a written message to return to my sender, or ask me to leave you alone."
Timmy said, "That is enough time."
Tommy stood up. "Oliver, you should go." He looked at the paper, took it back from Timmy and walked over to the fire. He tossed the paper in. "This is not our answer, but just the same, it is not good to have such messages lying about. We'll see you in the morning."
Chapter 55: Jeremiah
The sun wasn't quite up yet, but the glow in the east provided plenty of light for Jeremiah to see Ivory heading out through the east gate, leaving fresh tracks on the wet ground.
Jeremiah hunkered down in the shrubs behind which he'd chosen to hide and stopped cursing Beck, as he'd been doing for the past few hours. Beck had insisted that Ivory would leave town the next morning. That didn't make any sense to Jeremiah, given that Beck also said Ivory had just arrived in Brighton. But there Ivory was, cloaked against the cold, bow in his hand, pack on his back. He wasn't going out for a morning hunt. Ivory was going somewhere else. And thanks to the conversation Jeremiah had had with Mendoza, Jeremiah had a general idea of where.
Jeremiah stepped out from the shrubs and began to follow, grumbling at the cold that had made his knees feel stiff.
Before he'd taken a dozen steps, he noticed that Ivory had passed through a pasture and into the trees. Jeremiah realized that Ivory's legs were already warm and he'd already found a comfortable traveling pace. Jeremiah blew a gob of snot out of his nose and cursed. "Fast boys on young legs."
At least Jeremiah had the wet ground and patches of snow in his favor. Ivory's trail would be easy enough to follow that staying close wouldn't be necessary at all.
Chapter 56: Bray
The acrid smell of smoke licked Bray's nostrils as he stared into the gray morning. The smell of fire was never a good thing, unless it was warming your bones or cooking your meal. He knew that better than anyone. He stared at the sleeping forms on the ground. Ella and William hadn't moved.
He needed to wake them.
He knelt down beside Ella, shaking her arm until she sprang upright. She reached for her sword, her eyes frantic and alert.
"Demons?" she asked, panic rising in her voice.
"Fire," he said. "Wake William. We have to go."
Bray stared in all directions while Ella roused William. He tried to pinpoint the source of the smell. Judging by the wind, the fire was burning somewhere to the east. His first thought was that they'd camped near the soldiers. If that were the case, they'd need to get away, and fast.
"No talking," he whispered. "Follow me and stay close."
They snuck down the hill, Bray steadying his sword. It was barely dawn, and neither the sun nor the moon had reached up to claim the day. A smoky fog crept through the forest, encircling the trees and obscuring Bray's view beyond twenty feet. He headed in the opposite direction of the smoke, weaving through thick tree trunks on the bottom of the hill, listening for sounds of danger. He expected the chatter of men or the ghastly shrieks of demons, but encountered neither.
Maybe it was a forest fire.
He'd seen several over the years. Occasionally, the soldiers would snuff out their fires poorly, leaving behind burning embers. If they were small and no one was nearby, Bray would put the fires out. If they were larger, he'd flee. Later on, he'd survey the damage, looking for fresh animal carcasses he could salvage.
Not today. Not with blue shirts in the area.
Bray moved in the opposite direction, deftly avoiding branches and leaves, anything that'd make noise. Ella and William ran behind him. The fog thickened the farther they went. Tendrils wove their way around the tree trunks, enveloping the forest like a low-hanging cloud. His heart skipped beats in his chest, propelling him faster. Bray wasn't afraid of bad weather. But the lack of visibility was unnerving.
Abruptly, the footfalls behind him stopped. He spun around to see empty forest.
"Ella! William!" he hissed.
Where had they gone?
He heard a thin voice in the distance, but couldn't pinpoint the location.
He scanned the forest, his heart galloping, but all he made out were the vapor-encircled tree trunks. Ella and William had vanished. He had the sudden, sinking thought that someone had snatched them and slit their throats. He'd seen it happen before. Some of the settlers could be ruthless, especially when they were desperate and hungry. He'd gone a few more feet when he noticed a figure standing on the opposite side of a tree.
He crept around the bark and raised his sword, prepared to lash out at whoever lurked there. It was Ella.
Her eyes were wide and frantic; her lips quivered in fear.
"William's run off!" she hissed.
"Where did you last see him?" Bray asked.
She pointed. "That way."
Bray scanned the forest, but couldn't see more than ten feet. The fog was so thick it felt like nature was pulling them into the wild. They hurried in the direction William had disappeared, whispering urgently for him. The smell of fire intensified. Bray scoured in all directions. If the boy had wandered too close to the fire, if the people who'd made it were still there…
Shouts erupted in the distance. Shit. They'd found William.
Ella burst forward, taking the lead. "William!" she shouted in panic.
Bray tried to silence her, but he was too late. He heard an answer in the distance, but he couldn't decipher the words. He cursed under his breath and ran faster. There was a chance they would've traveled undetected, but not now.
What if William is dead already?
Bray cut through the trees, tempering haste with caution. He kept his sword raised, ready to strike anything that might spring out at them. He'd been in enough situations to suspect a trap. What if someone was using William as bait?
"Stay behind me!" he told Ella.
She complied, following closely. Their footfalls felt obnoxiously loud, despite their trying to quiet them. Given the lack of visibility, Bray might as well have been in some unexplored region, making his way for the first time.
The only thing he knew for certain was that they were heading for the fire.
The shouts grew louder. Bray didn't recognize the voices, but he recognized the tone. Soldiers. Bray thundered on, using the cover of men's voices to increase his speed. He rounded one tree, then another, barely avoiding the probing hands of nature. The forest revealed itself in pieces.
It wasn't until he saw fire that he slowed down. He hid behind the fog, watching yellow and orange flames spit into the sky.
Three soldiers shouted and laughed as they circled a burning house. They poked their swords through the thin branches that formed its walls, searching for occupants. Two others mingled near the nearby trees. Their blue shirts were backlit by raging flames.
"Are they still in there?"
"I think so!"
"Wait! There's one of them, running!" one of the soldiers cried.
A boy darted off into the woods. Was it William? The soldier dashed off in pursuit.
Bray's anger boiled. He pictured Harriet, Henry, and
Tabatha; the burnt dwelling they'd stayed in, the charred skeletons that the soldiers had left behind. Then he pictured William, running for his life. Even if the boy had to die eventually, he didn't have to die now.
Cowards. That's what these men were.
With a roar, Bray leapt from the fog.
Chapter 57: Oliver
"Franklin," said Oliver. "I need to use the latrine."
"You went before we left," said Franklin.
Oliver handed him the basket with the day's groceries in it. "I can't wait."
Franklin took the basket and Oliver took off at a run through the market, making a show of his urgent need. When he turned off Market Street, his run was no longer for show but to buy him more time. He rounded another corner, passing by a few ruined, ancient houses, and then leapt through the door of the third. Sure enough, Scholar Evan stood in the corner, just as promised, half a smile on his lips. He said, "Good morning, Oliver."
"Morning," Oliver replied, as he gasped for his breath.
Oliver reached into his pocket, but Evan halted him with a raised palm. Evan stepped over to the rectangular hole in the wall where a door had been some hundreds of years prior. Evan looked up and down the street before coming back in. "They gave you a reply?"
"A message," said Oliver. He pulled the folded paper out and handed it to Evan. "I snuck out of the temple early this morning."
"Were you seen?" Evan asked, his voice full of concern.
Oliver shook his head. "Father Winthrop had a barren woman late last night. Both he and Franklin slept later than usual."
Evan nodded, showing his understanding. "Discretion is paramount."
"No one saw me go or come back in," said Oliver. "I ran all the way to Dunlow's house. Tommy was outside, waiting with that message. I took it and ran back."
Evan unfolded the paper and read it quickly. "You've done a good job. An excellent job. Find a way to come back here this afternoon. I know it will be difficult, but I'll have more messages for you."
"This would be much easier if I were allowed to tell Franklin."
"No," Evan said, firmly, but not unkindly. "Novice Franklin is a good young man. I have no doubt he is our friend, but the fewer people who know about this for now, the better it is for all of us. You must promise me not to tell him."
Reluctantly nodding, Oliver said, "Okay."
"This afternoon?" Evan asked.
"I'll find a way."
Evan gave Oliver a nod and a smile, and then slipped out into the road.
Oliver went back to the market and found Franklin.
"Are you feeling okay?" Franklin asked, concerned. "With the early snow this year, people will start to get sick."
Oliver rubbed his belly to keep up the pretense. "Something I ate, I think."
Franklin handed him the shopping basket and led Oliver out of the market.
"What do you have in here?" Oliver asked, moving a loaf of bread to the side to see what was in the bottom of the basket.
"Honey." Franklin grinned. "A whole jar of it."
Oliver spotted the large jar tucked among some half-wilted vegetables. He shook his head, "Father Winthrop doesn't like honey. Even I know that."
Franklin said nothing but strode on ahead.
Oliver caught up and said again, "Father Winthrop doesn't like honey. You know what happened last time we put it on the table."
"I forgot." Franklin looked down at Oliver with fake innocence. Oliver almost laughed. Franklin said, "I suppose we'll have to do something else with it."
"I love honey," said Oliver, thinking of his empty stomach, though they'd eaten a meager breakfast just before leaving for the market.
"I know," said Franklin. "Maybe if you eat enough of it, we can fatten you up a little. With winter here, you need something besides that threadbare coat to keep you warm. Maybe a little fat on you would do it."
Oliver smiled, thinking Franklin was the best friend he'd ever had. He carried that feeling with him out of the market, down past the merchants' district, and over near the plaza, when they passed in front of two of the city guard, leaning against a wall, looking surly. Oliver turned away at first, then realized they were the pair he'd run into the night before.
One of them coughed loudly and Oliver looked up to see the man turn away. The other looked at the ground, and Oliver realized the impression he'd made on the two the night before had stuck. They weren't fearful, but they were wary. Oliver took a deep breath, steeled his confidence, picked one of the two guards and glared, hoping to seal his reputation with them, should he happen to come across them on another late-night errand.
After glaring at the guard for a moment, Oliver finally caught the man's attention. Oliver held his stern gaze. The guard immediately turned away and pretended to be looking at something else.
Oliver kept walking, his confidence growing with each step. Maybe he really was somebody.
Once back at the temple, Franklin stored the morning's shopping in the kitchen and found some left over bread in a cupboard from the morning meal. He said, "Father Winthrop won't be here for the midday meal."
"We won't need to cook, then?" Oliver asked.
"No," said Franklin. "He didn't leave any instructions for us, either." Franklin opened the jar of honey and sat it on a small table. He placed the bread beside it. "Eat up."
"Really?" Oliver asked. He looked over his shoulder, a habit beaten into him by Father Winthrop. Every time Oliver had a thought about doing something he thought he ought not to do, he looked.
"He's not here," said Franklin. "Eat what you want. We'll cook later."
Oliver gorged himself on bread and honey until he felt like he could stuff no more into his mouth. After cleaning up the kitchen and hiding the remainder of the honey in a cupboard, he went back to the room he shared with Franklin. With no chores to do, he lay on his bed, and though he hadn't intended to, he quickly fell asleep.
Chapter 58: Ivory
The air had grown still and left a blanket of clouds across the sky. With no wind to chill him, Ivory sat on an enormous slab of flat stone. He often stopped in this spot on the first day during his journey to the Ancient City. He sometimes imagined the slab of stone was a tabletop that belonged to a giant who lived at the top of the mountain, in a time so long ago that even the ancient men didn't know of him.
The slab of flat stone lay among a field of stones and boulders that covered a bowl-shaped formation at the head of the valley. To Ivory's left and right rose tall mountains, shrouded today by the low clouds. Behind him, maybe a half-mile up the slope, lay a crest that he had to cross over before making his way down into the forest on the other side.
Ivory had spent a good part of the afternoon hiking up through snow on the valley floor that seemed to get deeper with each step. In the mountains the snow always came earlier in the winter and melted later in the spring. But it wasn't quite winter yet, and he was only in the foothills. Up over the passes, it was likely to be very cold. He hoped the snow wasn't so deep so as to make the trails impassable.
As he rested, he thought a lot about his short visit in Brighton. It bothered him that he wasn't sad over Muldoon's death. Ivory had cried when his mother died on the pyre. He'd cried when his uncle died. His uncle was more a father to him than Muldoon, though. Ivory and his uncle were two of a kind. Muldoon was, if anything, quite the opposite: a simple man who spoke in curt phrases and had a weakness for gambling and a propensity for losing. He was a hard man to like.
Ivory mulled over the opportunity that Minister Beck laid out for him. Should he join the academy? That was a dream come true for so many. To spend the rest of his life without the worry of digging in the dirt to plant seeds, hauling in loads of heavy grain at the harvest, or shoveling smelly dung out of pigpens. Now that was a life. He'd never have to pretend to hunt rabbits again. He'd never have to risk his life smuggling metals into Brighton to pay Muldoon's gambling debts. Of course, Muldoon wouldn't be incurring any more debts now.
&nb
sp; What worried Ivory, though, was that he'd lose his freedom, and that the academy could turn into a prison from which he'd never escape. Sure, he wouldn't be locked in, but it'd be a prison just the same. He'd slowly get saddled with responsibilities and guilt. He'd marry and have children, and then his choices would disappear entirely. He'd be a scholar, but he'd have to stand on the perimeter of the square twice a year and watch his beloved wife peel off her clothes and pray that she didn't get sent to the fire. He'd suffer the anguish that his children might burn and he'd hear their screams and see their tears.
How do parents bear it? He wondered.
Concentrating on his thoughts, he ate the bread and jam he'd planned for his first day of the journey. Eventually, bored with going over the same thoughts again and again, he stared at the beauty of the dusted white forest. Up the mountain slopes, the boughs of tall evergreens sagged under wet snow. The valley floor was layered in white so smooth he imagined a single slip might send him sliding over its crunchy surface and halfway back to Brighton. Only his single line of tracks marred the pristine white. Only…
Ivory stopped chewing. He sat up straight and stared down into the valley.
What's that? A bear?
Way down the valley, far enough away that it would be invisible except for the contrast of brown bulk against white snow, something was coming, following his tracks through the snow. It was walking on its hind legs. That ruled out the possibility of its being a bear, and left only one creature—a man, a very large man.
None of the smugglers Ivory knew were large. They were all of average size. One of them was tall, but that man was too thin to be the man following the tracks. Still, if the man was bundled in layers of thick fur…
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