The Road To Avea

by Lynn Lorenz

  "Just get me a fair price, Inspector. I was going to take her myself, next month, but this'll do." The two men stood side by side, a foot each resting on the lower rail of the pen, as they remarked about the pig.

  "Stefan, do you know how to handle a pig?" Sarah looked at the sow.

  "Well, how hard can it be?" He shrugged. "If the boy can do it, so can I."

  "Pigs–sows--this big can be a handful." She'd worked with pigs on Emily's farm, but none had been this big.

  "Here's the stick. You use this to make her go along." Tommy handed Stefan a long stick. "Go ahead, try it."

  Stefan looked at the stick, then at the pig, and then at Mallory. He shrugged. After opening the gate to the pen, Stefan entered. The boy closed and latched the gate as soon as he was through.

  Sarah got a bad feeling, but kept her silence.

  The pig opened one red, beady eye at his approach and grunted a warning. Stefan ignored it and advanced, stick held out, within arms' reach of the great sow. He poked her broad back with the stick. She rolled onto her belly and grunted again.

  The red eye pivoted in its socket and fixed on Stefan. Had he been an experienced pig man, he would have left the pen immediately. Encouraged that she was no longer lying on her side, Stefan prodded the animal again.

  Sarah looked over at Mallory and Tommy. Both were biting their shirts to keep from laughing. She realized they were just waiting for the fun to start. Like them, she folded her arms on the top rail and waited.

  It didn't take long.

  For a huge beast, the pig was incredibly fast. She was on her feet and bearing down on Stefan before he realized it. Trying to backpedal away from her, he was already staggering when she hit him. He went flying backward to land on his bottom in the muck of the pen. Everyone on the rail ducked and there was a collective groan.

  Unable to contain it any longer, laughter burst from Mallory and Tommy. Sarah sniggered so hard she actually snorted. Clasping her hand over her mouth, she ducked down so the top rail hid her face.

  Wheeling around, the pig turned, again taking aim. Stefan, having grasped the true gravity of the situation, tried to climb to his feet. The muck was so deep he had to hold onto the rails just to stand up.

  "She's coming 'round again!" Tommy leaped onto the middle rail and waved his hat. "Heads up, sir!"

  The pig bolted, squealing with what could only be righteous piggy indignation. Stefan jumped onto the fence and vaulted out of the pen. The sow slid to a stop on the other side, squealing her triumph, her red eyes glowing.

  Inspector Stefan Bane, Second-in-Command of the Avalon Patrol, was covered in pig manure, mud, and slop. He looked down at himself, dripping brown muck. His eyes rose to the three people laughing so hard they had to hang onto the fence to stand upright.

  "Oh, Stefan!" Sarah shook her head, her eyes shone with tears. "What a mess!"

  "Not. A. Word. Sarah." His clipped growl warned her even as he pointed a dripping finger in her direction. He shook his hands to free them of the muck and then wiped them on his pants. Bending over, he picked up his hat, the only piece of his clothing that hadn't been in the muck and clamped it back on his head.

  The stick still lay in the pen where he'd dropped it when the sow hit him.

  Sarah bit her lip and regained control. Going around to the gate, she opened it, and stepped inside. Holding up her skirts around her knees and treading carefully in the muck, she picked up the stick. The pig turned to face her and grunted a warning.

  "Come along, girl!" She spoke with force and swatted the pig hard on the rump with the stick. The sow grunted, but obeyed her and trotted toward the gate.

  Guiding the pig with several taps of the stick, Sarah got it through the gate and moving down the road. Stefan, after saying a quick goodbye, gathered up their packs and ran to join her.

  He said nothing, but the expression on his face was pure mortification. His pride had been left behind, trapped in the oozing muck of that pigpen. Walking beside her, he muttered darkly under his breath.

  She couldn't make out his words, but she was sure she didn't want to hear such language. She was also sure Stefan would delight in selling the animal for slaughter.

  "Inspector..." She held out her arm. "Would you mind dropping back? You're making the pig nervous."

  Chapter 11

  Watching Stefan bargain in his rich country brogue with the butcher over the sow, Sarah realized he was completely in the role he played, his face intense as he hammered hard for the best price. When the butcher finally conceded, they settled on the price and coins changed hands. He'd done well for Mallory. Sarah wasn't sure if it was Stefan's bargaining or his reeking clothes that closed the deal. Placing the coins in his small, worn leather purse with the other money he'd brought to gamble, Stefan turned to her and grinned.

  "Well done, Stefan." She lowered her voice. "Now, how do we find our man?"

  "Like this." He turned back to the butcher. "Where can a man find a place ta spend a few coins?"

  The butcher looked at him and then at Sarah standing beside him and narrowed his eyes. "Well, I take it you're not in the market for companionship."

  "No, have all I want right here." He reached out and swatted Sarah on her firm bottom. She jumped at his slap and glanced at him as he leered at her. On cue, she gave a shy smile to the butcher.

  "I'm talkin' 'bout a little wagerin'." Stefan leaned close, winked, and the butcher wrinkled his nose and stepped back.

  "Oh, no, Stef, not gamblin'! You always lose so much, and we've worked so hard bringin' her up to get a fair price." Sarah set the hook.

  "Quiet, woman," he barked at her.

  She clamped her mouth shut and hung her head, properly chastised.

  "Oh, well then, you'd want to see a fellow over behind the barber's shop. Just tell him Mac sent you." The man actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the spoils.

  "Mac?"

  "Roark Mackenzie I am, but Mac to my friends and neighbors." He gave a little half bow.

  "This place, it's honest, is it?" Stefan looked unsure as he bounced his purse in his hand.

  The butcher's greedy eyes tracked up and down with the full purse. "Oh, aye, honest as the day is long, my good man." Mac winked at Stefan.

  "Right. We'll be on our way. Woman, let's be off."

  She fell into step behind him and followed him through the market's winding aisles to the main street.

  "Now," Stefan said, "if I'm not mistaken, we'll meet up with our man in here."

  He was doing it again. Not telling her what he had planned and leaving her to guess what their next move was to be. She pulled him to the side into a doorway and instantly regretted it. The stench from the pigpen, dried and crusted on Stefan's clothing, made her eyes water.

  "Stefan, I don't understand. How do you know this is where he'll be?" She held her breath.

  He leaned on his arm over her and spoke low, taking a tress of her hair that had escaped her kerchief in his fingers. Anyone watching would have thought them to be a couple, speaking intimately.

  At any other time, having him stand over her, touch her hair, put his face so close to hers, might have been more than she could stand. As it was, the odor of pig manure alone threatened to buckle her knees and make her eyes water. She forced herself to listen and understand what he was telling her without gagging.

  "I went over the statements of the victims and all were countrymen come to market. All were selling to that particular butcher. All wound up at a gambling game at different locations and all were attacked with full purses." He looked into her eyes and watched as she followed his logic. He seemed completely unaware of his smell and its effect on her or anyone else in his vicinity.

  "Right. The butcher is in on it and gives a more-than-fair price that he knows he'll get back. In conversation, he gets his victim to the gambling game for the next man to hit on. He steals the money. The butcher, who also has the animal, makes money on the slaughter and they all split the p
rofits." She nodded at the scheme's cleverness.

  "You're right smart for a country lass." Stefan grinned.

  "Lead on." She pushed her hands against him, seeking fresh air.

  He straightened and began walking and she followed, taking deep, cleansing breaths. They found the barber and the narrow alley that led to the back of the shop. Leaning in the opening was a thin man.

  "Mac sent me. Said the squares was fair here," Stefan said.

  "This your woman? She playin', too?" He eyed Sarah hungrily, obviously hoping the answer was no.

  "No, just me."

  "She can keep me company, while you play." He reached for Sarah.

  Stefan's hand shot out and grabbed the man's wrist before he could touch Sarah and pulled him close.

  "Touch her and I'll break your arm." His voice was so soft she could barely hear it, but the man's eyes widened in fear. "She comes with me."

  The man nodded and stepped aside.

  Taking Sarah's hand, Stefan pulled her along the alley to the door. She jerked away from him. "I could've taken care of myself, Stefan. I don't need you to protect me." Her eyes flashed her anger and she jerked her chin up.

  "Sarah, I'm sure you could have, but we don't have a lot of time to waste." He knocked on the door, and it opened. She clenched her fists and her teeth and faced the door. This wasn't the end of the argument. She'd be damned if he was going to treat her like some, in his words, "wet behind the ears patroller."

  "Aye?" A man filled the doorway, his stained shirt hanging over equally stained black trousers. His arms were like hams and his fists like mallets.

  Sarah knew these men must have been working for Blackmoor. He took a cut from everyone for the privilege of working his territory. Did he know they were using knives and, if he did, why did he let it go on? Surely, in the end, it was bad for business. It just didn't make sense. Perhaps, he didn't know about it.

  "I come to play squares. Mac said this was an honest place." Stefan leaned against the far wall.

  The man's gaze passed over Stefan and then landed on Sarah. He leered at her. Crossing her arms protectively over her breasts, she glared back at him until he shifted his gaze back to Stefan.

  "You have the right place. Come in." He sniffed the air of the alley and wrinkled his large nose.

  The men huddled around the circle drawn on the stone floor of the small back room they were in. Most of them bunched together on their knees, throwing squares, and laying down their hard-earned wages. With each toss of the square, everyone put down a few coins. Only one or two would sweep up the winnings.

  Usually, the gamblers were more concerned with the room's privacy, or they had been until two hours ago when the pig farmer had joined the game. Now they worried about the room's ventilation. They'd already thrown open a small window. His reeking clothing told everyone remotely close to him, or far away, who and what he was.

  Their cover held. Everyone had accepted Stefan as a farmer who'd brought his woman and his earnings from a fat sow he'd just sold at the market. Sarah stood against the wall behind him, watching the play. She'd never followed the game, although she'd seen some of the men at Avalon play it in the mess hall after meals.

  "You've got the luck, sir!" A heavyset man smiled at the tall pig farmer.

  Sarah watched as his eyes lingered on Stefan's fat purse.

  Stefan leaned forward across the circle and swept his winnings into a pile. He picked up the two small wooden squares with numbers painted on all sides. He tossed the first one out; it rolled to a six, well within the chalk circle. The group of men gasped. All he needed now was a three to win.

  Sarah had realized, after about thirty minutes of play, that Inspector Stefan Bane loved to gamble and that he was good. He knew how to toss the square for the best number of tumbles and still stay within the circle. And he knew how to bet on the other men's throws.

  It was impossible for her to tell if he cheated, but she would have sworn he didn't. Honor filled the man and he was unable to be anything less than honest. She'd seen him lose his pride in the pigpen, but he'd soon recovered it. She was positive she never wanted to see him lose his honor.

  "Say, that square is clean, isn't it? No charms, right?" a man across from Stefan asked as his eyes narrowed.

  "It's not ma square, it's 'is." Stefan jerked a thumb at a thin man with little hair on his head and one droopy eye.

  "If it was charmed, I'd be rolling like that!" The thin man had lost most of his money.

  The gamblers waited, collectively holding their breath, as Stefan's second die was tossed. It tumbled and bounced off the toe of the heavy man's scuffed boot, coming to rest just on the inside of the circle.

  "That's a fair bounce, gents! A fair bounce!" Stefan pointed to the die.

  "Aye, that it is," the heavy man readily agreed.

  Sarah thought he was too eager. The others still looked doubtful and mumbled their protests.

  "A three! Added to your six makes nine. Three straight nines. You can't get luckier than that."

  Several of the players patted Stefan on the back, then wiped their hands on their clothing in vain hopes of removing the smell.

  "That's it for me." One of the men stood up, looked at his pocket watch, and shook his head. "My woman will be sore by the time I get in tonight."

  "I know your woman, Johnny, and if she finds out you've been tossing squares, you'll be the one sore tonight!" Droopy-eye pointed to him, and the other gamblers roared at the jest.

  Sarah grinned. All their wives would be sore if they knew where their coins had been lost. Of course, if the men had won, their women would be thrilled and not ask too many questions or scold too loudly.

  Stefan stood, slipped his winnings into his small leather purse, and pulled its strings tight. Taking his stained jacket from Sarah, he rolled his sleeves back down, and slipped it on. Then, he tucked the purse into his waistband.

  "Sun's settin'. We best be goin', woman." He shrugged. "We have quite a walk back to the inn we're stayin' at this ev'en." He turned and put his hands on her shoulders. "Can ya believe ma good fortune? I canno' believe it maself."

  "Ya did well, husband. Just don't waste it all on drink t'night." She matched his accent.

  He winked at her and nodded his approval.

  Shaking hands enthusiastically with some of the others and grinning like a wild man, Stefan bid his fellow gamblers goodbye.

  He and Sarah stepped out the door and back into the narrow alley that ran between the buildings. The lookout had gone. As he turned the corner, Stefan stopped to bend down and adjust the laces on his mud-encrusted work boot, while Sarah glanced back down the alley.

  "The heavyset man is coming." She reached out a hand as if to help steady him.

  "That's our man," he muttered.

  He straightened, kicked the boot against the wall to seat it better on his foot, adjusted the purse tucked at his waist, and touched the end of his wand hidden in his jacket. They continued walking toward the next alley they would use to avoid the market, knowing the thief would never make his move out in the open.

  They reached the alley and turned in. The man quickened his pace, closed the gap, and turned in behind them.

  Hearing footsteps echo in the narrow alley, Stefan grabbed Sarah's arm and swung her around. As he pulled her into his arms in an embrace, she slipped her arms around his body, feeling the hard muscles of his back. She must be getting used to the smell because the urge to gag had left her.

  Instead, her heartbeat quickened as he leaned over to speak in her ear.

  "He's behind us. If anything happens to me, get out of here and call for help." Stefan's mouth was against her forehead.

  "No, we're a team. We work together, sir." She spoke into his neck. "I'm not going to leave you."

  Now, his breath warmed her cheek. "You will do as I order, Patroller." Playing his lips along the hairline at her temple, she wondered if he could feel her pulse pounding beneath his lips.

  O
ver Stefan's shoulder, Sarah saw the heavy man standing in the middle of the alley. The glint off the blade of the long knife sent a shiver through Sarah.

  "His knife's out." Her words vibrated against his throat.

  Releasing her, Stefan pushed her away. "Get out of here!"

  Light on his feet and surprisingly fast, the man darted forward, grabbed Stefan's arm and wheeled him around, ready to plunge in his knife. Fist ready, Stefan hit him square in the jaw. The man staggered back, but still held the knife.

  Taking a crouching stance, he waved the blade back and forth. To Sarah's shock, she recognized the man knew how to fight with a knife. Stefan wouldn't stand a chance. They were too close, and she knew the man could cover the ground between them faster than Stefan could pull his wand.

  Foolishly, the big man must have thought Sarah was no threat. She darted back down the alley, ran past the man, then spun, and leapt onto his back, putting his neck in a chokehold. Wrapping her arm around the man's throat, she grabbed her own wrist, leaned back and tightened her grip. Eyes bulging, he staggered around in circles.

  Stefan pulled his wand free, but held his fire.

  "Shoot him, Stefan!" If he didn't fire soon, she'd lose her grip on him.

  The man slammed into the wall of the building, pinning Sarah. Even stunned, she refused to let go. Sarah kneed him in the side, and he went down on one knee with a grunt.

  She was about to jump off him to give Stefan a clean shot, when the man reached over and grabbed her by the hair. "You bitch! Get off me!"

  Pulling her over his shoulder, he slammed her to the ground and air exploded from her lungs.

  He yanked her up by her hair. "I've got you now, my cat!" His foul breath hissed in her ear.

  Unable to breathe, she reached behind her to break his grip, but he pulled her to his chest. His thick arm circled her neck and he pressed the tip of the knife against her throat as he struggled to his feet. If he slipped and fell, he'd plunge the blade in whether he wanted to or not.

  He stood, bracing both legs wide. Her feet dangled off the ground with nothing to support her but his grip on her throat as she took her first breath.