The Dead Seekers
Page 21
“Then explain away what I saw last night,” Mari asked. “Right outside our quarters, that ghost came at him again. I saw it, just how he’d described!”
“You saw a shadow!” the captain shot back. “Moonlight through a window, in the dark, and the rest was him playing your imagination.”
Tris saw this was not going to work, but before he could act, Mari lunged toward the captain.
“I saw what I saw, clear as you! White, half-starved, tattered clothes and all, with a head wound.”
Stàsiuo clearly did not believe her.
Tris had faced this before, too many times.
“And what did the spirit do?” the captain asked tiredly. “It didn’t kill you or Bródy, for one.”
“No . . . ,” she answered and faltered, as if uncertain. “He—Tris came when I called out for him, and that ghost shot off through a wall. But we all saw it.”
Stàsiuo shook his head in weary disgust, turning back to his horse. “You’re both either mad or corrupt. Now I suppose you expect to be paid for ridding us of the ghost?”
“If you do not believe the murderer is unnatural, how do you account for the manner of the deaths?” Tris asked. “Healthy men starved to death in the space of one night.”
Mari’s temper broke free again. “And all of them, like Bródy, were ones who would not help refugees, didn’t want them coming here!”
The captain ignored her and remained focused on Tris.
“I can’t explain it away,” Stàsiuo countered. “There is an explanation, and I will find it, but it isn’t yours. I’m not a fool who thinks the barracks is haunted.”
“What you believe or not is irrelevant,” Tris said. “If you wish to save your men, assisting me will not interfere with your own investigation.”
Stàsiuo still fixed on him but stood silent for too long. Tris hoped that using noble status would not be necessary again.
“What do you want?” the captain asked.
“To set a trap,” Tris answered, “with something to lure the spirit again. It has appeared in or near the stables at least three times, and come twice now for Guardsman Bródy. I need your permission to use him as bait.”
Tris knew that since Stàsiuo did not believe a spirit was responsible, he would do little to assist. Yet, the captain’s answer still surprised him.
“Oh, you can have that coward,” Stàsiuo said, “but not for another moon.”
“A moon? Why?”
“Because he’s been locked up. And you can wait until I’m done with him . . . my lord.”
—
Mari barely controlled her fury. Maybe it was failure and more doubt after a night in the grass watching Tris. Or maybe she didn’t like being called a liar—or mad—by this captain. Or that he’d used some foolish excuse not to help. When someone touched her shoulder, she twisted around.
Tris pulled his hand back and shook his head slightly at her.
Mari backstepped and looked away. For once, she didn’t think of figuring him out or think on the death of her family. An image flashed through her mind of him sitting alone in the dark last night with a worthless little knife in his hand.
Pushing past him, she headed out of the stables the way they’d come in. When she’d reached the stable’s bay doors, his touch came again.
Mari spun, snarling out words before he could ask something she didn’t want to answer.
“How can he not believe me? Curran told the same story as Bródy, and I saw that ghost. I’ve nothing to gain by lying about it!”
Tris studied her.
“What?” she asked.
“From Stàsiuo’s perspective, you might lie,” he answered calmly. “I have been accused of creating visages in order to vanquish them for profit.”
Mari blinked several times. He nodded, maybe thinking she doubted him.
“And worse,” he added. “Some will never believe what they have not seen with their own eyes. To do so is to admit that there is too much in the world they cannot understand. The captain is such a person. He may not be able to dismiss me, but we will gain no further help from him.”
Mari was lost for what to say to that. He was fully focused on banishing this ghost plaguing the barracks.
This was his hunt.
Like any predator, he wouldn’t give up until the scent was lost. For one more time, every half certainty she’d gained about him started to come apart. That left her frightened, as all her pain welled up in the place of lost anger.
Again, doubts nagged her. Even worse, if she was wrong about him, she couldn’t face the thought of years having been lost in hunting the wrong prey.
Tris stepped past her, not knowing the threat so close to him. Then he paused, glanced back without turning, and—
“Mari?”
She flinched to awareness and caught up as she answered, “Yes, I’m coming.”
He didn’t step onward.
Mari followed the tilt of his head and eyes toward the top of the city wall. One guard walked the wall top, slow and steady in his circuit. She didn’t know his name, but her sharp eyes recognized him.
“Wasn’t he one of those playing cards with Bródy the other night?” she asked.
“I think so.”
Mari eyed the guard again. “He’s the one who laughed after Sabine slapped Bródy and then kissed him.”
“And not many here—and now—laugh.”
“No, they don’t,” Mari whispered.
Earlier in the common room, Farrell said Bródy’s comrades felt like him about refugees out of the Warlands. There was no way of knowing if the man on the wall was one of Bródy’s friends, but it seemed likely. Would the ghost come for him as well?
Tris was already turning. “This way.”
They walked slowly over half-frozen ground toward the front of the barracks. Soon, she spotted the half tower in the wall with the stairs she used last night in following Tris.
He went straight for those stairs, and on instinct, she grabbed his arm.
“Wait. I don’t think we’re allowed up there,” she said quietly.
Did those rules apply to him? She wasn’t sure. Both of them had been up there last night, but no one had seen them.
He frowned at her and went on up the stairs. Hesitating for an instant, she followed him up the curved stairs to the top exit archway. He slipped out, but he still stood on the walkway as she emerged. She couldn’t help stepping to the outer wall to look between two protrusions and out beyond.
The first thing she looked for was that place where she’d watched him all night. The small, matted circle of grass was there. In the distance, beyond the far forest, the mountains appeared harsh and white, maybe beautiful in their own way.
Tris was already walking along the top of the wall.
Quick-stepping to catch up, Mari spotted the man they were after coming their way. Tris didn’t stop until the guard was right in front of him.
“You cannot be up here, sir,” the man said. “Please return below.”
Mari looked at him more closely than she had the other night. In his mid- to late twenties, he might be considered handsome, but in a different way than Bródy. He was slender and had fine features, and a few strands of white-blond hair showed below his helmet’s edge.
“Go down,” he repeated more forcefully.
Mari didn’t miss the arrogant hitch in his voice.
Tris didn’t move.
“Tell him exactly who I am,” he instructed her. “Then ask his name.”
Though most of the men seemed to know Tris was a noble, perhaps they didn’t know his full identity. For some reason, it didn’t bother her a bit this time to use his title to bully a guard, especially one of Bródy’s kind—though it did bother her that she still played the lackey.
“You’re speakin
g to Baronet Vishal,” she said. “His father is a member of the national council of nobles. And you are?”
To both her shame and satisfaction, the man blanched.
“Guardsman Lavich,” he answered with better care, and nodded to Tris, though his voice was still laced with arrogance and assumed privilege. “Please forgive my manner, my lord, but please, you must return below. Civilians are not allowed on the battlements without an accompanying officer.”
Mari wondered if this guard was one of those with family money. If so, why wasn’t he an officer by now? Maybe they’d lost it all, and his only choice had been to join the local military.
Tris remained fixed on Lavich as he spoke to her. “Tell him what we need, why, and anything else necessary, including anything about Guardsman Bródy. Hold nothing back.”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Mari said to Lavich. “Has Bródy told you what happened that night he was attacked behind the stable? Did he tell you what he saw?”
The handsome guardsman hesitated. “Yes,” he answered, though he sounded uncertain.
“Do you believe him?”
“Does it matter?”
“This ghost only goes after certain guards. Ones not so willing to help the refugees bolting for freedom.”
She watched his eyes, caught the twitch of the right one, followed by a quick ripple of resentment in his brow. Then came the rising scent of fear.
Maybe he remembered he was talking to the Dead’s Man. Was he stupid—or just arrogant—that he hadn’t made that connection until now?
“We need help to stop it,” she added, and cocked her head toward Tris. “If the baronet can get close enough to touch it, he can banish it. And you—everyone—will sleep better. But we need to draw it out.” She couldn’t help a short pause before saying, “Care to be the bait?”
Lavich didn’t speak for a moment. “And what makes you think I am such a person,” he asked, “one of the men this spirit might go after?”
“Aren’t you?”
She heard one of his boots shift back.
“If we are indeed plagued by a spirit,” he said, “you’ve still no proof of why it’s here. And I have my duties.”
He turned, about to walk away.
“You’re right,” she agreed. “We don’t have any proof, but you knew every man who died. I wonder what you have—what you had—in common.”
Perhaps that hadn’t occurred to him until now. His head swiveled back toward her.
“It’ll find you eventually,” she added, and again cocked her head toward Tris. “When it does, who do you want there—one of your friends or him?”
—
The rest of Mari’s day slipped away. After she’d gotten Lavich’s unwilling help as bait, there was little else to do. After a while, Tris suggested they both rest, and for that, she wasn’t going to argue. Neither of them had slept last night, and he needed to be ready for whatever he’d do that she couldn’t. Still, too many thoughts about him tangled in her head.
The quiet of the room, the bed, and the warm, wool blanket were still welcome. The next thing she was aware of was a banging sound.
Mari awoke, thrashed, and grappled for her blade in the dark.
What had happened? Was the rest of the day gone? Then a sharp scratch-’n’-hiss as a small flame lit the room.
Tris touched the ignited sulfur head of a stick to a candle, rolled out of his bed, and sat on its edge.
“You snore,” he said. “Terribly.”
Mari was certain that she did not snore, but before she could call him a liar, the banging on the door came again.
“M’lord? Dinner is served, if you’d like.”
That was Orlov at the door, and Mari looked about the dark room, still surprised that the whole afternoon had slipped into night again.
“Bring your cloak,” Tris said, rising up. “We will go out directly after dinner.”
He went to the door and opened it, and Orlov stood waiting, lantern in hand.
“What about your cloak?” she asked.
Tris looked over. “It will hamper me.”
She remembered he hadn’t been wearing it when he’d dealt with Brianne. Somehow, she’d wager this next ghost wouldn’t go as easily.
Mari pulled on her boots, grabbed her cloak, and checked her dagger before joining him. He blocked her way before she could step out.
Tris looked at Orlov, back to her, and tilted his head toward the sergeant. That he’d stopped here meant there was something more not for the sergeant’s ears. Mari looked to Orlov.
“Thanks. We’ll be along.”
With a curt nod, Orlov went on his way.
Tris turned to her, speaking barely above a whisper. “Once this begins, your task will be to get Lavich away. When I tell you, you run. Do you understand?”
She didn’t really, and she didn’t care to be ordered about.
“I cannot deal with this spirit,” he added, “and tend to your safety.”
Now he sounded concerned about her again, and this twisted up everything inside of her. While he had risked himself for her before, she never knew whether to believe him as sincere or not.
“Mari!” he pressed. “Swear to me. Please.”
His last word caused her to flinch.
“I swear,” she said, though she had no intention of running off anywhere.
She needed to see what he did when dealing with something more dangerous than Brianne. Would he call upon something more . . . otherworldly? Would he give himself away this time for what he really was?
Shoving his arm aside, she headed off down the passage. It took him a moment to catch up, likely from snuffing the candle he’d lit. She reached the common room just before him.
Guards mixed with surviving refugees, all crowded into the place with too much noise. The young woman with her arm in the sling was feeding the little boy Mari had saved. With so many in the room, it took more than one sniff to catch the scent that waited at the crowded food table.
A savory stew, rabbit for certain, though with perhaps too much basil in the mix. For once, a decent meal didn’t appeal to her, and she almost wished she hadn’t come.
Tris whispered behind her, “Captain Stàsiuo must not learn of anything we will do tonight. Eat, whether you wish to or not. All must appear normal to anyone watching.”
The prospect of finishing off this spirit seemed to have wiped away whatever had driven him out of the city last night. He’d been calmer since coercing Lavich into playing the bait.
Scanning the room, she saw Lavich again sitting with other guards, but she didn’t remember if they were the same ones as last time. He glanced at her—or maybe Tris—and quickly looked away. As she stepped in, Farrell saw her at the same time she saw him, and he hurried over.
“Did you get some rest?” he asked.
It wasn’t difficult to like him, even after his lecture this morning. He was honest enough to be unsettling, and everything he felt showed in his face, sooner or later.
“Yes, some,” she answered, but her gaze wandered the room.
Though warm and fed, the refugees still appeared haunted by what happened the day before. She could see it in their eyes. Freedom hadn’t freed them from fear and sorrow. The young woman feeding the boy looked stricken. And who had been her “Tichen” in life?
Husband? Brother? Whoever, he was gone forever.
“What’ll happen to them now?” she asked.
Farrell shook his head. “I don’t know. The colonel used to let them sleep here for a night or two, and then he’d make them leave. They have no place to go except into the city to look for work.”
“Do they find it?”
He seemed uncertain and didn’t answer her question. “I suppose they’re still better off than in the Warlands.”
Mari wasn�
��t so sure now, though of course she’d never think to send them back.
“The captain will let them stay as long as possible,” Farrell added. “Hopefully until they find work or somewhere to stay out of the cold.”
That was something, at least, and maybe more than she’d have expected. Captain Stàsiuo was nowhere in sight. Tris pointed to the long food table, filled with a heavy, steaming pot, bowls, and wooden spoons.
“We should eat,” he said.
Following him, she dished up a small bowl of stew, only half-full, reached for a piece of bread, and then decided to leave it for someone else. One pitcher held clean water. She poured herself half a mug and followed Farrell to a table with Sergeant Orlov.
Sniffing the stew, Mari felt hungrier than she’d realized. Of course, she hadn’t eaten anything since early that morning. But she had barely licked a spoonful of the stew when the barracks front door opened and numerous heads turned. People shuffled aside as if letting someone enter.
Mari drew a sharp breath at the sight of Sabine. She looked as beautiful as the last time she’d left Bródy with a slap and a kiss. Tightly laced up in that red gown, her black curls of glossy hair hung around her face.
Of course, Bródy wasn’t here.
Her dark eyes drifted toward Lavich, but he stayed focused on fiddling with the spoon in his bowl.
Entering the room, Sabine closed on Lavich.
Mari stiffened at the sudden scrape of chair legs the other way. By the time she looked, Sergeant Orlov was quickly headed to cut off Sabine.
“Bródy’s not here, miss,” Orlov said, polite and cold. “He’s been arrested.”
“Bródy? Arrested?” she asked, and then louder, “For what?”
“I cannot say.”
Noise in the common room dwindled, but Sabine didn’t appear to care about the attention.
“He’s in the barracks jail?” she asked the sergeant. “I want to see him, now!”
“No visitors,” Orlov returned, almost sharply. “Captain’s orders.”