Snowtear

by S. B. Davidson

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “How long can a person really stay mad?”

  “That girl? At you? How long can fish hold their breath?”

  “You’ll talk to her.”

  “I won’t,” Uther said.

  “Uther.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Uther said, refusing to release Riken from his cold stare, just to make his feelings on the matter perfectly known. “But if she says nay, then that’s the end of it, got me?”

  “Grand,” Riken said. “That’s two.”

  With that little slice of unpleasantness behind them, Uther continued.

  “If they’ve truly gone by way of Crystalline…”

  “Which they must’ve,” Riken said.

  “…then we’ll need an amplifien if we’ve any hope of catching them before they reach Black Earth.”

  “Aye,” Riken said. “Tawny Crase is good.”

  Uther nodded. “He is, but recently married, and that woman’s only a hair nicer than a cornered badger. Don’t think he gets much past Crafters anymore.”

  “Worth a try. Newlyweds need coin to pad their nests.”

  “I’ll drop in on him.”

  “If Tawn’s in,” Riken said, “that’s three.”

  “I can count.”

  “Can you?”

  “Two more,” Uther said, and Riken clapped.

  “Who knows the mountains best?”

  “Warren Stag, but he’s retired.”

  “And smells like week-old barley.”

  “Littlefield Groon?”

  “Month-old barley.”

  “Illter Dence?”

  “His arm all healed?”

  “Got scars that look like tree bark from shoulder to elbow, but, aye, I believe so.”

  “Didn’t he get hired on at the palace?” Riken asked.

  “Aye. Didn’t stick.”

  “Why?”

  “Think he was bored.”

  “Not enough sticking sharp objects into bellies for him?”

  “Something like that.”

  Riken smiled. “Get him.”

  “Last one? Any preference?”

  “Blonde, big bosoms,” Riken said.

  “Dark Ventom?”

  “Not those kind of bosoms.”

  “None better with an axe,” Uther said, tapping his foot.

  “Fuck him.”

  “Do you ever win at cards, Snowtear?”

  Riken shrugged.

  Uther rose from his chair in a huff and made for the door. “I’ll talk to those four,” he said, his hand on the handle, “and find a suitable fifth myself.”

  “Lovely,” Riken said. “Whatever would I do without you?”

  Uther pulled open the door without comment. Halfway under the arch, Riken called after him, and he turned, raising his bushy eyebrows in question.

  “Steer clear of Mog, Greyson, Pitch, and Big Jodie,” Riken said.

  “Cards?”

  “Sisters,” Riken said with a childish grin.

  “Big Jodie don’t have a sister.”

  “Fine. And one mother.”

  About an hour after Uther left, Jillian returned with lunch.

  “All they had left was roast chicken and greens,” she said as she set the wooden plates on the table. Her pale cheeks were flushed with red cherries, and the wind had blown a few strands of hair loose. “What kind of neighborhood has only one inn?”

  “The kind that relishes quiet. Inns attract patrons, patrons make noise.”

  “I could do with a little noise,” Jillian said, taking a seat and staring at the steam rising off the browned chicken breast. “I went back to the house to change. The silence is suffocating, almost scary.”

  “Beatrix?”

  “Gone. What will you do about her? Will you turn her into the Inquiry?”

  “Nay,” Riken said.

  “Why?”

  “What would that solve? She’s an old woman who’s lost everything she held dear. By my count, she’d suffered enough for three lifetimes. What more could the Inquiry take from her that would matter?”

  “I pity her,” Jillian said, picking at her greens.

  “As do I.”

  “Even though she took my Sage, set all this misery in motion, I understand…in a way, I suppose. After all that time, to have found out the truth of her daughter’s disappearance…I imagine she felt very much the way I do now, knowing my own child…that she suffered the same…Beatrix just needed to pay the Ullimars in kind. I wish I had her courage. Still, I can’t help the ache that wants to see her pay her stipend too.”

  “Believe me,” he said, “she will, and through no ushering of ours. Under the weight of her grief, I doubt Min Glaison is long for this world.”

  Riken took the seat opposite from her, breathing in the meaty scent of the food, but leaving it untouched for a moment as he took in Jillian’s despondent aura. “I’m going to find her.”

  She attempted a weak smile that got lost in the subtle droop of her face.

  “She’s been gone so long.”

  “Crystalline only departed a week ago,” Riken said. “Won’t be in Harrenport for another month at least. We’ll go through the mountains, with an amplifien in tow. With a smidge of luck, we’ll intercept them before they ever think about reaching Black Earth. Sage’ll be fine.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “Nor can you know otherwise,” Riken said. “Why don’t we just eat? Nothing worse than cold greens.”

  Jillian obliged, and they ate in silence. Riken noted the way her fork quivered slightly whenever she raised it to her mouth, as if she were cold in spite of the musty warmth of the room.

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked after a time.

  “What?”

  “Going after Sage.”

  “I was paid to.”

  “Her parents are dead now, and you’ve been paid,” Jillian said. “You don’t even know her, yet you’re willing to risk your life for her?”

  Riken didn’t know if Jillian desired an answer or not. It hardly mattered. He didn’t have one for her. He barely knew himself. Somewhere inside him, in a dark corner not often visited, he simply knew he had to. Maybe it had something to do with another little girl who’d succumbed to the sinister hazards of this cruelty-delighting world. At least five other girls had been taken along with Sage. If he could somehow save them, perhaps the one he hadn’t saved would finally forgive him, and let him get on with what was left of his miserable life.

  “I…” he started, but merciful salvation came by way of rapid banging on the door.

  Relieved, Riken dropped his fork on the table and went to answer the door, Jillian’s eyes trailing him as he went, purporting that their conversation hadn’t reached conclusion.

  Another swift round of bangs rapped on the door before he could open it. When he did, any semblance of relief died at the sight of the petite, fuming woman standing stiff as stone before him.

  Riken opened his mouth to utter a bemused greeting, but before he could react, the stagnant woman launched her tiny fist into it, muddling his half-assed attempt at quick reconciliation. He fell backward as if hit with a heavy mallet, and his head rocked on the floor for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last couple of weeks. When the stars dancing about his eyes subsided, and the figure straddling his prone body de-blurred, he smiled with bloody lips.

  “You’ve got quite a pair on you, Snowtear, you little weasel,” the woman said through gritted teeth. “I ought to relieve you of them right now and do the entire female population a giant favor.”

  “Abby,” Riken said, clutching his mouth, staring at the tip of the dagger protruding from the flap of her long, black overcoat. Winter Moon law forbade the bearing of weapons with city limits. Abby, it seemed, hadn’t received the memorandum. “Always nice to see you. Lovely as ever. Have you met Min Dumay?”

  Abby Frain turned her head and regarded the perplexed lady next
to her. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she said with a nod, then kicked Riken in the groin with a steel-toed boot.

  “Knew there was a reason I’d always liked her,” Uther said, grinning beneath his full beard, amusedly regarding Riken, still doubled over on the floor.

  Behind Uther, wearing a knitted, brown-on-white pullover, Tawny Crase slipped into the room and tittered a high giggle. Illter Dence and Payton Quint followed behind and joined in the merriment. As much as he abhorred being the object of amusement, Riken was nonetheless thankful for the arrival of his crew. A roomful of witnesses might make Abby less inclined to a repeat performance, though one never knew for sure with the girl.

  She sat in a chair as far on the opposing side of the small room as she could get from him, a hundred and fifteen pounds of pent-up pissed-off. Wayward threads of chestnut hair hung ignored in her hazel eyes. Her slender, deceptively stalwart, arms were crossed about her chest, hugging the overcoat tight. The dark fabric of the garment was a stark contrast to her soft, pallid skin.

  At least there’s something soft about her, Riken mused, though he realized the assessment wasn’t wholly fair. Abby had been softer once upon a time.

  When the men had gotten their fill of muffled laughs at Riken’s expense, Uther pushed himself off the wall and strode into the middle of the room.

  “You all know why you’re here,” he said, commandeering the room’s attention.

  “Aye,” Illter said, picking at his teeth with a sturdy splinter of wood he’d plucked from Riken’s doorframe. “The missing Ullimar girl. Been hearing about her round about.”

  “If she’s being taken to Black Earth,” Payton said, “and they went by way of Crystalline like Uther said, they got a nice head start on us.”

  The ranger took a seat on Riken’s bed. He produced an herb pouch from the breast pocket of his vest and set about rolling a smoke of brown herb. He had a handsome face if one could look past the leathery scar tissue on his jaw line. Payton had acquired the lasting abrasion in a fall while scaling a rock ledge on Pristinus in his youth. A jagged rock had sliced his rope, sending him careening down some thirty feet, his face grinding against the coarse surface as he went. Though he sported a trim, neat beard, the left side had since been unable to grow hair.

  “All the more reason for us to be off as soon as possible,” Riken said, pulling himself into a chair and turning his back to the stares of the two women in the room.

  “What’s the pay?” Payton asked, licking his paper to seal the roll.

  “Same as always,” Riken said, drawing a few expected grunts. As Illter shook his head, jiggling his beaded beard, Riken begrudgingly added, “Plus twenty myn once we return the girl safely. Being the sole heir to the Ullimar fortune, I’m sure Min Ullimar will have little trouble scrounging that together.”

  That drew the appropriate nods all around, as Riken had expected. Illter even managed a half-hearted smile, an expression eerily out of place on his hard, stoic face. Comforted in the knowledge that this job would happily weigh down their coin purses, the group settled, and they began voicing strategies.

  As the men conspired, arguing over even the minutest details of traversing the treacherous Pristinus Mountains and hazarding the desolate tundra of Black Earth, the two women remained quiet. Jillian, feather duster in hand, petered about the room, busying herself on pieces of furniture she’d already gone over earlier in the morning. Abby continued her fortification of the far corner, uncharacteristically silent, stewing in juices Riken prayed would hold until the culmination of their present business. He knew another encounter would be coming. Her little love tap had been but a preamble.

  “Winter is but two month’s time away, maybe less. If we meet trouble, we’re like to be trapped up there.”

  “Pristinus is the only way,” Uther said, shaking his head at Tawny’s continued objections to their chosen route. “Not like we can wait for Crystalline’s return.”

  “Don’t worry, Tawn,” Riken said. “The little min will still be warm when we get back.”

  Payton interjected before Tawny could formulate a response. Not that he’d have done much anyhow. Though a gifted amplifien, the young man was hardly known for his fighting prowess, a fact Riken routinely exploited. Occasionally, it was quite nice to know his snide comments wouldn’t be met with consequences.

  “Pristinus can be navigated with little worry,” Payton said. “Barring calamity, I’ll see us through without hindrance, Tawn. You just worry about keeping our pace swift.”

  “We’ll need to acquire supplies quickly if we mean to depart tonight,” Illter said.

  “Tonight?” Jillian asked, her duster freezing on the windowsill.

  Riken turned to face her. “Aye,” he said.

  Her face scrunched up, crinkling the skin beneath her eyes, but before Riken could read the expression, she returned to her tidying.

  “We should go now and make ready,” Uther said.

  “A moment,” Illter said, putting his gloved hand in the air. “I’ve one more item of import. This man, the Ullimar manservant?”

  “Sefen,” Riken said with no attempt to mask his scorn at even uttering the distasteful name.

  Illter nodded solemnly. “Aye. Describe him to me.”

  “Tall, slight of build,” Uther said, after Riken hesitated momentarily at the strange request. “Long, yellow hair. Probably in his third cent.”

  “Face that scares little children,” Riken rebounded. “Smells of tulips smothered in manure.”

  “White scar under his eye?” Illter asked.

  “Aye,” Uther said.

  “He paid me a call.”

  Riken rose from his chair. “When? Why?”

  Illter scratched his salted black chin hair thoughtfully.

  “Late last evening,” the man said. “Came knocking at my door just as I was retiring.”

  “What did he want?”

  “Said he figured you’d have reason to be coming after him, wanted to pay me handsomely to ensure that didn’t happen.”

  “Coming after him?” Riken asked, looking perplexed at Uther. “The little vermin knew last night?”

  “That surprises you, why?” Uther asked.

  “If he knew I was close to discovering Beatrix’s secret, and by extension, his own, then why’d he linger? Seven Layers, he met us at the damn door this morning. He had to have known that danger.”

  “Perhaps he had loose ends to attend to,” Uther offered.

  Riken turned back to Illter. “I’ve haven’t even the faintest notion of where that little whore’s son would go. How much was he offering?”

  “A sack of rubies.”

  “Least he doesn’t undervalue me.”

  In the corner, Abby huffed.

  “I sent him on his way,” Illter said. “Him and his sack.”

  “Nice to know,” Riken said.

  Illter shrugged. “Though he held himself well, the urgency in his tone wasn’t lost on me. You can bet my door wasn’t the only one he darkened.”

  As Riken contemplated the various possible meanings of this warning, growing hotter beneath his collar as he did, the door crashed open violently.

  “What a scene greets my eyes,” the new visitor exclaimed, slapping his heavy gut with a large hand. “A sorrier bunch a no-account apple sacks, I’ve never seen.”

  A man only slightly smaller than Uther threw back his head and laughed hard enough that the rafters almost shook. He was dressed in boiled leather from head to toe. The sandy brown hair on his head looked like a mangled raccoon had gotten stuck up there, and a couple of his front teeth were missing large sections. He heralded the group with that jagged smile.

  Uther jumped across the room as if to pounce on the man, but instead wrapped Dexter Greentree up in his arms and hoisted him into the air in a great hug that would’ve ground the bones of one less robust.

  When the commotion – like two bears scuffling – subsided, the man laughed heartily once more.

&nbs
p; “Heard you was looking for me, you giant lug,” he said.

  “Glad you got the message,” Uther said, his smile so wide Riken thought his face might split clean in two. “Didn’t know if that mean old woman of yours would even give it to you.”

  “She knows her place,” Dexter said. “Just like the rest.”

  “Sure,” Uther said, no doubt wondering just how rousing and destructive the fight between Dexter and his equally-endowed wife Ingrid had been when she’d learned he’d be traipsing off with Uther and Riken again. “She give you that black circle around your eye.”

  “A love tap is all,” Dexter said, rubbing the shiner with pride.

  Riken had to agree. He’d seen far worse mars after many of the duo’s famous bouts. Ingrid could be sweet as honey when in high spirits, but Father-forbid one happened into catching her on a foul day. The same could easily be said of her mate.

  “Why you lazy bastards just sitting around?” Dexter asked. “Ain’t we got a little girl needs rescuing?”

  “Riken, could we talk?”

  Wanting only to follow the rest of the men down the staircase, Riken stopped beneath the doorframe. With a wary sigh, he turned and faced Abby.

  “We have to get going,” he said. “Can’t it wait?”

  “It’ll only take a moment,” Abby said, rising and smoothing the wrinkles from her heavy, woolen shirt. The fire seemed gone from her, but Riken was cautiously skeptical.

  “Abby.”

  “You owe me at least this much.”

  Riken nodded, then looked to Jillian, who likewise appeared in need of a conversation.

  My, but I’m popular today. “Could you give us a few moments?” Riken asked Jillian, who nodded solemnly and brushed past his shoulder as she left. His eyes followed her gentle sway all the way down the staircase.

  “My thanks,” Abby said softly.

  “Of course,” he said, turning to face her just as she swung a balled fist at his jaw.

  He caught it in one hand, then by a lucky turn, managed to likewise intercept a second blow from her other fist. His palms stinging, Riken smiled. Abby rid him of the sheepish grin by her crashing her forehead into the bridge of his nose.