The barn doors face the house. Slipping around the corner, I fumble the latch free. The door creaks. I dart through, pulling it closed behind me.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. A third horse stands unsaddled in a stall. There are few horses on Dunnett, and those mostly reserved for pulling carts, but, like the mounts at the gate, this is no draft animal. Its presence perplexes me.
The horse huffs as I walk past. I run my hand along its flank, the familiar dry smell of the barn unlocking a hundred memories of my childhood: milking and apples and harvest and haymaking. My foot has found the first rung of the ladder that runs up to the hayloft when the early morning quiet is sliced in two by a scream.
Fear squeezes my heart in its vice till it feels as though it might burst out through my ears. Sophie. The scream came from Sophie.
Someone calls from the trees as I run across the yard, but I pay no heed. Surging through the front door, I slam it behind me. My breath is coming in gasps. The scene before me seems posed, everyone trapped in their places. Marn, face rumpled as if he’s newly clambered from bed, stands with one hand outstretched to the wall to support him. Sophie is on her knees, tears flowing. A man I don’t know looms over her, fists bunched. An old woman — Tilda, I can scarcely believe it’s her — hangs back by the stove. And Colm. Colm faces the door, his mouth twisting into a smile when he sees me.
“So. All the rats gathered in one nest.” He turns to his companion. “An even better audience for your work, Ely.”
I see then what I’ve chosen till now not to see; what I’d still rather not see. The man, Ely, bends to lift something from the floor beside Sophie. She grabs at his arm but he shakes her off. It’s Ty. It’s my brother, his face bloodied, head hanging. Ely pulls back his fist.
“Stop! He’s done nothing to you!”
Ely, short and stocky, cocks his head towards me. His sneer exposes sharp pointed teeth. “He’s mine, and I claim my rights. He flouted the rules. Now he pays.”
“Abelton. You’re Abelton.”
He swings his fist into Ty’s face.
I charge towards him. Colm’s arm stops me. “All in good time,” he says, as I struggle. “You, I’d rather save for the Cleansing Day fires.”
My muscles clench but Colm’s hold is too strong for me. “Marn, do something! Help Ty!”
Marn’s face is ravaged. He looks old and broken, his legs barely supporting him.
“Marn’s mine, aren’t you Marn? Just as Ty is Ely’s. Thanks to you,” Colm sneers, then tosses me away from him. The force of his thrust sends me spinning across the room. My hip collides with the table, pain searing through me. As I crumple I catch sight of Sophie stumbling to her feet, running across the room towards Colm.
“Please. Please!” She grips his arm. “Colm, for me! Don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything. I —”
He grabs a handful of her hair and holds her at arm’s length, fury scrawled across his face. “You’re as traitorous as the rest. Did you tell me she’d been here? And don’t try to tell me she hasn’t: your reaction betrays you. I should have believed Jed, rather than your lying mouth.”
“Colm, please, I —” She writhes in his grip, hands trying to claim back her hair.
“Tell me now: have you seen her before today?”
“Yes,” Sophie cries. “Yes, she came here, last week. But I sent her away. I swear. I told her there was no place for her here.”
“Told her. But not me.” He pulls her close and hisses in her face. “You need a lesson in loyalty.” He releases her hair and she staggers sideways. Colm, like an enraged bull, glares around the room, head lowered and ready to charge. I try not to flinch as he strides toward me, but it’s not me that interests him, not for the moment. He reaches to the wall by the door. When he turns he has Marn’s strop in his hand.
He crosses the room in two strides, the strop swinging in a hissing arc. It catches Sophie across the shoulder. She cries out, half falling. His next wild slash wraps the leather around her back. She stumbles to her knees. I run forward, fists bunched. Abelton’s arms grip me, lifting me off my feet. “Your turn next,” he snarls into my ear. “First we’ll enjoy the show.”
I kick and call out. Everything happens at once. The door bursts open, but even before, there’s a rush of movement and a banshee wail. I lock my teeth in Abelton’s forearm. He yells and drops me abruptly. I spit to clear the vile taste. A boot comes near to trampling me and I crawl away, searching for Sophie. There are feet everywhere, and shouting.
Sophie has blood on her cheek, bright in contrast to her white face. Her eyes, wide and staring, latch onto mine. I pull her into my arms. And suddenly, there’s silence.
I look around. The first face I see is Farra’s. He has a swollen lip. He extends a hand to help me up. I try to raise Sophie with me but she whimpers and, mindful of the strop, I release her. She flinches away and shuffles back beneath the table.
“You all right, lass?” Farra asks.
I nod and search for Ty. I find something else, something I can’t quite make sense of.
Colm is lying on the floor. I step forward. The angle. His —
Farra’s hand is on my arm.
“I’m fine.” I study Colm. A dark pool is spreading around his head. I don’t need to check for a pulse to know that he’s dead; the shape of his head tells me that. My eyes travel upward, to Tilda. She is panting slightly as she leans over Colm’s body, a heavy griddle pan hanging in her hand, the iron of its base gleaming dark and wet. The tableau holds. I stare around. Ton stands midway across the room, Malky Shehan at his side. Wilum is framed in the doorway, arms folded.
A sudden noise draws all our eyes. Tilda has dropped the heavy pan. Slumping to her knees she crawls beneath the table. As she pulls Sophie against her she begins to keen, her voice harsh as a crow’s.
As if it has returned sound to the scene, Abelton begins shouting. “You’ll burn. You’ll all burn!”
In two strides Farra is between Abelton and me, the look on his face cutting off the man’s raving.
“Ty,” I say.
Marn has him, wrapped in his arms. I kneel beside them. Ty’s face is thoroughly bloodied. I check his pupils, his skull, his facial bones. Surface damage, but messy. “What were you thinking, going off like that? Why didn’t you talk to me at least?” I demand. Ty says nothing. “Idiot,” I add.
My brother grins like a ghoul, his teeth streaked with blood from his pulped lip. I glance at Marn, and find his eyes fixed on mine. “Hello, Marn.”
My uncle nods. It feels like balm to my soul.
“We should fetch the doctor from Tarbet.” Ton’s voice is cracked. “Colm …”
“I’m a doctor,” I say, standing up. The word feels foreign to my tongue, but I want Ton to understand. “I trained on the mainland, in Vidya.” I keep my eyes on his. “There’s nothing we can do for Colm. He’s dead.”
From the corner of my eye I see Malky start forward. “She’s right,” he confirms.
“Perhaps someone would care to explain what’s going on here,” Wilum says. When no one answers, he shrugs. “I was asked to deliver a package to Marn: are any of you he?”
“I am,” Marn says. He makes no effort to get up.
Wilum pulls a glass bottle from his pocket. “Then Merryn sends you this, with her compliments; for your wife, I believe. As for the rest —” he looks around, his silence eloquent.
I, for one, doubt that he can pull it off. “You’ve been at Merryn’s this evening?” Malky asks.
“I have. My granddaughter’s ill and a neighbour recommended a tonic made by a woman near Wester. We’d tried everything else. When I finally found her she was helpful enough, asking only a favour as payment.” He flourishes the bottle.
“It was you near the inlet earlier?” Ton demands.
“I passed an inlet,” he confirms. “I’d cut onto the headland from the Dunn road, but I must have left it too soon. Some lads gave me directions.”
“If
you came from the south, you’re going the wrong way to return,” Ton points out.
Wilum frowns. “Does the Wester-Dunn road not run by the junction east of here? After losing my bearings on the way, I decided I’d best keep to the roads for the journey back.”
There’s a silence as his audience decides what to make of this. Ton’s scepticism shows. “I took you for one of them.” He jerks a thumb towards Farra. “Your arrival was very timely.”
“As timely as yours,” Farra points out.
“His story tallies with what Jed told us,” Malky says.
“Jed: that was the name the lad gave,” Wilum confirms. “Suspicious type.”
Ton’s nostrils flare. “He told me that the man who went to Merryn’s didn’t leave by the road.”
“Well, he’s wrong in that, else I’d not be here.”
“Are there not more important things to attend to, with a man lying dead on the floor?” Farra asks.
“I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of business that’s nothing to do with you,” Ely Abelton blusters.
“And I say having witnessed it makes it my business.”
“We don’t need to justify ourselves to —” Ton begins, but Wilum interrupts him.
“Maybe we do, Councillor.” He squares his chin to Ton’s hard stare. “There’s Colm Brewster dead and a young lad beaten. In my view that warrants a bit of explaining.”
“The boy’s tithed to me,” Abelton insists, as Ton’s glance flickers across him. “By his own actions, his life is forfeit.”
“By what action?” Farra asks, his voice low and reasonable.
“He ran away.”
Farra leaves a small silence of doubt before replying. “Perhaps he had reason.”
“And who are you to judge?” Abelton demands. “You’ve no rights on Dunnett.”
“We’ve all the right to judge right from wrong, though most of us seem to have forgotten it of late,” Wilum says, eyeing each of the islanders in turn. “Dunnett has become a place it’s hard to be proud of. Perhaps that’s why we don’t welcome strangers.”
“If you’re from Dunn, as you claim, you should know full well why we don’t welcome strangers,” Ton objects. “Have you forgotten the death they brought us?”
“I lost half my family in the plague. I’m not likely to forget.” Wilum’s tone is crisp. “But that’s a long while ago now.”
Ton’s gaze shifts speculatively. “The question of strangers is secondary. There’s a murder been done that needs dealing with first.”
“Self defence.” Farra’s tone is firm. “Any mother has the right to protect a daughter from violence.”
Ton bristles. “He was to be her husband. His right was the stronger.”
“That’s the way a man treats his bride-to-be here?” Farra shakes his head.
“Tilda will hang for this,” Ton announces.
“And the rest of you beside her. Starting with you.” Abelton’s finger picks me out. “You’ll pay for the trouble you’ve caused. The Cleansing Day flames will —”
“There’s been enough death.” Malky’s eyes find Ton. “More than enough. There’ll need to be a trial, but you know as well as I, Ton, that Tilda’s not been herself for years, not since Colm began his campaign of persecution.”
There’s a heavy silence before Ton answers. “This isn’t your affair, Malky. You’d be wise to stay out of it.”
“He’s a witness, as I am,” Wilum interrupts. “Or were you planning to silence us both in Colm’s fashion?”
Ton shifts uncomfortably.
It’s time that I spoke up. “Everything Colm claimed as truth is a lie.” I direct my words to Ton. We’ve never been friends, he and I, but Marn always believed him a decent man. “There’s a whole world beyond Dunnett. Things on the mainland are hard, but not as hard as here. Dunnett could gain so much, if you’d only open your eyes. There’s the possibility of trade, for a start, and we’re fishing again, too — the sea’s safe, at least in places.”
“We’ve no need of your poison fish, or your poison words,” Abelton snaps.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be too hasty,” Malky says. He ignores Abelton’s bluster, focussing on Ton. “A little change wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”
Ton rubs his jaw.
“How this is handled will set the tone for the future,” Malky adds quietly. “Think, man.”
Abelton doesn’t like being ignored. “Colm’s still warm on the floor and you’re talking of deals with the strangers who as good as killed him!”
Farra steps close enough that the man has to tip his head back to meet his stare. “I take issue with that lie,” he growls. Abelton would be a fool not to be cowed. He scuttles back two paces.
Ton lifts a hand. “There are witnesses to how Colm died. You saw it, Marn? Tilda stepping in — I doubt she intended other than to stop Colm beating Sophie.”
“I saw it.”
“And you?” He looks to Wilum.
“Aye. That’s what I saw. And Ely Abelton, with a lad’s blood on his fists.”
Ton considers Farra. “It’s true, what Ness said?”
“Every word, and more besides. I’d be happy to talk it over with your Council. Trade could prove beneficial, both ways.”
Abelton makes a disparaging sound, and Farra spares him a quelling look before adding an afterthought. “Though I doubt Vidya’s governors will want dealings with men who take pleasure from inflicting violence on children.”
“Maybe it’s time we took a close look at who sits on the Council,” Wilum says.
The silence stretches taut as a kite string.
“Our first priority is to deal with Colm’s death,” Ton says at last. “It’s more than I expected when Jed came home with his tale of another stranger on the headland.” He breaks off, his eyes narrowing as he considers Wilum. The old fisherman meets his gaze, and it’s Ton who turns away. “I’m sorry Marn, but we’ll have to take Tilda with us to Dunn.”
Marn begins to get up, leaving Ty to my care.
“And the boy,” Abelton says. “He’s my property.”
“Ty’s coming with us,” I announce. “Sophie too.”
Ton shakes his head. “Sophie will have to testify at the trial. After that, she can make her own decisions. Your brother’s free to go.”
I clamber up, set to argue, but Abelton gets in first. “You’ve no right —”
“Leave it, Ely. There are more important things at stake.”
“I’ll come with you to Dunn,” Malky says, interrupting their argument. “You’ll want testimony from all of us. Marn too, and —” he looks at Wilum.
“Wilum’s the name. I’ll give testimony happily, but I can’t delay getting back. My granddaughter needs that tonic.”
His lie reminds me of Ronan and the real reason for Wilum’s visit, and my stomach constricts.
“There won’t be any delay,” Ton says. “We’ll travel together. The sooner we start, the better.” His eyes follow Wilum as if he intends not to let him out of his sight.
“Well.” Farra scrapes one hand across his chin. “We’ll be on our way then. But you’ve not seen the last of us.” His smile holds more threat than warmth.
“Wait,” I insist. “I’m not leaving Sophie.”
At her name, she looks up. Tears streak her face but her eyes are wide and calm.
“Leave it, Ness,” Malky says. “Sophie’s done nothing wrong. I’ll make sure she’s fairly treated. Tilda too.”
I stare at their faces, but there’ll be no convincing them, that much is clear. “I’d like a moment alone. To dress her welts,” I add.
Malky nods. “Marn, you might want to gather some of Tilda’s belongings. I’ll take Colm’s horse to fetch my cart.” He turns to Abelton. “You might come with me. It’s a job quickest done with two.”
“And who are you to give orders?” Abelton starts to bluster. Wilum takes a grip on his arm and escorts him outside. I don’t hear what he says, but whatever
it is, Abelton subsides.
“Seems to me you’ve a problem on your hands there,” Farra says, to no one in particular.
“One of many,” Ton answers. Turning, he gives me — finally — a curt nod of recognition. “Ness. You seem to tow trouble with you.”
I lift my chin. “It’s more that I don’t just look the other away.”
He chews that over before replying. “Maybe that’s as it should be.” Before I can find an answer he strides to the door and is gone.
Farra helps Ty to a chair. Tilda stares about blankly. She seems not to know what’s going on. Marn’s expression is pained as he watches, but he makes no move toward her.
“Uncle Marn.” His eyes turn slowly to mine. The depth of sadness in them nearly undoes me. I swallow. “I’m sorry.”
“You’ve grown up.”
I nod.
“Was it true, that you’re a trained doctor?” His expression shifts into a sagging smile when I confirm it. “Merryn will be pleased. She always said you had a talent.”
“Come with us — you and Sophie. They can’t stop you. Or we can come back to fetch you both, after the trial.”
“You’ve a look of Bella about you,” he says. My memories of my aunt are vague, as if my childhood on Dunnett, at Leewood, is no more than a story, half forgotten. “We’ll be all right,” he adds. “You look after Ty.” His voice breaks. He looks broken himself.
Tilda has begun mumbling quietly. Marn snugs his arm around her back and steers her from the room. I turn to the sink, damping a cloth and wringing it out, fumbling on the shelf above for a salve. Once I have myself in hand, I turn. Someone has thrown a blanket over Colm.
Sophie stands. “I’ll fetch my things.” She embraces Ty and turns away. I follow her. At the foot of the stairs to the room we once shared, she turns. “It’s all right,” she says. “I can manage on my own.”
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