Storms Over Open Fields (Life of Riley Book 2)

by G. Howell

  At least it was a roof over my head. Outside, beyond the window on the other side of the heavy drapes, the sky was brightening. There was no way I could show my face out there in daylight so I’d have to wait for night again. That was acceptable; I could do with a few hours rest. I lay in darkness and watched cobwebs up on the ceiling swaying in a draft. The next day was going to be... interesting. I just had to plan how I was going to do it. Of course I was all too aware of that old saw that no plan ever survives contact with the enemy.

  ------v------

  The stifling heat woke me.

  Sunlight stabbed through pinholes in the old velvet drapes, specks of dust eddying in the threads of light sketched through the air. The room was hot and airless, heated to a blood-warm stuffiness from the sunlight behind the curtains. Choruses of insects rasped and ticked in the world outside. Afternoon already. Time to rise.

  At a low side-table of garishly inlaid wood I breakfasted on coarse bread, jerked meat and water from my kit. There was enough there for a couple of days, if I rationed it. I could’ve carried more, but there was no way to keep it. As I sat and munched at my dry and somewhat gritty bread I poked at the meager rations in their vellum and paper wrappers and remembered things like Tupperware boxes and clingfilm. I hadn’t included those in my reminiscing to her Ladyship. I guess it’s the little things you really end up missing.

  There was still more work for me to do. A primary ingredient in my working plan was still a wild card: That adolescent Rris. I didn’t know if I could trust him. Actually, putting it bluntly, I didn’t trust him. That’d have been crazy. If he did come back that night with what I’d asked for; if he came back without a contingent of Mediators in tow, then I’d trust him more. More, but not entirely.

  Hopefully, he would prove trustworthy. If I was going to do what I was planning then there were going to be instances in which having a gofer like that would be very useful. Meantime, I’d need the time I had before I was due to meet him to write a few notes.

  That took considerably longer than I’d intended. I had a stub of charcoal pencil and some scraps of cheap paper and a primary school grasp of the written language. There was nobody to ask for help with vocabulary, grammar or spelling tips. I also had to be somewhat exact in my wording. All that teamed up to mean it took a ridiculously long time just to write the notes. Long enough that the light outside was turning to orange and softer hues as the shadows lengthened.

  Time to keep an appointment.

  ------v------

  From the vantage of a low roof I watched the kid come down the street toward the yard. He was walking quickly, a small sack slung over his shoulder. From what I could tell he seemed nervous. I noted that as I leaned back, staying in the shadows of the building the shed abutted.

  I’d ensured that I arrived at the appointed spot well ahead of time. Over an hour ahead of time. That’d let me get into the closed warehouse yard and get into place. I’d settled on the roof of a low shed adjoining a larger building, the eaves of that building overhanging enough to offer some nice shadows. I wasn’t under any illusions that Rris couldn’t see in that gloom, but their sight wasn’t so good at discerning motionless detail. So I sat still and watched the street, looking for individuals who might also be lingering. As yet, I hadn’t spotted anything out of the ordinary.

  The night was clear, with a spill of bright stars smeared across the sky. A crescent moon hung low over rooftops and chimneys, turning dribbles of smoke into faint ghosts in the air. That was a mixed blessing: I could at least see to move, but it made the shadows seemed darker than ever. Away to the south an aqueduct loomed above the outlying town, streets and smaller building crammed in between the arched supports. I saw bats flitting and jinking around the old mossy stones, their dark forms eclipsing the slightly brighter night sky. Out the front of the yard a couple of gas lamps flickered feebly, more to light the signage on the place than illuminate the street.

  The kid was on time. Well, as punctual as could be expected for someone who didn’t have a watch and who lived in a town where the public clocks seemed to each run on their own little time zones that could be half an hour out of sync with others. He looked nervous; glancing around at corners and alleyways, which I figured was a good sign. If he’d been too cocky or fixated on not looking around I’d have suspected he’d brought backup of some kind and had been carefully coached on not looking at them.

  He was waiting outside on the street, at the corner of the yard where an adjacent alleyway opened onto the main street. His ears flickered and then he whirled around as I dropped from the top of the brick wall around down into the alleyway. The only other people visible in the moonlight were a couple heading away from us further down the street, but I was still twitchy.

  “On time,” I said. “That’s good.”

  “Coin,” he said, fur bristling as he drew himself up to his full height; barely a meter tall. “You promised.”

  “On delivery of goods,” I said and held up the lump of metal where he could see it. “Show me, first. I’m not paying for a bag of rocks or dead rats.”

  He grinned and then showed me the contents of his package: A small wheel of cheese in wax, strips of smoked bison, bison jerky, bread and hard biscuits. All stuff that would keep. I nodded and flipped the coin to him and he handed the bag across then his eyes fixed on the new Gold I held up.

  “You interested in another job?” I asked.

  I saw his tongue flash out to lick his lips. “What?”

  “This one’s a bit more challenging,” I said. “I need you to deliver a note to someone. Unobtrusively.”

  Eyes narrowed. “What’s that mean?”

  That was a first: A Rris word I knew and a local didn’t. “I mean quietly. Without anyone else knowing.”

  “Ah, who is for?”

  “His name’s Chaeitch ah Ties,” I said. “And tomorrow his carriage will be at the shipyards...”

  ------v------

  Gas lamps were burning inside. The soft glow filtered out through a crack in the curtains, through the panes in the closed doors. The wedge of light spilled across the balcony and a corner of an ornamental planter, the leaves of the shrubbery growing within shifting in the warm night breeze. Overhead, the overhang of the eaves were a dark line across the faint glow of moonlit clouds. Back in the shadows, I leaned against the cool stone wall and listened to the voices emanating from inside and tried to ignore the mosquito whining around my head. I remember thinking how that’d felt familiar, how I’d done something similar not a few days before.

  The voices were loud enough to be heard, not loud enough to be able to make out what was being said. They continued for a few minutes and then there was the sound of a door being closed, then silence. The mosquito whined and nocturnal insects buzzed in the grasses, then the line of light across the balcony abruptly widened as the drapes were pulled apart. The doors rattled and then swung out.

  I just waited off to the side, in the gloom beyond the light cast from inside while a Rris shadow fell across the balcony and a hand raised to ruffle chest and shoulder fur. I heard a hiss, a sigh, and then the shadow shrank again as the Rris turned and went back inside. A few seconds later I moved quietly after.

  The room was nice. Not as luxurious and elaborate as my suite had been, but still up to the standards accorded VIP guests. Green satin wallpaper in a paisley pattern and trimmed with gold foil. Plaster Rris and animal heads gazed down from the cornice. A couple of gas lamps flickered dimly, their copper pipes leading down into the floor on either side of the linen-sheeted bed. He was alone, his back to me and tail lashing as he folded his tunic.

  My hand felt for my bandolier and the reassuring weight of metal and wood tucked away there. Then I quietly asked, “Tough day?”

  Chaeitch leapt and spun at the same time, his fur bottling and tunic falling forgotten. F
or a second he gaped, “Mikah?!”

  It looked like him, but so had the other one. “Back in Shattered Water, what did you and Rraerch find out that day in your office; that I’d asked you not to tell.”

  “What...” he started to protest and then I saw his gaze lower and take in where my hand was resting. His ears went absolutely flat as he realized I was serious. “Your back,” he said, answering my question. “What that Maithris had done to it. Those scratches.”

  That was good enough. I sighed and used a finger to pull down the black mask covering the lower half of my face. I wasn’t foolish enough to believe it did anything to disguise me, but it did make me harder to see at night.

  “Rot you Mikah, what’re you doing here?!” he hissed.

  “I need to talk with you.”

  “But that note said the mill...” he blinked then shook his head as he caught on.

  “Which is where most of the Mediators are camping out waiting for me, right?” I said. “It was the only way to talk to you without them... interrupting.”

  “Shave you!” he hissed, stepped toward me. I retreated and he halted. “Stop this now,” he growled urgently. “Give yourself up. They can help you.”

  “Help me?” I quietly asked. “Chaeitch, do you know what happened to me? After that Mediator took me away? Do you have any idea?!”

  “They said you ran from them.”

  “Actually, I was kidnapped,” I said, surprised at how level I was able to keep my tone. “Taken from them quite violently. I didn’t have any choice in the matter. And then my captors said they saved my life; that I was originally to be executed.”

  “You...” he started to say.

  “And,” I continued, “you know what makes things really interesting? The ones who took me from the Mediators? They were also Mediators.”

  He stared again. Then said, “What are you talking about?”

  I sighed and glanced at the closed door. Were there guards? Probably. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Guild hedged its bets and had someone keep an eye on Chaeitch. I kept my voice down. “Please, I’m not sure what’s happening. I haven’t been able to get any answers and I was hoping you could help. What have they been telling you?”

  “That you escaped. That you’ve been hiding from them. You raided the Ironheart and left that note and they said that you resisted arrest then; that you killed a Mediator.”

  I sagged.

  “Tell me you didn’t do this,” he said. His eyes flared as the light caught them.

  “I killed someone,” I said quietly. “I thought it was you. I mean... I was at the warehouse and someone came, I thought it was you. It looked like you and I couldn’t tell... He just... he just shot at me, then tried to finish it with a knife. I... the gun went off. I thought I’d killed you.”

  “You thought it was me?” he said, incredulously.

  “He had makeup. I... can’t tell Rris apart very well,” I confessed miserably. “Not properly. Not even you. Someone knew this. A Mediator was made up to look like you and sent to kill me. Not arrest... kill me. And yet other Mediators were trying to keep me alive.”

  The Rris was staring at me as if I was telling him that the sky was an interesting shade of plaid that night. Slowly, his ears laid back and then visibly struggled up again. “Mikah, please, you are not feeling well.”

  I had felt better, but I knew that wasn’t what he meant. “I think I am as sane as I’ve ever been since I came here,” I said. “The one who told you that, he wouldn’t be called Shyia, by any chance?”

  “You know him?” he said, then must’ve remembered. “A, of course you do.”

  “Oh, yeah, From a way back. And he told you I was... what? Ill? Mentally unstable? Insane?” I saw by the reaction that I wasn’t hitting far from the mark. “Great. And he’s in charge?”

  “He’s answering to the Guild Lord,” Chaeitch said quietly.

  “He told me he was taking me to... ah... ah Richtkah? The Guildmaster? But why is he suddenly doing this? He was surely informed of my visit here, why didn’t he say something to Hirht, to her Ladyship...”

  “No, Mikah,” Cheaitch interjected. “He’s not the local master, he’s the Mediator Guild Lord. Shyia had documents... they were quite authentic. From the Guild Hall in Meetings, bestowing on him provisional authority. He said he had taken you into custody and was returning to the local Guild Hall when you ran from him, injuring several Mediators in the process. He asked for our help in finding you. For your own good.”

  “He said that? That I ran from him?”

  “A.”

  I shook my head and eyed him. “You helped him with that note on the Ironheart,” I said flatly. “Telling them where I’d be.”

  “A,” he waved an affirmative. “They brought the note to me and asked where that location was. He said they didn’t want you running around the city. There was danger. You could be injured, or someone could...” He trailed off with a hiss.

  “Did he ever say just why I was to be taken into custody in the first place?”

  “Said they had some questions for you,” Cheaitch said, flicking an ear back and then rubbing it.

  “They said,” I noted. “You never saw those actual orders in writing?”

  “No, not those,” he said quietly. “Mikah, that night they took you, what happened? In your words?”

  “I don’t have much time.”

  “Then be quick. Sit, tell me.”

  We sat on leather hassocks and I told him. I could see him struggling not to interject as I spoke, as I told him things that no doubt contradicted what the Mediators had told him. I told him what happened that night, after Shyia took me away, after the attack in that narrow street and my flight; then the unknown mediators who’d taken me and claimed to have saved my life. Then the long days following that. And again I omitted names and other details. I wanted to trust Chaeitch, I really wanted to, but after the notes, after the fact he’d helped the Mediators I just couldn’t risk it. For the sakes of those who’d helped me.

  I was angry at him. After what he’d done - the way he’d helped the Mediators. It felt like a betrayal. And that hit me where it hurt. But I was telling myself that it was through mistaken beliefs on his part, because of the misinformation he’d been fed. And there was something more than that. The Mediators seemed to have the same sort of effect on Rris that a charismatic leader does on humans: despite what common sense might dictate they can be led to do things that are just plain crazy.

  So perhaps he’d never had any choice. Which might have removed the blame, but it also removed the reliability. I realized that I just couldn’t trust him entirely, not where Mediators were involved.

  When I was done he sat quietly, then said, “That can’t be right.”

  I sighed. “It’s... Look, I’m sorry but there isn’t time. They’ll be back soon.” I looked back over my shoulder at the window and the grounds beyond, but it was still quiet out there. “Everything I told you is the truth. It happened. I don’t know why; I was hoping you’d have some idea. If you don’t then... Chaeitch, be careful. They’re trying to hide something. If they think you’re not buying their story they might get nasty.” I frowned and added, “And I don’t think it would be a good idea to let them know I was here.”

  He laid his ears back, “Mikah, can you hear what you’re saying?! They’re Mediators, rot it!”

  “Doesn’t mean they’re perfect. I know they’re supposed to be, but... Fuck! They’ve lied. They’ve lied to me, they’ve lied to you. They’re fighting themselves. Just... be careful, a?”

  Chaeitch hissed in exasperation and then snapped his teeth. “And if they find out you’ve been here and I didn’t raise the alarm?”

  I felt a surge of annoyance. He thought he had problems? “Then tell them I held you at gu
npoint. You were afraid for your life. After all, I’m a dangerous killer, aren’t I?” I turned back to the balcony.

  “You’re going?” he said.

  “A, there’s someone else I have to talk to,” I said, and then hesitated in the doorway.

  “One other thing,” I said and turned, raising a finger, “don’t leave on the Ironheart without me, a? That’s quite important.”

  He looked puzzle but waved a hesitant affirmative.

  I pulled my black scarf back up over my face, climbed over the parapet and dropped down into the darkness.

  Getting away from the Palace was as tricky as getting in had been. I had to get across the moonlit meadows, staying low and making myself one with the dew-soaked grass when guards made their rounds. Beyond those fields lay the belt of the woods: a world of blackness and faint dapples of moonlight and strange noises in the gloom. I moved through there as fast as I dared, all the time expecting a yowl of alarm in the darkness.

  That didn’t come till I was over the fence. When I dropped from the top rail a quizzical vocalization called from some way behind. I went flat amongst bracken and leaves and fallen needles, facefirst into the earthy scent of the forest floor, letting the black of the rain cloak settle over me.

  Voices coming closer:

  “... thought I saw something.”

  “Where?”

  “Right here.”

  A pause. I wasn’t breathing, becoming one with ground.

  “Nothing there now, a? Smell anything?”