Tarc just shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His throat was tight. He wasn’t sure whether it was rage or fear that had tightened it, but he knew his voice wouldn’t sound normal.
As he dropped off the Garcias’ plates, Sergeant Garcia spoke to him quietly. “Those two assholes by the door giving you trouble Tarc?”
Tarc saw the sergeant’s narrowed eyes had focused on the two men. Having the sergeant there made him feel better. “Yeah, they refused to pay unless Daussie takes their money.” He mumbled, “They seem to have some kind of a thing for her.”
Garcia had been reaching in his pocket for his own payment, but his eyes widened and he looked up at Tarc. “Daussie! She’s just a kid! I know she’s pretty, but…”
Tarc blinked, it seemed like everyone but Tarc thought Daussie’s looks were something special. For a moment he tried to picture her face. He’d just seen it after all. He realized that all he could bring to mind was some weird amalgamation of images of her face from the past. And that picture was overlain with an older brother’s irritation, disregard and distaste. He thought to himself that he needed to actually look at her the next time he saw her. To Garcia he said, “Yeah, well we’ve invited some of the deputies down for a free dinner,” he said quietly. We’ll ask those guys for payment again when the deputies are here, but we appreciate your support as well.” Briefly Tarc considered telling the Garcias their meal was on the house as well, but decided he should check with one of his parents first.
Tarc turned and went to the end of the bar waiting for his father to notice him. Daum was serving beer to three strangers. Tarc thought that it seemed like a lot more strangers were stopping at the tavern than there had been in the past. That was good because it meant more business, but it didn’t seem like the strangers had been taking rooms very often recently. They hadn’t stabled their horses either, just stopped in to drink and eat then moved on. Tarc knew his dad would shrug and say, “Business is business.” However, sometimes Tarc wondered whether all business really was the same.
Some of these strangers are… Tarc didn’t really know how to put it, not really the kind of people we want in our town, are they?
Tarc watched Daum take the men’s money. Daum put the money in the cash drawer against the wall. Tarc saw him flip the lever that dumped some of the money out of the drawer and down a pipe into their strongbox in the cellar. The family tried not to keep too much money in the drawer in case of a robbery. It reminded Tarc to take the money out of his pocket that he’d collected from the Garcias. No need for him to be carrying a lot of money around with him either.
Daum came down to his end of the bar and Tarc gave him the money. He quietly told Daum about the two men refusing to pay and Eva sending Daussie to offer free meals to the deputies again. Daum eyed the two men unhappily; then glanced back at the three men he’d just served beer to. Tarc wondered if Daum thought that the five of them were associated somehow. Tarc studied the three beer drinkers; thinking to himself that they had the same hard look as the two men eating by the door. In fact, they seem to be dressed somewhat similarly as well.
Tarc wondered if all the strangers they’d been seeing could actually know each other somehow. If they did, why didn’t they sit with each other? Or talk to each other? Could they be casing us for a robbery? There’s been, what, five of these men today and two a week or so ago? It seemed to Tarc like a lot of men to just to rob one tavern, but he had to admit that he didn’t know much about the robbery business.
Daum sighed, “I don’t like those strangers. I think you did the right thing not demanding the money, though I wish you’d tried to take their plates away from him like you’re supposed to.”
Tarc nodded, feeling embarrassed.
“We’ll wait till the deputies get here and ask for our money when we have a little backup.” Daum turned to look at Tarc pensively, “It looks like your mom has you seein’ a few patients?”
Tarc nodded.
Daum grinned, “Does she know you can move things yet?”
Tarc nodded again. “She says you can move things and she can feel them but neither of you can do both?”
Daum nodded at that.
Tarc grinned at him, “She’s a little pissed you didn’t tell her.”
He smirked, “I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
Tarc shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed, but also a proud to be able to do something his parents couldn’t. “She and I are supposed to talk to Denny as soon as I get back so I’d better go.”
His dad nodded, so Tarc headed back to the kitchen. Eva was poking at the fire. She glanced up, “Hand me a couple more pieces of wood and we’ll go talk to Denny.”
When they had seated themselves across from Denny, Eva set a large glass of water down in front of her. She took Denny’s hand and said, “Tarc told me about your problem.” Closing her eyes, she said, “Let me think a moment.”
Knowing his mother probably wasn’t thinking, but instead using her ghost to examine Denny, Tarc sent his own ghost down there, wondering if he could tell that his mother’s ghost was there. Denny’s bladder had virtually nothing in it. The little bit of fluid that was there seemed more viscous than the urine in his own bladder felt. He couldn’t tell his mother’s ghost was there so he quickly sent his ghost back and forth from one woman to the other, comparing the structures in Denny to the same structures in his mother. Denny’s bladder walls were definitely thicker than his mother’s. Other structures seemed much the same, although the structure right behind the bladder seemed to be larger in his mother than it was in Denny. He’d have to look in the anatomy book and find out what that structure was. He wondered why the bladder walls were thicker in Denny, then thought of the signs of infection which included swelling. Maybe the walls of the bladder were swollen from the infection? The other three signs were redness, heat, and tenderness. His ghost didn’t tell him anything about color but he already knew her bladder was tender from when he’d tugged on it before. He knew he could feel heat and so he sent his ghost back to Denny’s bladder. It is warmer! he thought excitedly.
His mother blinked her eyes open and gave Denny a serious look. “You have an infection in your urine Denny.”
Denny’s eyes widened and she gasped.
Eva smiled reassuringly and made calming motions with her hands. “I know infections can be really terrible, but infections in the urine can often be treated, so don’t panic.” Eva went on to talk to Denny about drinking fluids and eating cranberries. She told Denny to start by drinking the big glass of water Eva had just set in front of her and to drink 6 to 8 more each day. She glanced at her son, knowing he would be embarrassed, then turned back to Denny, “And, you and Joe should stop having sex until you’re better.”
Denny blushed as her eyes darted over to Tarc and then back to his mother. She looked a little pinched, then whispered, “Joe won’t be happy.”
Eva sighed, “Yes, men really like sex.” She narrowed her eyes at Denny, “Does Joe love you enough to hold off for a while, or is he going to be a problem?”
With dismay, Tarc realized Denny was actually trembling a little. She said, “I think he’ll be okay, as long as it’s not too long.”
Looking at his mother Tarc saw that she was angry, though trying to hide it. She said, “If he gives you trouble about it, let me know.”
Denny left. Tarc took orders from a new table full of people and Daussie started bringing in water for the barrel in the kitchen. Tarc went back out to tell the table of new people that they were out of roast pork and the men by the door stopped him again. “Hey boy, when are you going to send that cute little tart back out here?” He lifted an eyebrow, “Or doesn’t this place want its money?”
With relief Tarc saw a couple of deputies coming in the door. “She’s busy with some other stuff,” he said a little louder than normal. “I can take your money.”
The man gave an ugly laugh and said, “If you want that money, you’ll go do her chores lo
ng enough for her to come out and talk to us for a few minutes. She’s the only one we’re gonna pay.”
The presence of the deputies gave Tarc a good deal of confidence. He spoke even a little louder to say, “You ordered food. I brought it to you and you ate it. You need to pay for it!”
The man stood and stepped closer to Tarc. Close enough that Tarc had to take a step back to feel comfortable. This guy wasn’t nearly as big as the man had been the week before, but he still looked down on Tarc. “You gonna make me?”
Suddenly frightened, Tarc stepped back a little more, his eyes darting to the side where the deputies were staring at the little confrontation. They weren’t stepping up to put the man in his place like Tarc had expected. “Um, no sir. I’m just expecting… you to do the right thing like any citizen.”
The man laughed again, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I ain’t a citizen of this here shithole town.”
Now, to Tarc’s relief, the deputies stepped closer. Hand on his sword, one of them said, “You may not be a citizen, but you need to act like one when you’re within our walls.”
Tarc wanted to grin with relief, but kept a serious look on his face while lifting his hand, palm up, as if expecting payment. Muscles bunched in the man’s jaw as he glanced over at the deputies’ brassards. For a moment the man did nothing and Tarc wondered whether he would try to stiff them despite the presence of the lawmen. After a long pause, the man reached into a pocket and pulled out a handful of coppers. He stirred through them and picked out enough in numbers to pay for the meal. However, he appeared to have selected coppers that were likely underweight. He dropped them into Tarc’s palm.
Normally Tarc would have suggested they move to the bar to weigh the coppers when they looked small, but the two deputies, believing the issue settled, had turned away. Tarc glanced up into the man’s eyes and saw anger, but also a small gleam of triumph there. He swallowed, but said nothing. The man leaned close to Tarc’s ear and whispered in an ugly tone, “Be glad you got that, you little pissant.”
For a moment the wheels of Tarc’s mind spun as he tried to find something brilliant to say. Finally, he turned without saying anything and went to the bar. When Daum came over, Tarc handed him the coppers and said he thought they’d been shorted.
Daum glowered at the two men who were already leaving. He said, “We’ll let it go this time. But next time you’ll be sure you get our money before they eat anything, right?”
Feeling deflated, Tarc said self-consciously, “Yes Dad, sorry.”
With the men gone, Daussie again went back to serving and clearing in the big room. Tarc started restocking the kitchen and the big fireplace with wood. As things slowed further he and Daussie helped Eva prepare the kitchen for the next day and made a list for the morning’s shopping.
At one point Tarc remembered that he should take a fresh look at Daussie. She was chattering to Eva and he wasn’t really listening, so he studied her for a minute. Somehow, while he hadn’t really been paying attention, she’d gotten to be nearly as tall as he was. Though the man had called her blond, and in his recollection her hair had been pale gold, Tarc didn’t think her hair was really blonde anymore. He guessed you’d call it ‘dark blonde,’ or light brunette. It hung gloriously down her back in gentle waves. Her eyes had always been blue, but now he noticed just how arresting that brilliant blue appeared. Her face was evenly symmetrical, her complexion smooth, and her teeth surprisingly white. She’d always been a stick in the past, but now was developing some hips below a very slender waist. He recognized with some horror that his sister had grown boobs.
How could this have happened without his notice?! She wasn’t just pretty, she was… gorgeous. He thought that he should be proud of her looks, but somehow, instead, he felt… embarrassed.
Daussie went up to bed.
Eva usually went up about the same time as Daussie, but this night she stayed down with Tarc for a while. She talked to him about the general principles of being a healer and what she thought he might be able to do with his talent. She kept telling him about more and more things he should be reading in their little library of books. The number of things she told him to read made him feel anxious. He felt like all the assignments would soon bury him.
After Eva had gone up, Tarc went out to check on the stables. They had a few guests staying in their rooms who had horses out there. The horses seemed fine and when he got back in the big room things seemed pretty quiet. There were just a few people left drinking at the bar so Tarc’s dad told him to go up and do some reading before he went to sleep.
It seemed like everybody thought he should do more reading. It would’ve been more irritating except he actually liked learning about anatomy.
Chapter Three
Over the next few days, any time Tarc was working outside he picked up some pebbles and threw them. Hitting that post while riding back from the store hadn’t been a fluke. His talent seemed to be getting stronger, making significant corrections in the flight of the stones out to 10 to 15 feet. He could even correct somewhat for the distance it was going to travel and how far it was going to fall in transit. This meant his throws were incredibly accurate, although if a gust of wind deflected the pebble after it had already traveled a long distance, he could no longer put it back on target.
At first he was pretty excited about his ability to hit pretty much anything he wanted to. Then he started to realize that, while he could hit almost anything with a little pebble, it was harder to correct the aim of something bigger. Just like he couldn’t push a big rock hard enough to move it with his ghost, he couldn’t deflect a medium rock very much while it was flying through the air.
So, while he’d been thinking at first that he had just become a dangerous man with a thrown rock, he started to realize he wasn’t all that fearsome. If say, one of those strangers in the tavern pissed Tarc off; he’d be able to hit them accurately with a pebble, but it wouldn’t hurt them much. Or, he could throw a big rock at the guy, but then he still had a pretty good chance of missing.
He resolved to keep exercising his ghost in the hopes that he would be able to move heavier things and control the flight of bigger stones. He frequently kept pebbles floating above the floorboards of the wagon as he drove it around, or lifted the end of his leather strap when he was hauling wood to the kitchen. As the days passed he could tell that he was able to lift larger stones, so he felt like the exercise was effective.
Then one day, as he pulled up behind Benson’s to pick up the tavern’s food order, he found the stock boy and one of his friends out back throwing their knives at an “X” they’d marked on the wall. Tarc stared, realizing with excitement that a relatively small knife, accurately thrown, represented a much more dangerous weapon than a pebble. He wouldn’t need to throw a heavy rock accurately if he could put a knife on target instead.
He sat watching the stock boy’s friend throw his knife while Jeff went in to get the Hyllis’ order. Usually Tarc helped Jeff collect their order, but he’d never thrown a knife and wanted to learn more about it. He stepped over close behind the boy and started trying to guide the knife when the kid threw it. After all he didn’t have to throw the knife himself to practice guiding it. The boy was throwing it so it flipped over one complete rotation on the way to the wall.
About half the time it failed to stick because it rotated either too far or not far enough by the time it hit. Tarc was surprised to realize that although he had a hard time seeing whether the rotation was too much or too little, he could easily feel it with his ghost hand. He could also readily correct it when the kid threw the blade a little too much to the right or left. “Why do you throw it so that it flips over and over?” Tarc asked. “A lot of your misses are because the knife has rotated too much or too little.”
The kid looked disdainfully back over his shoulder at Tarc. “Everybody does it this way.”
Tarc frowned, “That’s just not true. Sergeant Garcia, down at the armory, doesn’t. He throws w
ith a ‘no-spin’ technique. You should at least try it.”
“That’s stupid,” the kid said.
Tarc said, “Can I try couple of throws?” He pulled out his own knife.
The kid stepped to one side, holding out a hand to invite Tarc up to the line. Tarc stepped up to the line, putting the handle of his knife in the base of his palm with his fingers paralleling the shank. It felt a little clumsy and he thought he should ask Sergeant Garcia exactly how he held his knives. Tarc took a throw that way anyway.
Despite his attempt to throw it without spin, the knife was rotating some anyway. Tarc used his ghost to stop the rotation and guided the blade back on target.
He blinked when he saw that the knife stood quivering exactly in the center of the X.
“Hey! That worked pretty good!” the kid said with an awed tone.
Tarc tried another throw, guiding it so that it also hit precisely in the center of the X. Then, realizing that he had overdone it, he brought a couple in close, though not right on the target.
The kid said, “Wow, let me try a no-spin throw.”
Tarc stepped aside and the kid stepped up.
He showed Tarc the way he was gripping the knife and said, “Is this how you do it?”
Tarc shrugged, “Looks good to me, but you really should ask the sergeant. He’s the expert.”
The kid lifted an eyebrow, “You’re pretty damn good.”
“I just got lucky those first two.”
The kid took a throw. The knife was rotating despite the kid’s attempt to throw it without spin. Tarc resisted the impulse to stop its spin and it clattered off the wood. “Shit!” the kid said, stepping over to pick up his knife.
“You can’t expect to get it on the first throw,” Tarc said. “Don’t snap your wrist like that and it won’t turn.”
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