by Nick Travers
Chapter 7
“I’d name my killer,” Scud declares emphatically, ““I bet that’s what he did. Westward Passage is pretty close. If we get there quick we might intercept the message and find out who did this.” He starts towards the door as if discovering the identity of Uncle Felix’s attacker is the most important thing in the world—which to Scud it probably is, even though he never knew Uncle Felix.
I need to remind him that others have emotions, a fact that often escapes him. “It’s a good idea, Scud, but we’ve got to give Uncle Felix a good send-off first. Let’s find some wood to make a funeral pyre.”
Fernando nods towards the door. “Come on Izzy.” But when she doesn’t move he finally realizes something else is going on. He licks his lips nervously. “Did you know him?”
Izzy continues staring at the corpse. “No. I didn’t know him. In fact, I never met him.” Tears fill her eyes. “He was my Father.”
I drag Scud outside before he digs up some more brilliantly hurtful facts and leave Fernando standing helplessly next to Izzy. Let his macho bravado find its way around that.
We find a dilapidated outhouse and start kicking it to pieces for the wood.
Scud is concentrating hard on something in his mind. “How can that be Izzy’s Father if she’s never met him?”
I kick aggressively at another board. “Just leave it, Scud. I feel guilty enough not telling Izzy where we were headed, now the first time she meets her Father he’s dead.”
“You didn’t know he was dead.”
“Of course not, but every time she thinks of her Father now she’ll also remember how I dragged her here.”
I’m so furious with myself, I almost don’t catch the movement in my periphery vision. Is my mind playing tricks or did I just see someone? Perhaps the killer is still here, in which case, we’re all in danger.
I kick in some more planks while watching out the corner of my eye. Yep, there is definitely someone watching us. I can just make out an angular face well hidden in the shadows.
Scud scowls at me as I start to kick my way round to the far side of the outhouse, away from the watcher. He stays where he is and continues the conversation. “So her Dad must have been her Step-dad then.” He smashes another plank. “So was Felix your Aunt Jean’s brother?”
My Auntie Jean is Izzy’s Mother. Scud, so knowledgeable about many things, has little understanding of families other than his own. Normally I would not pursue this sort of conversation with Scud, but it’s a useful cover.
I kick in a few more planks and the outhouse starts to waver. “No, he was my Mother’s brother. He married Jean, who became Izzy’s Mother, then decided he didn’t want either of them. Not the settling type I suppose.” Now I’m round the back of the outhouse and out of sight of the watcher. I duck behind a pile of rope and work my way round in a circle until I’m directly behind where I saw the movement.
In front of me, crouching warily behind a crate, is a thin, slick haired youth, in tattered clothes. He’s watching Scud demolish the outhouse.
“Weird family you got, Nina,” Scud shouts, believing I’m still behind the outhouse rather than watching a spy watching Scud’s own back.
Just as I’m wondering how to tackle this stranger, he suddenly stands up in full view. “Hello?” he calls, “Is anyone there?”
This isn’t the action of a killer.
“Yes.”
The watcher spins round at the sound of my voice behind him, but he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. Did he know I was here?
“Oh thank goodness you’ve come to rescue me. Something terrible has happened. We were attacked.”
“Who by? Reavers?”
“Not Reavers. I don’t know who they were. At first I thought they were traders, Felix seemed to know them. Then there was an argument and a fight and they killed him.” He looks grief stricken. “Felix was so good to me, took me in like a son, he did.”
If this youth witnessed the killing, maybe he can identify the killers.
I decide to pump him for information. “What were they arguing about?.”
“I don’t know,” the youth sniffs.
“How many were they? What did they look like?”
The youth looks at his feet. “I never had nothing to do with his business dealings. I always kept out of the way when we had visitors.”
Scud has joined us by now. “Did you actually see anything?”
The youth waves his hands helplessly. “Not as such, but I know what I heard.”
“Just not well enough to hear what they actually said,” Scud accuses.
The youth looks at his feet again. “No. But if I had I’d tell you everything.”
“He doesn’t know who the killer is, Nina.” Scud wanders off to finish demolishing the outhouse, leaving me with the stranger.
This callow youth might not have seen who killed Uncle Felix, but he knows a lot more than we do. “I’m Nina, Nina Swift. Felix was my Uncle.” I hold out my hand.
The youth takes it, hesitatingly, like he finds it hard to trust people. “Everyone calls me Trent. He was a wonderful man—your Uncle.”
“And the demolitions squad over there.” I nod towards Scud, still kicking methodically at the outhouse. “Is Scud.”
I decide to approach things from another direction. “Did the killers find what they were looking for?”
Trent looks puzzled. “Looking for?”
“The place has been ransacked. They were clearly looking for something specific.”
Another shrug. “I just thought they were looking for money.”
A fair enough assumption I suppose. Unless Trent ransacked the place after the killers departed—he’s weasely enough that I can imagine him doing that.
Fernando and Izzy emerge from the gloom of the shop as the outhouse yields to Scud’s sustained kicks and crashes into a heap of splinters and dust.
“Who’s this?” Fernando demands.
“This is Trent, Uncle Felix’s assistant.”
Izzy glares at Trent. “Did you see who did this?”
I realize she’s looking for someone to blame—it’s something Izzy does when she’s upset. It’s not one of her prettier qualities, so I step between them. “I’ve been through all this, Izzy, he didn’t see or hear anything. He hid.”
“Hid?” She tries to push past me, fury on her face, but we’re in a narrow alley between stacked stores so I can hold her off. “Hid until my Father bled to death, did you?”
I’ve never heard her refer to Felix as her Father before.
Behind me, Trent is backing away from Izzy’s outburst. I would too if I had the chance.
“It was all over very fast,” Trent mumbles.
“Not so fast he didn’t wait for them to ransack the place and leave before dragging himself to the pigeon loft to send a message before bleeding to death, you little snot.”
I shove Izzy away from me as she tries to push past me and get at Trent—she’s clearly decided he is to blame for Felix’s death, even if he didn’t actually do it himself. “He hasn’t done anything, Izzy. It’s not his fault.”
She doesn’t give up easily. “You didn’t even give him a descent funeral.”
I can hear Trent, behind me, shuffling his feet. “I….I’m sorry…. I thought he’d sent a message to the constables and I didn’t want to destroy any evidence.”
“Why didn’t you send for help?”
“I… um… I can’t read nor write.”
Izzy’s resistance suddenly evaporates and I gently push her away from me. “Fernando, take Izzy somewhere quiet while we make a funeral pyre.”
She glares at me then allows Fernando to guide her gently away. At the warehouse door she shakes off his protecting arm and turns back to me. “Well he’s not coming with us.”