Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2)

by E. Rose Sabin

  “Absolutely not. You’ve done enough damage. I want you to go home right now.”

  “We didn’t make him run, Miss Abigail, honest,” Nora protested. “He chased us. He was scary.”

  “Nonsense. You know very well Edwin wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “But he did mean to, Miss Abigail,” Beth insisted. “We only told him you were looking for him, and he went all crazy and came after us like he meant to kill us. He did.”

  “You didn’t tease him?”

  “No, Miss Abigail, we never do that anymore after that time you scolded us so.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder. Something has terrified him. I told you to go home. Your parents will be worried about you. I must go get the carriage and try to find Edwin. If he tells me you did frighten him, I’ll have a talk with your father and mother. Go. Hurry!”

  She shooed the girls away and watched them run back toward the school. Little hellions! Of course they’d said something to frighten poor Edwin. She had to find him before he came to harm, trespassing in yards and not looking where he was running.

  That beast of a father had ruined the lad, convincing him he was stupid and useless and making his son the brunt of his drunken rages. The wonder was that Edwin had kept a sweet nature through it all. Most boys would have turned bitter and brutal under that treatment.

  She hurried to the barn on the far side of the school. She considered enlisting Leah’s help with the search but didn’t want to spare the time to hunt for her and explain. Who knew how far Edwin might run or what might happen to him before she got one of the horses hitched to the carriage and got out on the streets to look for him?

  She led Bitsy from her stall and fumbled with the traces, her nervousness making the horse restless and the task more difficult. This was Edwin’s job. She could do it well enough, but lack of practice made it take maddeningly long.

  Hiking up her full skirt and petticoats, she climbed into the driver’s seat, glad no one was around to see her. No matter that she wasn’t dressed for driving a carriage; she arranged her skirts as best she could, flicked the reins, and drove out onto the street.

  The sun was low in the western sky. She had to find Edwin before dark. Turning in the direction he had taken, she guided the horse along the lane in front of the houses he had run behind, calling his name as she drove. If he kept to the back yards she wouldn’t see him, but surely he’d not do that. He’d find it easier running in the streets and walkways.

  She berated herself for sending him on the errand to Councilor Hardwick. The Council Master had probably treated him unkindly and said who knew what to him to frighten him. The man was utterly insensitive. But Edwin had to learn to deal with such people, to convince them that he wasn’t simple. She sighed. Every time she thought he’d made good progress, something happened to set him back. Nothing had ever spooked him this badly, however.

  The carriage jounced and bounced over the rough pavement. Bitsy refused to hurry; she wasn’t accustomed to being driven at this time. She wanted to go back to her stall and her manger. Abigail had to use the whip, which she detested, and had to keep tugging at the reins to turn the horse in the direction she wanted her to go.

  Everyone she passed on the street she called to and asked if they’d seen Edwin. Most knew him, but only one had seen him. “He run through my yard so fast he tore my best work pants off the line,” the man said. “Jumped over a hedge to get away, and my trousers caught on the hedge, so I got ’em back, but they’re ripped, and I’m going to need new ones. What’s the matter with that dummy? He finally took leave of his senses altogether?”

  “Something frightened him, that’s all,” Abigail snapped and set the horse back in motion.

  It occurred to her that Edwin might be so frightened he’d hide when he heard the carriage. He’d recognize it as hers by Bitsy’s distinctive clop—distinctive to him; he knew the sound of each of her three horses, although to her they sounded no different from any other horses.

  She had to hope that as his panic subsided he’d realize that he had nothing to fear from her.

  She looked carefully along every street, paused to call his name at every street corner, checked clumps of bushes where he might be hiding, peered up into the branches of trees. No doubt she was making a spectacle of herself, but Edwin had to be found.

  The sun set; she continued to search by twilight. Bitsy grew restive as visibility became difficult. Reluctantly Abigail turned back toward her home.

  Maybe Edwin had already returned. Surely he had. It would be a good joke on her to find him in the carriage house when she pulled in, waiting for her, wondering where she’d been. He’d help her down from the driver’s seat, unhitch Bitsy and care for her, and she’d let him know she was glad to see him before she scolded him for giving her such a fright.

  Night deepened and she could scarcely see to drive, but Bitsy was headed home, and the mare knew the way even in darkness. The horse picked up her pace and soon trotted into the school driveway and pulled up in front of the barn. Leah ran toward them carrying a lantern.

  “Abigail, I’ve been worried about you. Where have you been?”

  “Searching for Edwin. Has he come back?”

  Leah shook her head. “The Farley girls are telling such a tale, I went to his cabin to look for him. I checked again just before I heard the carriage.”

  Tears sprang into Abigail’s eyes. “I couldn’t find him. I’m sure Nora and Beth Farley said or did something to frighten him into running away. If they continue spreading lies about him, I’ll expel them from the school. I don’t care if they do live right across the street or how influential their father is.” She wiped away her tears and let Leah help her descend. Together they unhitched the horse and led her to her stall while she told Leah of Ed’s flight and her futile search. When all three horses were fed and groomed, they checked Edwin’s cabin again.

  “You don’t think he could be in the school, do you?” Leah asked.

  “He does have keys. I suppose we should look.” Abigail got a second lantern, and they searched every room of the two-story frame building, even checked closets.

  Abigail’s last hope was that he might turn up at the house she and Leah shared. Sweeping their lanterns to search the dark schoolyard as they walked, they came to the barn, looked in it again, and went on.

  Abigail usually loved coming home to the comfort of the old place that had belonged to her family for generations past. Now she dreaded it because if Edwin weren’t waiting for them on the big front porch, her last hope of finding him tonight would vanish. Abigail hated to feel helpless, hated to feel guilty. She was responsible for Ed, his only protector.

  They reached the house, climbed the steps onto the porch. The porch swing swayed, stirring her hopes, but it was empty, moved only by the wind. Nothing hid in the shadows, no one huddled in the doorway.

  She let Leah unlock the door while she leaned over the porch railing to scan the areas around the house, though she no longer expected to find Ed.

  “Aren’t you coming in?” Leah called. “I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Abigail called back. “I’ll be in soon.”

  She enjoyed having Leah share the house. The younger woman was good company, and the house was too large for one person. But tonight she wanted to be alone. Leah would try to cheer her up, and she didn’t want to be cheered. Leah would tell her she’d done everything she could, but Leah didn’t know what Abigail knew.

  Abigail had searched as hard as she could, but the search shouldn’t have been necessary. It was her fault that Edwin had run away. If she hadn’t sent him on the errand, hadn’t sent the mischievous Farley sisters to look for him …

  Those errors paled before her great sin of omission. She’d never told Edwin the real reason she’d taken him in when his father died, given him the job of school janitor, and encouraged him to listen in on the lessons and learn all he could. She’d never told him that she and his mother were cou
sins, that she was his nearest living relative.

  Why? Had she been ashamed of him, no matter how stoutly she defended him against the charge of being simple? Was she still ashamed of the cousin who’d eloped with a wild young ranch hand and broken her parents’ hearts? Irina had died before Edwin was a year old; he had no memory of his mother, knew nothing about her. Abigail and Irina had grown up together, as close as sisters. She could have told him so many things about his mother.

  She’d failed him, failed Irina. She remembered when Neil Robbins, Ed’s father, came back to Carey and settled in a shack on the bad side of town. Ed had been about four or five then, she thought. His father had tried, once, to contact Irina’s parents. They’d refused to see him, and he never tried again. Robbins had his own twisted pride, it seemed. He never told anyone Ed was a member of the prestigious Dormer family, and none of the Dormers ever acknowledged the relationship, Abigail included. They’d known Neil Robbins was neglecting Edwin, guessed at the abuse. But no one did anything to stop it.

  When Irina’s parents died, Abigail’s father had wondered briefly whether he should attempt to do anything for his brother’s grandchild. But he was himself in poor health and wished no further burden placed on his wife. Abigail cared for her parents during their years of declining health, and after their deaths, having inherited both her father’s and her uncle’s estates, she had transformed the house that had belonged to Irina’s parents into a girls’ primary school. She’d been too busy to worry about young Edwin.

  How would Edwin handle the news that he was serving as janitor in what had been his grandparents’ home? She resolved to tell him that and everything else when she found him. If she got the chance.

  Ed heard Miss Abigail’s carriage, heard her calling his name. She was hunting for him in the carriage! She must mean to pick him up and drive him to the workhouse. He couldn’t let her find him. He crawled deeper into the weeds and lay prone in the mud, the pounding of his heart rivaling the horse’s clomping hooves.

  The carriage stopped. Had she spotted him? He held his breath, not daring to turn to look. He could imagine what she’d say if she saw him like this, covered with stinking mud, burs in his clothes and hair. Maybe when she saw him in such a mess, she wouldn’t let him into her fine rig. She’d just tell him to go away and never let her see him again. That would be better than being sent to the workhouse, but where would he go? How would he live?

  The horse whinnied—Bitsy, it was. Wheels creaked. The carriage moved on. She hadn’t seen him.

  He lay still for a long time, too haunted by the echoes of Miss Abigail’s voice to dare to move even to scratch the insect bites that tormented him. Not until the sun set did he sit up and brush off the worst of the mud. Soon it would be dark enough for him to venture out of hiding. He needed to move around, warm up. The evening had brought a cool wind that chilled him through his wet clothes. The pain in his injured shoulder had settled in as a dull, deep ache.

  At last, the deepening night allowed him to feel safe. He scrambled out of the ditch and found the road. It wasn’t easy picking his way through the darkness. The moon had not yet risen, but enough stars were visible through drifting clouds to show him the right direction. When he reached the road that would take him downtown, he paused and took off his remaining shoe so he could walk faster without limping. Walking jarred his shoulder, made its pain worse, but he ignored that. He had to reach town.

  In the city center, gaslights illumined the streets. Their light would help him find Councilor Hardwick’s note. When he found it, he’d go home, clean up, and deliver the note to Miss Abigail first thing in the morning. He’d beg her not to send him to the workhouse, and maybe she’d take pity on him.

  The downtown streets were not as empty as he’d hoped. Stores and offices were closed, but restaurants and saloons were open and several people were out enjoying an evening stroll. He could hide somewhere until the streets emptied, but someone else might find the note before then. Ducking from shadowy doorways to dark alleys to the shelter of a tree, he reached the place where the boys had attacked him.

  Wind gusts sent scraps of paper fluttering along the street. Suppose they’d torn up the note! Maybe, if he could recover all the pieces, he could paste it back together.

  When no one was near he darted out of hiding and chased the scraps, snatching all he could catch before having to rush back out of sight. Again he watched for his chance and when the street was empty ran to a gaslight and examined his finds.

  Pieces of a shopping list. Shreds of a receipt for shoe repair from the cobbler’s. Not one piece of his note. Maybe it hadn’t been torn up.

  He moved on in the direction the boys had taken, turning off Main Street onto a side street. It was easier to hide here, with gaslights only on the corners, and the middle of the block left dark. At one point, though, light spilled out of an open ground floor window. As he approached that window, he spied a crumpled paper lying beneath it. The note! Forgetting caution, he ran forward and put his hand on the windowsill as he bent to retrieve the paper.

  A scream shrilled almost in his ear. He looked up. A young woman stared at him through the window. She wore a lacy, low-cut bodice. He gawked; he’d never seen so much bare female flesh. She screamed again and slammed the window down on his hand.

  He yowled and tried to free himself. Footsteps pounded behind him; someone grabbed him. He was jerked away from the window with a force that scraped patches of skin from his fingers as it tore his hand free. The ache in his shoulder burst into searing pain.

  “Gimme some help here,” yelled the man who held him. “I got a Peeping Tom.” Though Ed struggled only feebly, a second man ran to help the first, and now Ed could see that both men were wearing the white and tan uniforms of the city’s peacekeepers. The new arrival smacked him on the side of his head with a club. Lights danced before his eyes. The men dragged him back to Main Street, where a small crowd was gathering.

  “Get back, folks,” shouted a peacekeeper. “This fellow may be dangerous. Move back and give us room.”

  “Ugh! Look at him! He stinks!”

  “Is he drunk?”

  “Hey, that’s Simple Eddie,” someone shouted.

  “Why, so it is,” said the officer. “Didn’t recognize him through all the dirt.”

  “Musta gone crazy. Crazier ‘n he already was.”

  “Whatcha gonna do with him?”

  “He’s going to the guardhouse. Move aside.”

  “Oughtta throw ’im in the lake. He sure needs a bath.”

  The crowd guffawed.

  Little by little the peace officers drew Ed along. He moved in a haze of pain. “The note,” he muttered. “I didn’t get the note.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  UNEXPECTED VISITORS

  Loud voices. Laughter. Heavy footsteps, banging of doors. The commotion roused Marta; she hadn’t been asleep anyway. “Kyla, you awake?” she whispered.

  “Yes. I hear it. We’re getting company.”

  A small barred window in the door admitted a bit of light. Marta got up and peered out into the corridor. Someone in the approaching group had a lantern and was holding it high to provide light for his fellows.

  “Three peacekeepers bringing in one poor guy who looks barely conscious,” Marta reported. “Looks like he’s been in a fight—he’s a real mess. They’re putting him in the cell across from us. Throwing him into it, I should say.”

  The man with the lantern noticed Marta looking out and came close to leer in at her. “Say, there’s women in here,” he announced to his companions. “What’d they do?”

  “Council Master Hardwick brought ’em in. He’s hauling them up before the council for defrauding the public.”

  The third peacekeeper slammed the door to the cell across the hall and turned a key in its lock. “Hey, Eddie, see you mind your manners in there. You got ladies across the hall from you.”

  They all guffawed. One crossed the hall and slammed a billy club agai
nst the bars of the window, making Marta jump back. “Get your rest, ladies,” he shouted into their cell. “You need your beauty sleep before you go before the council.”

  Roaring with laughter, they marched off down the corridor and through a door at its end. Their departure left the cells in darkness.

  “Beasts,” Kyla muttered.

  When the echoes of laughter died away, Marta heard moans and sobs from the new prisoner. She’d moaned like that more than once after a beating. The reminder brought an ache to her throat. She kindled the mage light and tried to look into the cell across the way, but could see nothing. The man must be lying on the cot or on the floor. “Suppose he’s as innocent as we are?”

  “He may well be,” Kyla said, joining her at the window. “I’m not impressed with the quality of justice here.”

  “Are we going to do anything about it?”

  “You mean, are we going to do anything about him?” Kyla waved her hand in the direction of the other cell.

  “Listen to him. He’s in pain. How do we know he’s not dying?”

  Kyla cocked her head. “Sounds too loud for a dying man,” she said. “I’d guess more scared than hurt.”

  Marta couldn’t rest. She had to see for herself. “I can’t stand it. Sing the door open, and let’s see what we can do.”

  Kyla nodded, and Marta stepped away from the door. Kyla bent near the lock and sang, not loudly but with compelling force. After two or three bars, Marta heard the tumblers turn. Kyla pushed the door open. They crossed the hall, and she repeated the song. In a moment they had that cell door open also. Marta’s nose wrinkled; this cell smelled even worse than theirs had.

  The globe of light in Marta’s hand banished the darkness to the corners of the small cell and showed its occupant curled on the dirty floor in a fetal position, his hands over his face. Shadows swung around them as Marta handed Kyla the sphere of light and knelt beside the injured man. Much of the foul smell was coming from him, but she refused to let the stench deter her.