Hardwick went into his study, unlocked his cash box, and took out three small coppers. He returned and handed them to Sampson, who regarded them with an air of disappointment.
“I can’t do any more for you until they’re back in custody,” Hardwick said. “Hurry and give Homer Farley the news, and I’m sure he’ll add three or four more coppers to those. Tell him I’ll meet him at the Dormer place. Run.” He shoved Sampson out the door and hurried upstairs to dress.
Nellie insisted on being told everything. He recounted Sampson’s tale while he stripped off dressing gown and nightshirt and struggled into shirt and trousers. He sat down and got his ankle jacks onto his feet, chafing at the time it took to lace them.
“You be careful, Orville. You don’t need all this excitement at your age, and if there really is a witch running around with those women—”
“Don’t be foolish, Nellie. Even if Sampson did see the two women, that witch is no more than a product of the ale he drank. I doubt the rest of the story’s any truer, but I’ve got to check it out. I’ll carry my pistol.”
“Well, take care you don’t shoot yourself in the foot.”
He gave her a parting glare for that warning and stomped down the stairs, took his pistol from its case in his study, and hurried out to meet Homer Farley.
When Ed tried to rise, hands pushed him deeper into the creek. Weeds brushed against his face. He had to breathe. Panic took hold of him. The need to escape.
His special place. Have to breathe. Picture the meadow. Light. Air. Warm sun. Freedom.
He gasped, sucked in air. Air, not water! The weeds against his face were dry, the air sweet and warm. He drew in mouthfuls of it. Jerome’s weight remained on his back, but his grip had loosened. Ed wriggled free, rolled away from Jerome, and lurched to his feet. He wiped his face on his jacket.
The jacket was wet; his clothes dripped water. But he stood in his meadow in full sunshine. He shook his head and sprayed drops of water in all directions.
Marta had been wrong in warning him not to come here. This was his place, and it had saved his life. It was beautiful! He threw back his head and laughed.
Jerome sat up and gazed around him, eyes wide with fear. His hands held only tufts of grass; he’d lost the hammer. He was as wet as Ed. Water oozed from his boots. “What—? Where—? How—?” He coughed out the words.
Ed didn’t try to answer. It was too hard to explain, and Jerome wasn’t ready to understand.
Jerome scooted back, away from Ed. Without taking his eyes off Ed, he scrambled to his feet. Ed watched, amused, thinking how silly he looked. Maybe even pathetic. He wasn’t afraid of him. Not anymore. Not here. This was Ed’s world. Jerome couldn’t hurt him here. Nothing could.
Jerome couldn’t stop staring at Eddie. He looked different, less foolish, under this strange bright sun.
Eddie had been drowning. His struggling body had begun to go limp. Jerome had congratulated himself that he hadn’t had to knock Eddie unconscious with the hammer. There’d be nothing to show that this drowning wasn’t accidental.
He’d had to take a deep breath and duck beneath the water himself to hold Eddie down. The waterweeds had brushed his hands; his boots were sucked into the sludge of the creek bottom.
He’d been about to surface to take in another breath when light burst around him and his lungs drew in dry air. He must have drowned along with Eddie, and this was the afterworld.
How could he have been so careless? He hadn’t felt in any danger. He recalled no sensation of drowning, no drawing water into his lungs. The change had been instantaneous. He was there in the creek in the dark of night, and then he was here on dry land in full daylight. No transition. No intimation of death.
And Eddie, who’d screamed in terror only moments before, stood laughing at him. Laughing at him. That wasn’t the way it had been supposed to happen.
Jerome cast quick, surreptitious glances around, looking for the shoeing hammer. He remembered. He’d dropped it in the creek so he could grab Eddie. He’d lost his lantern, too. He had nothing to use as a weapon.
He backed away from Eddie, risked a quick look behind him, saw trees in the background. If he could reach them, break off a branch …
“You’re safe,” Eddie said. “This is a safe place.”
“W-where is it?” He got the question out but could not control the quaver in his voice.
Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a place I made up.”
“You made it up? How could you?”
Eddie shrugged again. “I’m not sure. I thought about it, made pictures of it in my mind. Miss Leah says some people can take the pictures they make in their heads and make those things real. I guess that’s what I did.”
He said it matter-of-factly, as if it were an everyday occurrence to make up pictures in his head and make them real. Jerome recalled what Kyla had told him about Ed’s having extraordinary power. He remembered, too, how his mother had babbled about Ed’s being blessed of the gods, remembered the bouquet of spring flowers she’d been so excited about. Flowers like those blooming all around him now.
“Mother,” he whimpered. “Mother, I should have believed you. Oh, gods, help me. I want to go home.”
“This is a beautiful place,” Ed said. “Why would you want to leave it? Look, see the apple trees over by the brook? They’re loaded with good, sweet apples. And the brook’s shallow enough to wade but has fish you can catch. In that direction is a hill all soft with clover so you can roll down it.” He pointed to the features as he mentioned them. “Right past it are woods. Listen. You can hear the birds singing. There are squirrels and rabbits and bears and—”
“Bears?” Jerome interrupted. “Bears in the woods?”
“Yes, but they’re friendly bears.” Ed’s mocking grin belied his words.
“Any other animals? Ferebeasts? Woolerees? Tree cats?” Jerome thought he’d better know the worst.
“Tree cats and woolerees? I hadn’t thought of them,” Ed said slowly. “Yes, I suppose there might be a few. No ferebeasts, though. They don’t live in woods. Of course, I don’t know yet what’s beyond the woods. Maybe plains where herds of ferebeasts could run free. Yes, I can picture that.”
Jerome resolved not to give him any more ideas. And to stay away from the woods. He had one more question, though, that he had to ask. “What about people? Are any other people here?”
Ed smiled again. “No, Jerome. There’s nobody here but me and you.”
Mother Esterville’s slower pace allowed Kyla time to think. She was grateful that Marta didn’t urge them to go faster. Marta seemed convinced that it was too late for haste. Kyla was not so sure. It might be, as Marta clearly believed, that Ed had been killed. But Kyla sensed other forces at work.
It wasn’t just that she had received no word from the Power-Giver since they’d set out on this search for Ed. Alair had warned her about that. However, he had never before failed to provide instruction and support when the newly gifted were in need or in danger. So maybe Ed wasn’t in danger, despite her strong sense that he was.
When she tried to send to Alair, she felt some force blocking her sending. Pushing against it was like trying to shove over a brick wall. The effort weakened her without producing any result. Suddenly light-headed, she caught hold of Marta’s shoulder for support, startling her friend from her own fears.
Marta halted and scrutinized Kyla’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Kyla shook her head, unwilling to explain in front of Mother Esterville. “Just felt a little dizzy,” she said.
Marta’s piercing look told Kyla she wasn’t fooled. She asked no more questions, only cupped her hand under Kyla’s elbow and supported her while the faintness passed.
From her position in the lead, Mother Esterville turned around. “Coming, girls?” she called to them. “We’re almost there.”
Guessing that Marta intended to urge a rest before continuing, Kyla squeezed her friend’s arm and said hastily
, “Yes, sorry. We’re coming.” When Mother Esterville set off again, Kyla whispered, “No need to alarm her. I’m all right.”
Marta looked doubtful but didn’t object. She did keep a supporting hand under Kyla’s arm as they marched on along the hard-packed dirt road that wound through a section of lovely homes and wide lawns. Even in the dim light of their lantern, Kyla could see how well kept those lawns were, with carefully trimmed shrubbery. These were obviously the residences of Carey’s wealthy elite.
Mother Esterville paused, let Kyla and Marta catch up to her, and pointed to a large building with a sprawling lawn. “That’s the Dormer Primary School for Young Ladies,” she said. “It was the home of Abigail’s grandparents. She inherited it from her uncle and turned it into a school. She lives on the adjoining property.” She headed in the direction at which she’d pointed.
“In this neighborhood, I’d guess the school must be quite exclusive and expensive,” Kyla said.
Mother Esterville nodded. “It draws girls from the best families.” Frowning, she added, “I guess I should say it drew. Since the trouble about Ed, parents have been removing their daughters and either teaching them at home or sending them elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere? Do you know where?” Kyla sensed the mystery raised by her dream about to be resolved.
“I’ve heard a rumor that Councilor Hardwick’s daughter, Genevieve Wirth, has opened a school in her home.”
“What does she look like?” Kyla asked excitedly.
“Oh, she’s fairly ordinary looking.” Mother Esterville sounded perplexed by Kyla’s questions. “Blonde, slightly on the plump side. Has a pleasant face.” She broke off and pointed. “Look, there are lights in Abigail’s house. We won’t have to wake her. Maybe Ed and Jerome are there.”
Mother Esterville’s brief description fit the young teacher in Kyla’s dream. Kyla filed the information away for later use and hurried to catch up with Marta and Mother Esterville as they sped toward Abigail Dormer’s front door.
They climbed the steps to the large front porch and were starting across it when the front door burst open and two women emerged. The women jumped, clearly startled to see unexpected visitors. The older woman stepped forward and peered intently into their faces. “Edwin?” she asked. “Have you come about Edwin?”
“Yes,” Marta answered eagerly. “Is he here?”
“No,” came the reply. “I thought perhaps you’d found him.”
“Was he here?” Kyla asked. “We’re friends of his. We’re trying to keep him safe.”
“Mother Esterville!” the younger woman exclaimed, gaze roving over Mother Esterville’s strange dress before turning to Kyla and Marta. “And you—you must be the wonder workers.”
When Kyla did not deny the charge, Abigail balled her fists and shouted, “It’s your fault, then. You led Edwin astray. You’ve kept him hidden from me.”
“Abbie, don’t.” Her companion slipped her arm around Abigail’s shoulders. Abigail angrily pushed it away.
“Please believe me, Miss Dormer, we’re Ed’s friends,” Marta said. “We’ve been protecting him, keeping him safe from the police.”
“You’ve been filling his head with crazy notions, I’ve no doubt.” In her fury, Abigail reminded Kyla of a spitting cat. Kyla opened her mouth to deny the charge, but before she got the words out, Abigail burst into tears and choked out, “But that doesn’t matter. Not if he’s drowned.”
“Why do you think he’s drowned?” Marta asked, grabbing Abigail’s shoulder.
Abigail wrenched free. “It’s your fault!” she said, still sobbing.
“She isn’t herself,” her companion said. “She’s had a terrible shock and she took a bad chill.”
“Can you tell us, please, what happened?” Kyla asked.
“Yes,” put in Mother Esterville. “My son may have been with Ed. I want to know where he is, too.” Belatedly she added, “Kyla and Marta, this is Miss Wesson, who teaches at Miss Dormer’s school and boards with Miss Dormer.”
“I’m Leah,” the young woman said, still comforting the weeping Abigail. “I can only tell you what Abigail told me just before you arrived.”
She went on to relay a somewhat confused account of a trespasser carrying a shielded lantern, a visit to the barn, shouts that Abigail believed came from Ed, sounds of a struggle, splashes followed by eerie silence. “She waded into the creek to look for him, got thoroughly chilled, then explored the area in her wet gown before coming back,” Miss Wesson concluded. “I nearly had to tie her down to get her dried off and into warm clothes, and now she wants to go back to the creek and look some more.”
“Yes, we must go. I even forgot Ed's bundle of clothes. He must have been running away. And then he dropped it on the bank when … when something happened. I want to get it and keep it for him."
Kyla exchanged a glance with Marta. It was clear what that "something" had been. Jerome had caught up with Ed at that point. "Please show us that place," she asked Abigail.
"Come on, then. We’ve wasted too much time already,” Abigail said, wiping her eyes. “Leah’s right. I’ve been distraught. Not thinking clearly. Edwin is more than an employee, you see. He’s my cousin, my nearest living relative.”
“Really!” Mother Esterville exclaimed with great interest. “I never knew that.”
“Come on, let’s get to the creek.” Marta tugged impatiently at Kyla’s arm.
Abigail started down the porch steps with Miss Wesson—Leah—rushing to stay at her side.
Abigail led them to the spot on the creek bank where the signs of a struggle were evident. She pointed out to them the sodden pillowcase stuffed with clothes, the broken lantern the footprints in the mud. The imprint of a man’s boot heel was visible even in lantern light, and past it a skid mark where the wearer of the boot seemed to have fallen or been pulled into the creek.
“At its deepest point the creek’s only waist deep for most adults,” Leah said. “It wouldn’t be easy to drown.”
“Easy enough,” said Abigail, “if two men were fighting, one pushed the other into the water, and the first man dragged the second down with him.”
“I can’t understand any of this.” Mother Esterville spoke after what was for her an uncharacteristic silence. “Why would Jerome have fought with Ed?” As all eyes turned toward her, she added in a fainter voice, “That’s our lantern that’s broken there, and I doubt that Ed would have taken it. I’d guess Jerome was carrying it.”
“We don’t know what happened here,” Kyla said, though she guessed what must have transpired.
Marta was less disposed to be gentle. “Jerome was jealous of Ed. He envied Ed’s power—uh, his standing with the gods.”
“That’s nonsense,” Mother Esterville said indignantly. “Jerome saved Ed—rescued him from the guardhouse, protected him. Ed and these ladies have been hiding in my house, Miss Dormer. Ed’s been well cared for. Jerome wouldn’t—”
“Oh, please, we’re wasting time again.” Abigail slipped off her shoes. “We’ve got to search the creek.”
“You aren’t going back into that water, Abigail Dormer.” Leah dragged Abigail back from the water’s edge.
Abigail tried to break free. “Somebody’s got to,” she cried, struggling.
While Kyla helped Leah restrain her, Marta knelt at the creek’s edge and scooped up a handful of water. She raised the water to her face, smelled it, stuck the tip of her tongue into it, tasting it. “The water doesn’t smell of death,” she said, hope returning to her voice for the first time since she had lost the thread of Ed’s presence. “It carries no memory of a recent drowning.”
“This creek has a swift current,” Abigail shouted, still battling Leah’s and Kyla’s grip. “The bodies could have been swept downstream. The water wouldn’t smell of them.”
“Not to most people,” Kyla said. “Marta is using her power.”
“That nonsense won’t do anything,” Abigail protested. “We’ve got to go in
and search, I tell you.”
“Abbie, you aren’t going back into the creek,” Leah said. “We’ll search up and down its banks. That’s all we can do tonight. In the morning, in daylight, we can get help to search in the creek. If they’re there, it’s too late to save them; they’ve drowned.”
“They haven’t drowned,” Marta declared, rising. “I know I’d sense death if they had. We can search the banks; that’s a good idea. Though it’s very strange. I’d sense Ed if he were somewhere along the creek or anywhere nearby. I can’t find any trace of him.”
Abigail ceased struggling, but sniffed disdainfully at Marta’s assertion. “Mumbo-jumbo won’t help Edwin,” she muttered.
“Maybe Ed went to the Fields of the Blessed,” Mother Esterville suggested brightly. “As he did when he brought back the spring flowers. And maybe this time he took Jerome with him.”
Kyla sent Marta a questioning look.
Marta shrugged as if to say that anything was possible.
Alair could tell me, Kyla thought. If only he would. Alair, where are you? Can’t you answer just that one question?
As before she sensed a barrier, and the effort to breach it weakened her. It could mean that Ed had indeed gone to his special place and thereby put himself into serious danger. And he’d taken Jerome with him! Alair could be trying to protect Ed from Jerome and from the evil Dire Lord he’d told her of.
They searched along the creek bank in both directions to the limit of Abigail’s property, but found no sign that anyone had come ashore anywhere. Defeated, they headed back toward Abigail’s house. At her suggestion they stopped by the barn, where she showed them the shoeing hammer she’d found in the creek.
Marta touched it, nodded. “It carries traces of both Jerome and Ed. Jerome held it, I think, and struck Ed with it, but not hard enough to hurt him badly. It was not an instrument of murder. I’m certain.”
Kyla stared at her friend. Could Marta really be so sure? She didn't have this gift Marta had for sensing things; she didn’t understand how it worked. But if Ed had not been murdered, it could only mean that he had gone to his special place. If only she knew where and what that was! Alair had been evasive when she had asked him about it, when he was still communicating with her.
Bringers of Magic (Arucadi Book 2) Page 15