Burn Me Deadly

THREE

It grew easier to move around the more I did it, so it made sense to keep doing it. The next day I went down to the livery stable to arrange for another horse. Liz had her office there, just as mine was above the tavern. Her delivery business was a one-wagon, one-woman operation, but she’d been so successful lately she’d considered hiring an additional person. I did not have that problem.

Before she left that morning, she kissed me while she thought I was still sleeping. Through my eyelashes I watched her stand in the doorway, her figure silhouetted against the gray dawn sky beyond. How had I landed a woman so beautiful? She was slender, with hips just wide enough she’d never be mistaken for a man and breasts that rose deliciously against the front of whatever she wore. She had a lithe way of moving, a natural grace that turned heads wherever she went. I felt a little tug somewhere inside, the way I used to when we first met. Back then it was because I was afraid something might take her away; now I feared something might do the same to me. Mortality is grand.

She descended the rickety steps attached to the outside of the building. I heard one of the town’s cats meow as Liz no doubt stopped to pet it. Then she was gone. I rested a little longer, then made myself get out of bed, clean up and face the day. I’d given the world a week and a half to arrange its nefarious plots against me, and now it was time for me to get to work untangling them. I no longer needed the bandage on my head, and could take a deep breath without pain. My hands, when I held them in front of me, remained steady.

After I dressed, I strapped on a sword for the first time since the ambush. I chose the Shadow Slasher III, a little light for my normal tastes, but since I wasn’t up to full strength, it seemed like a good choice. I felt a little nudge as the hilt tapped the bruise my Jackblade had left when I fell on it. For some reason this reactivated the anger that had lain dormant since my injury, and a surge of righteous energy shot through me. I burst out the door and down the stairs with the assurance that someone, eventually, was going to get their ass kicked.

“What the hell are you looking so damn happy about?” Mrs. Talbot said as I came around the corner of the building. Our landlady wore a shapeless dress too short for a woman her age, and her dull gray hair fell haphazardly around her plump, drink-veined face. She crouched on the edge of the porch and expertly sharpened a wicked-looking cleaver. “Did that whack on the head make you simple?”

“It just made me appreciate your beauty even more.”

She laughed the way a cat spits out hair. “Yeah, you’re simple now; that proves it.” Then she pulled a leaf from a nearby bush and split it with the cleaver into two paper-thin mirror images. She nodded in satisfaction.

“I should pay you to sharpen my swords,” I said, impressed.

“You can’t afford me,” she retorted, then went back inside. I headed for the livery stable.

I passed Ditch Street (actually Canal Street, but changed in common usage to more accurately reflect its character) and saw the former Lizard’s Kiss now completely closed and abandoned. The windows on both floors were shuttered and boarded over, and the welcoming awnings removed. Nothing moved around it. Had I seen it wrong? Had the red-scarved workers been moving things out of the building instead of into it? No, I was certain I’d seen at least one large covered piece of furniture carried inside by the sullen-looking laborers. I stood gazing at it for a long time, until someone bumped into me and brought me back to the moment. Yeah, it was odd, but I had enough mysteries to wrangle.

The livery building was located in the middle of town, convenient to both land and river travelers. The stable had room for twelve horses, and the little corral out back could manage additional ones, or any other livestock that needed minding. The big arching sign over the main barn doors read Pinster Beast Boarding, and beneath it hung a painted shingle with a horse reclined in a canopied bed. The owner, Hank Pinster, found that incredibly funny and loved pointing it out to first-time customers.

At one corner of the building a smaller door led into a separate, independent office. The much more tasteful shingle over it said Dumont Confidential Courier Service. The wagon was gone, which meant Liz was off making a delivery. As Neceda was the only port for this section of Muscodia, lots of things were shipped through it, providing Liz with a steady living. Considering my iffy career, that was a good thing.

Hank met me at the stable door with a sad, rueful shake of his head. He wore heavy boots and a leather blacksmith’s apron. Most blacksmiths wouldn’t work in the same barn as the horses, but Hank had a way with the animals that kept them from panicking at the noise and burning smells. The ends of his long ragged hair were singed from stray sparks. “Helluva thing to happen to a good horse,” he said ruefully. “Helluva thing.” He clapped me hard on the shoulder. My ribs reminded me of their existence, and I winced. “Oh, sorry, Mr. LaCrosse. I thought you were well.”

“I’m fine,” I grunted. “The hospital told me my saddle and bridle and other stuff got dropped off down here.”

“ ‘Tack,’ Mr. LaCrosse. It’s called ‘tack.’ ”

“Guess I’m not very tackful, then.”

His expression didn’t change. “Well. Yes, the fella who took you to the hospital brought that stuff here on his way out of town, trying to sell it. I told him you were a friend, so he just left it. I’ve got it stored away. C’mon in here.”

I followed him past the stalls toward the little storage area at the back. The stable odor seemed especially strong after the hospital’s herb-flavored aroma. Seven horses were currently in residence, including a magnificent midnight-black stallion and an equally expensive white gelding. All regarded me with the same superior loathing every horse except Lola always had for me. Hank was right; she was a good horse. I realized suddenly how much I’d miss her.

Hank turned and looked behind us, making sure we were alone. Then he led me into the very last stall, where a thick gray mare stood against the back wall. He closed the gate and motioned me over to the horse. “This one ought to do you fine, Mr. LaCrosse,” he said extra loud. “She was raised by a little girl and only ridden to school on bright spring days. Take your time and look her over.” As he patted her cheek he leaned closer to me and said softly, “Somebody came by here asking about you.”

“Official guy with a big sidekick?” I asked.

Hank shook his head. “No. That big black stud and the white gelding belong to them. This was an old man. He had white hair, and wore these weird padded gloves, kind of like the ones I use when I’m heating things in the fire. He seemed like he was either crazy or in a lot of pain.”

“What did he want?”

“Wanted to know if you’d come down here to get a new horse yet.”

“Are you serious?”

He nodded.

“When was this?”

“Yesterday.”

So my mysterious hospital visitor knew I’d been discharged and that I was in the market for a new horse. He could only know that if he knew what happened to my old one. “Was it the same farmer who brought my stuff to you?”

“Nah, totally different fella. That one was little and fat looking. I don’t remember his name, but I’ve seen him buying meat at the markets and such. And yes, before you ask, if I see him again I will get his name. But the old man…” He shivered a little at the memory. “He was just weird. Smelled bad, too, like rotten meat. Gave me the creeps. Upset the horses.”

I nodded. “Did the fat little farmer mention where he found me?”

Hank shook his head. “All he said was that he found two corpses and a dead horse in the woods down some ravine. When I saw it was your saddle, I sent my boy Leon to tell Liz.”

I nodded. “Thanks for watching out for me, Hank. And just so you know, that official fellow with the fancy horse might ask about me, too.”

He frowned. “Why is the government interested in you?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think it was just a wrong place, wrong time situation.”

“Anything I shouldn’t tell him?”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble. Don’t lie to him, but don’t give him any more information than you have to, okay? And,” I added as I pressed some money into his hand, “let me know what he asks about.”

“I’ll tell him you’re pure as the gutter snow.”

“But I am,” I said with a deadpan wink. Hank chuckled and went to get my saddle.

THE gray mare Hank loaned me for the day was a pale, contemptuous shadow of Lola, in both temperament and simple skill. Her trot was much slower, she fought every tug on the reins and when I pulled her to a stop she insisted on pacing in a tight circle for several moments before acquiescing, like a dog preparing for a nap. She wouldn’t even stand still for me to mount her, so by the time we left the stable all my old prejudices against horses had returned.

A preoccupied man bumped into us as we emerged onto the street, which made the mare snort and stamp. I yanked the reins tighter. The man, dressed in the grimy clothes of a miner, glared up at me. “Why don’t you watch where I’m going?”

“Sorry,” I said, and nodded at the horse. “She’s a loaner.”

“I’m not surprised; no other decent horse would be seen with this nag.”

“No, I meant-” But he was already gone, muttering to himself and looking at the ground. I watched him until he disappeared in the crowd; he did nothing suspicious. Mud covered his boots, but they were the wrong style anyway.

I headed up the hill toward the moon goddess hospital. Mother Bennings met me in one of the consulting rooms. Her handsome face creased with concern. “Are you all right? Is there a problem?”

I shook my head. “Mending up nicely. I wanted to ask if the old guy with the gloves had been back.”

“Actually, yes,” Bennings said. “He came by yesterday, after you were released, and-” Suddenly she stopped, and a sly grin split her face. “I never told you about him.”

I smiled. “No.”

“You are a sneaky one,” she chuckled. “And yes, he’s been here again. I talked to him myself.”

“Who is he?”

“He wouldn’t give his name. But he was an odd gentleman. Seemed to be in some sort of chronic pain connected to his hands. I offered to take a look, but he wouldn’t let me. He did say he was glad you were all right.”

“Did he have an accent or anything?”

“Nothing obvious. So it’s no one you know?”

I shook my head. “It doesn’t sound like it.”

“You should also know that a young Captain Argoset from Sevlow asked about you as well. He was much more specific. Wanted to know where you were found, who brought you in, a whole lot of things. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I didn’t know. He seemed a bit put off by that.”

“Yeah. We’ve met.”

“Are you somebody important? Is that why he’s here?”

I laughed. “I’m less important than just about anyone you know. I think the dead girl interests him a lot more than I do, only she’s not around to answer any questions. What happened to her body, by the way?”

“We cremated it while you were still unconscious. No one claimed it, and it’s the wrong time of year to keep corpses very long. That didn’t make the captain very happy, either.” She paused. “We gave her a full ritual to help her spirit through the veil. No one should have to make that trip alone.”

I nodded. “Thanks. If anything else interesting happens, would you let me know?”

“Of course. And don’t go out and do anything to reinjure yourself. Everyone here knows how badly you were hurt, so as long as you’re walking around, I look like a great healer.”

On my way out I paused at the main door. Beside it stood a large, long-necked vase covered in symbols of the moon goddess: three women, one a young girl, one a pregnant mother, the last old and stooped. The vase’s practical function was to collect donations from people who could pay for their treatment, since most patients could not. And truthfully, neither could I. Yet I took one of the coins in my pocket and dropped it into the waiting mouth, wincing as it hit bottom with a hollow, metallic thud. Guess there hadn’t been a lot of donations lately.

It wasn’t payment for me, anyway: it was a token of appreciation for granting Laura Lesperitt her last moment of dignity. I was sure the moon goddess understood.

I went back through town and out the other end on the Tallega road where I’d met Laura. The horse had a bumpy, really uncomfortable gait that made my still-tender ribs ache with every step. I would be sure to demand a refund from Hank when I returned the beast.

It was a bright, clear day, and there was plenty of other traffic. I passed Angelina’s tavern and nodded to her as she escorted a stumbling patron out into the sunlight. She waved as the man fell first to his knees, then onto his face in the dirt. People stepped over and around him without a second glance.

I checked each person I passed for dragon boots. It seemed unlikely, but it was a way to pass the time and resharpen my skills after my little vacation. Most of them were farmers or tradesmen, although a few wealthy travelers passed me as well. None had the footwear I sought.

I rode under the shadow of the big gallows oak and drifted in behind a three-cart caravan taking two wagonloads of corn to Tallega and points beyond. The teenage boy driving the empty third wagon, its contents no doubt sold that morning in Neceda, kept glancing suspiciously over his shoulder at me, wondering why I didn’t just pass them. I simply smiled and nodded. No one was in a hurry, so despite the dry and fairly warm day, the dust stayed at a minimum, hovering in a thin, knee-high cloud.

Several travelers, still camped in the tall grass off the road, displayed tents and wares from every village within a ten-day ride. A ragged dog tied to a stake barked as we crept past, and my gray mare fought to flee across the prairie away from it. The little brother of the kid driving the empty wagon occasionally peeked at me from the bed. I made faces at him, which made him smile and duck shyly away. Their parents, ahead in the first wagon, were oblivious.

This wasn’t necessarily the best approach to the problem at hand. I could’ve stayed in town and found out who else Argoset interrogated, a perfectly appropriate activity for a sword jockey trying to find his way into a mystery. But I’d been attacked in the woods, and moreover, a girl who’d expected me to help her had been killed there. Argoset’s mystery might be in town, but mine started here, beneath these ancient, heavy-limbed trees.

I paused before entering the forest. I looked back and saw the river shimmering in the distance, its broad swath dark green and turgid. The Gusay wound in great coils through this part of the country, only growing straight and rapid when it neared the ocean across the border in Balatan. I counted four boats coming upstream, pulled by mules or horse teams onshore; three flatboats loaded with trade goods rode the central channel in the opposite direction.

I’d first come to Neceda on the Gusay, taking passage on a commercial boat with a dozen Wakle Dow slave girls in the care of the scariest matron I’d ever seen. There were other people on board, I suppose, but somehow all I could recall now were those young, flirty girls destined for a life of luxury and isolation. None were forced into the job; all signed contracts giving up every personal right in return for the lavish lifestyle they desired. I often wondered how it worked out for them.

I was coming here to meet Nightingale James, a con man with one of the more original scams going. Six feet tall and muscled like a work ox, James somehow managed to hang on to a high, girlish voice despite still having his full male package. He represented himself as a eunuch to wealthy old men with easily bored wives. Once ensconced in their households, he would seduce the wives, then blackmail them. He would also report to the husbands that the wives were cheating with some mysterious stranger, and offer to keep an eye on them-for an additional fee, of course.

Unfortunately, he was no man of action, and when the son of one of these wealthy old men caught him in the act with his mother, James found himself on the other end of the blackmail pike. He needed me to chase junior away, which turned out to be easy enough to do. I made a nice pile on the job, and also realized how ideal Neceda was to my business: small, isolated, yet a center of trade and commerce. People could find it easily, but few people noticed anyone else in it. I always meant to thank Nightingale for bringing me here, but I never saw him after that job. The last I heard he’d settled in Mauston, teaching music to actual eunuchs. There’s irony for you.

The forest loomed ahead like a great wall of dense green, its supporting latticework of black wooden trunks and limbs occasionally visible through the leaves. A round gap marked the spot the road entered it, and beyond that it really did look like a tunnel, with shafts of sunlight poking through the leaves at irregular intervals.

I had no delusions that I’d find any physical clues left from the attack, like distinctive horseshoe tracks or boot marks. But if I could identify the spot the girl first ran out in front of me, I might be able to locate the farm where she’d stolen her jacket. From there, if I was lucky, I hoped to backtrack to the house she’d escaped from, and where the three men took us and tortured her to death. And if I was very lucky, those men would still be there, and it would be time for answers and a little payback.

But I wasn’t after revenge. I knew its ultimate futility: I’d seen the results of revenge on a scale most people could barely imagine, and I had no desire to walk that path. I wanted justice. I needed to know that the men who had casually tortured Laura Lesperitt would never be able to hurt anyone again. I understood these human monsters-I’d been perilously close to it myself as a younger man-and knew that they’d only stop hurting people when they also stopped breathing. So I intended to cut off their air. And if I also cut off a few limbs as well, I could live with that.

I moved to the edge of the road and traveled much slower than everyone else as I looked for clues. The air beneath the forest canopy was noticeably cooler. I saw many small trails that emerged from the woods and joined the road. None of them looked well or recently traveled, though. They were game tracks, or simply the onetime passage of someone looking for firewood, meat or toilet privacy.

A youngster of about ten cut loose from the traffic and fell in beside me. A tied bundle of fresh herbs and leaves bounced on the rump of his… her?… saggy, tired horse. “You look like you lost something, mister. Need a hand?”

I really couldn’t tell if this was a boy or girl. I nodded at the plants and asked, “You pick those or buy them in town?”

“Oh, I picked them. That’s my job. Mama does the selling.”

“Then I reckon you know these woods pretty well, don’t you?”

“I know them on that side of the road like I do my own fingernails. Daddy won’t let me cross the road into the Black River Hills, though. Says all the herbs and plants we need grow just fine on this side. Too many weird things happen over there.”

Naturally, the side she/he couldn’t visit was the side Laura had emerged from. “Weird how?”

She/he shook his/her head. Little wooden bug-shooing beads braided into his/her hair slapped her/his shoulders. “He won’t say. Just that lots of people go in there and don’t come out. And there’s people who live in there who’re…” His/her shoulders shivered. “Weird.”

I nodded. “That’s the word of the day. Tell me, did you ever see anybody with dragons on their boots poking around out here?”

“Dragons?”

“Yeah. Silver design on the back of the heel, maybe.”

Again the beads slapped his/her shoulders. “Sorry. Guess I’m not much help after all. Want to buy some foxglove? Can’t get any fresher unless you pick it yourself.”

“No thanks, er… you.”

She/he grinned mischievously. “You can’t tell if I’m a boy or a girl, can you?”

“No,” I said.

He/she laughed, nudged the horse and rejoined the traffic on the road. I shook my head and turned my attention back to the side of the road where the weird things were.

Suddenly I yanked the reins tight. The horse snorted and tossed her head in protest. I knew this was the spot. I saw no tangible trace, but the sun shone through the trees at the same angle as the moonlight that night and made identical shadow patterns. And there, behind the trunk of a huge oak tree that hid it from the road, was a trail wide enough for a rider. A mostly naked girl on foot could’ve used it easily.

It didn’t mean it was the same trail, but it was a start. The way she’d been scratched up, she could’ve just bolted through the untracked forest. But it was all I had.

I took the path down the incline. It followed a natural route through the trees, but maintained essentially a southern direction. According to my knowledge of the Muscodian countryside, this would lead me into the Black River Hills, so called because of the narrow, unusually deep waterway that bisected them before joining up with the Gusay. In addition to spooky stories and tales of weirdness, these hills were perforated with caves, old mines and sundry other hiding places where someone could torture a girl in peace. But we’d been taken someplace with a wooden floor, so I sought an actual dwelling, not a hole in the rock.

I reached a fork in the trail. I paused and studied it. I had nothing at all on which to base a decision, so I pulled a coin from my pocket, flipped it and chose the path to the left. As I nudged the horse forward I glanced up and saw, to the right, a thin trail of smoke rising into the sky. Where there was a chimney there was a house. I considered tossing the duplicitous coin off into the undergrowth, but money, even deceitful money, was too scarce right now. I pocketed it and turned down the right-hand path.

I emerged at the top of a steep but not very tall rise that looked over a tiny clearing. Below stood a small, ramshackle house. Goats milled about in a pen, and a huge pile of firewood lay stacked beside a two-wheeled cart. A scrawny garden provided meager produce. A pair of small children ran around yelling in the front yard, and their high-pitched shrieks made my horse snort in annoyance.

I looked again at the big pile of wood, and the cart beside it. Laura had called the people who provided her stolen jacket “farmers.” But it had been dark, she was in a hurry and it would be hard to farm in the middle of the forest. Might they have been woodcutters?

I headed down the slope. The two children, both under age five, froze when they saw me. Their clothes were a handmade mix of milled cloth and animal skin, and their hair was cut short. As with the herb collector, I couldn’t say for sure whether they were boys, girls or one of each. Kids these days.

“Hi,” I said. “Is your mom or dad around?”

“You don’t know my daddy,” the smaller one said.

“You’re right,” I agreed. “But I’d still like to talk to him.”

“Are you from the government?” the other asked, in a higher voice that implied femininity. She had a hard time with the last word, and pronounced each syllable distinctly, as if well practiced.

“Me? Nah.” I dismounted and crouched so we could talk at her eye level. “I live over in Neceda.”

“Daddy says King Ar-chee-bald will try to take everything away from us,” the little girl said.

I looked around at the shack they called home, the goats they used for dinner and milk and the wood they sold to get everything else. “I really wouldn’t worry about it,” I said.

“Well, I would,” a woman’s voice replied. It was deep and firm. “Now step away from my children.”

A stout, broad-shouldered woman in a threadbare dress stood in the doorway holding a spear ready over one shoulder. It was the short kind used to hunt wild boar, and her bare feet were spread in a practiced throwing stance. I said, “Hi. I think we’ve got a misunderstanding in progress here.”

“I’ll skewer you if you breathe wrong. Misunderstand that?”

I raised my hands. “No, ma’am. I’d just like to ask you if you’d seen a friend of mine, though.”

Her eyes narrowed in her weathered face. A strand of limp hair hung between her eyes. “What friend?”

“A girl named Laura. Would’ve been about ten days ago.”

“I don’t know any girl named Laura.”

“Do you know anyone who wears boots with dragons on them?”

Her brow creased with thought, and with her free hand she tugged at her uneven neckline as if it had suddenly grown tight. Then she motioned me forward. I was very cautious and stopped well out of arm’s reach. The spear stayed aimed at the center of my chest, but she held it wrong for such a close jab and I was pretty sure I could dodge it if I had to. Then again, I might end up on a spit over their dinner fire. “You know about the dragon people?” she asked.

I nodded. “Ran into three of them out on the road a while back.”

She looked me over carefully. “You’re not one, are you?”

“No, ma’am, not me.”

“Good. You wouldn’t walk out of this yard alive if you were.” She looked past me at the kids. “Go play!” she snapped, and they scurried off into the woods like upright squirrels. She returned her attention to me. “You swear you’re not one of them?”

“Do I look like one of them?”

“They’re sneaky. How do you feel about King Archibald?”

I raised my chin and put on my most sincere face. “I’ll leave Muscodia before I’ll submit to his tyranny,” I said, adding equal parts outrage, courage and the fear that comes from espousing a lost cause. And technically my words were true. Of course, since I wasn’t a citizen I felt no patriotic loyalty, and from what I’d heard King Archibald was far too disconnected and flighty to ever do well as a tyrant.

She didn’t answer for a long, tense moment. I crossed my arms, which put my sword hand close enough to the hilt that I could draw it quickly if needed. Women, I knew, could be just as vicious as men, and if she attacked me I had no compunction about defending myself.

Finally she said, “My husband will be home soon. He’s the one you should talk to. Come on inside and wait for him, why don’t you?”

I nodded at the spear. “You going to keep pointing that at me?”

She lowered the weapon until its butt end touched the ground. “No. But this isn’t the only sharp thing I’ve got handy, just so you know.”

I bit back every single snide comment and simply said, “Yes, ma’am.” Then I followed her inside.