Escana (15 page)

The
cart trundled on without incident, its wheels thankfully holding up
against the uneven track that they wound through into the forest and
down the river. Eventually they had to abandon it altogether and
start wading ankle-deep through the shallows. Had the boy forgotten
where he had encountered the body in his fear? He didn't fancy
treading water up this pissing river the whole night even though the
moonlight made for excellent illumination.

After
a time he didn't need to worry about locating the body. The dank
smell of bloated flesh called to him immediately and it was so
apparent that the boy picked up on it too.

It
was as the boy had suggested, the body had been cut into pieces and
it looked like the perpetrator of the crime had planned on stuffing
the contents into a nearby badger's den. That would explain the lack
of head at least, even though the clothes were clearly the finery
that Solomon wore to identify him.

He
signalled to the youth he still didn't know the name of. 'You, in the
hole. The head should be in there somewhere.' He smirked somewhat.
'Watch out for the murderous badgers.'

The
boy blinked in disbelief. 'You want me to go in there?'

Thom
eyed him with the same hard glare as before, if that didn't do the
trick then easing Skullcleaver from his back should. The huge
two-handed sword was almost as effective at intimidating as it was
killing.

'That
was a command, not a suggestion, now get to it.' Thom added, as if it
were in any doubt. The boy did seem a bit thick even if he was afraid
so he might have needed the extra instruction.

Five
minutes later they had the head, and while the boy had been searching
through the hole Thom had been scouting out for tracks left behind.
On this marshy ground it should have been easy to detect a stray set
of footprints, especially if they had to leave in a panic upon
encountering the boy.

It
was an odd decision that stuck out as sorely as the poor dissection.
Why did he let the boy live after sighting the murder? Why not simply
chop him up too and throw them both in the hole?

The
lack of footprints indicated an individual who was simultaneously
terrible at butchery and superb at navigating forests unseen. This
narrowed it down to someone who had a grudge against Solomon that
spent a lot of time in the forests.

What
if it had been the boy?

Thom
whirled about and caught the scrawny youth retching at the edge of
the river, the severed head of Solomon lying next to him.

No,
the boy clearly had no stomach for murder, nor would he implicate
himself so obviously.

He
watched the clenched fists of the boy as he continued to dry heave at
the water's edge. The boy was holding something.

'What
have you got in your hand, boy?' Solomon asked.

The
young man stared up at him with frightened eyes. 'This? It's a piece
of the man's jerkin. I thought I gave it to you earlier?'

Thom
sighed, this youth definitely wasn't the sharpest tool in the box.

That
was when the idea came to him. With no murder weapon, no footprints
and no suspects, he now found a way of making his next visit
productive instead of painful.

'Give me the piece of jerkin,
boy. I have a bad-tempered bastard I need to visit tomorrow morning.'

T
he
sun blazed overhead as if mocking him for venturing out during the
previous night, unfortunately it did nothing for the pungency of the
corpse he had in the back which, in spite of the stench, was still
better company than the boy who found it had been the previous night.

The
great thing about corpses was that they didn't talk back, they didn't
ask stupid fucking questions and they helped an investigation rather
than hindering it. This wasn't the first dead body that had stained
his old cart and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

As
he made his way through the lane the few people he bumped into went
from curiosity to strenuous ignorance as soon as the smell hit them.
The smell of rotting flesh was always a great deterrent, yet another
benefit of the dead over the living.

Harvester's
plantation was not his favourite place in the world, and he had
purposely ignored the large gathering the man had held there for fear
of coming to blows with him or some drunk that thought he could take
on the law. Besides, the man was that used to dealing with criminals
that he barely had to police the place. It was like a small village
outside of the general hamlet, separate from Escana yet a part of it
all the same, ruled by Harvester with an iron fist as volatile as his
temperament.

The
dog at the gate howled, and the gate keeper had taken some persuading
to let him in but there was no denying the law, especially given the
cargo. The beast had bounded off ahead of him after sniffing the
contents, presumably to warn its master and the others that trouble
was trundling its way up to the homestead.

By
the time he arrived his small cart had four snarling
hounds
tracking
it.
He wasn't particularly
looking forward to this encounter, he just hoped that the mad bastard
would stay his hand long enough that he didn't have to slay him
outright. Why Garth had insisted on befriending him was a mystery to
him, but then the smith always had been a bit of a gentle giant when
it came to accepting others.

He had been expecting the cuts to
be clinical, the precise strokes of an expert killer that would take
him months if not years to track down. Instead they had been using a
blunted knife edge like a saw blade as if they had never heard of a
spinal cord before.

Having
been dragged out of the warmth of the tavern and into the pissing
rain at such a time in the
night
had been a sobering reminder of just how boring most of these
disputes were. He didn't wish death upon this small community but it
certainly made his job more interesting. Half his time these days
seemed to be spent twisting the arms of drunks and playing peacemaker
with disputes over
land and
women. Part of him actually hoped that the killer would give him a
good chase in spite of the shoddy work dissecting the corpse.

He had always liked Solomon. The
boy worked hard and drank harder, had his head on his shoulders and
had solid if crude sense of humour. He admired him for putting up
with Harvester and his daughter and had looked forward to dealing
with him directly instead of the old coot when he finally took
charge. Now he had to risk life and limb just to further his
investigation.

He missed the city, but the
opportunity to gain the title of Warden and return to Escana was too
good an opportunity to pass up. For all his contacts in Daelovia he
had none that he would consider friends. After everything they had
been through, only Garth and Gooseman had earned that title.

The
door warily creaked open and a heavy-set man with fiery hair lim
ped
out with a loaded crossbow pointed directly at Thom's throat. 'What
are you doing on my property, you son of a bitch?'

Cheery
as always then, this was going to be fun.

Thom
carefully
stemmed
his
reflexes
and
avoided
reaching
for
his sword. 'Call
off your dogs, before they spook the horse,' he said, keeping his
tone firmly even.

Simon
Harvester smirked
as
one
of
his
beasts
pulled
at
the
horse's
fetlock,
another
snapped
at
Thom's
heel.

'Call
off
your
dogs,'
Thom
repeated
his
demand
through
gritted
teeth,
as
the
animals
began
to
form
a
circle
around
him,
amber
eyes
fixed
upon
his.

Hackles
raised,
they
began
to
close
in
on
him,
snarling,
several
of
them
slavering
in
anticipation.
Thom
remained
unmoved
at
this.
'This
is
your
last
chance,
call
off
the
dogs.'

Harvester
gave
a
low
whistle
and
they
backed
off
reluctantly.
One
prowled
towards
the
cart
and
leaped
onto
it,
investigating
its
load.
It
stiffened
then
growled,
its
kinsmen
went
over
to
join
it,
several
of
them
whining.

Harvester
hobbled out from the doorway
towards
the
cart,
the bolt
constantly trained at Thom.
'What
the
fuck
is
spooking
my
dogs
...'
He
fell
silent
upon
seeing
the
body.

Thom
dismounted from the horse and strode over to the cart, Harvester
seemed too distracted to show any more anger at him.

'One
of your young boys
found him being disposed of near the falls, I dug this
out from a hole in the ground. Figured you were as close to a father
as he had so I'd take him here. I had fuck all to do with it, I'm
trying to figure out what bastard did.' He was fixed with a cold
glare but noticed the bolt had dipped.

'Nobody
ever had a problem with Solomon, he was a good man, he...' Simon
began to rasp, but Thom waved away the protestations.

'Not
you, I didn't come here to see you, it's your dogs I'm after.'

Suspicion
crept into the farmer's watery eyes. 'What the fuck do you want my
dogs for?' The bolt
quickly
rose
again.

'You
said yourself, they can pick up any scent. Even the cold ones like
that bastard Murray's back not three seasons ago. I need them to...'
The dogs had got down from the cart and were advancing on him again,
murder in their eyes. Thom snarled back at them.

Reaching
inside his shirt pocket, he pulled out a scrap of cloth and threw it
to Harvester. 'Your boy woke with a lump of this in his fist, seems
the attacker was in too much of a hurry to realise.'

The
man
called
his
dogs
off
with
another
whistle,
then
held
up
the
cloth
for
them
to
sample the scent.
As they started to howl, Thom couldn't help but smile.

He
heard a choking sound and stared at the man as he blubbered into his
beard, it was clear that Solomon had been like a son to him and it
was widely accepted that he was the heir to the plantation in all but
writing.

A
mean-spirited part of him was pleased to see the man finally come
upon hard times. He was the sort to get angry and everyone and
everything in his way until they submitted to his will, however
misguided it was. Men like that were impossible to reason with, Thom
had dealt with his fair share of them over the years.

The
dogs had completely forgotten about him now, streaking off toward the
gate as if the plantation had been set ablaze. He had been left alone
with this despairing shell of a man and the body of his would-be son
in law.

'It
looks like the dogs know who they're after,' he observed, reassuring
his skittish horse.

Harvester
looked up at him in disbelief. 'I've just lost my only son and you're
fucking worrying about your horse?'

Thom
was fully aware that even without the dogs, the crossbow was loaded
and the bolt could still cause him problems. There was no sense in
kicking this man while he was down, however tempting it was.