The Lords of Valdeon (18 page)

"Here now. I’ve known these boys since they were in nappies. These two would never rob you. Clearly there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. Be off to your ship where you belong."

"He hit us both with a pipe, Constable! You can’t let him go." Riley stomped threateningly toward their attacker. "Stop your howling, you old faker! I’ll beat the truth out of you!"

The constable threw the torch to the ground and grabbed them both by their ears. Muttering angry curses, he forced them to the gateway. Seth followed his ear all the way from the docks to the town square. He let out a grateful sigh when the constable finally released the tiny appendage.

"Threatening an old man. I never thought I’d live to see the day. You boys have some explaining to do."

"He tried to kill us! Please listen."

Seth's protests stopped abruptly as his angry glare turned from the gateway. Constable McTavish had his full attention now. His mustache angulated in a mix of shock and fury. Angry fists gripped a pair of irons. He snapped one end on Seth's wrist and its twin on Riley's without a moment's hesitation. They had known the constable all their lives. It hurt to see the disbelief in his eyes.

Red heads appeared under the lights of the square. The Logan boys had come looking for their youngest. They approached them with a wave. Tom put his fists upon his hips as he caught sight of Riley in irons. Angry murmurs circled amongst the Logan boys. One sharp snap from Tom silenced their grumblings.

"We’ve been looking for you for hours. What will Mum say if you don't show up at the breakfast table in the morning?"

"He’s been up to mischief, Tom." Constable McTavish shook his head. "I want you to march straight back to the farm and fetch your Dad."

Tom gave Seth and Riley a long look. "No sense in waking the whole house. I’ll see these two get home where they belong."

A glimmer of hope worked its way into Seth's heart as Tom moved forward to grab his arm. The constable put the barrel of his musket between them. Tom’s body tensed for a moment as his fingers reached for the hilt of a sword no longer there.

"This is no drunken brawl. Riley and Seth are under arrest for assault."

"We can't let Riley go to jail, Tom." Stephen grabbed his brother's arm, but Tom shook it off.

"And how will you stop it? Violence leads to more violence. I've seen enough to last a lifetime." Tom let a long sigh escape into the night air. "We’ll fetch Dad."

Time passed a bit too swiftly when retribution came from across the Farm Row. Seth and Riley stood in the Haven Bay Police Station looking into the faces of their angry kin. It wasn’t a new experience to see Fergus McCloud’s disapproval, but Seth couldn’t bear the look of disappointment upon Mr. Logan's face.

"Don’t have enough work on the farm to keep you out of trouble?" He shook his finger in Riley’s pale face. "I’ll give you more, you young hoodlum. You won’t have the energy to eat by the time I’m done with you. You’ll earn every cent of the twenty credits I just paid to get you out of jail."

Seth stepped forward, hoping to block the anger aimed at Riley. "Please, Mr. Logan, it was my fault."

"Quiet. You have your own worries." The headmaster pushed him back with the tip of his walking stick.

Mr. Logan pulled Riley home by the scruff of his neck. Nothing Seth could do or say would sway his anger. He'd made a mess of things this time. It wasn’t Riley’s idea to sneak into the docks. He'd pulled his best friend into this intrigue. In fact, if not for the strange disappearance of the sailor's knife, they both might have met their end in the shadow of the docks.

Constable McTavish tapped the desk, getting Seth's attention. "Now, young McCloud. Tell us again why you broke into the port tonight and threatened an old man? We'll be lucky if the ship's captain doesn't make too much of this whole affair. You know how important trade is to Haven Bay."

"I was trying to find my mother's killer. She wasn't attacked by Amity raiders. A Tslavian assassin named Pavel Sandor murdered her. I first met him in the fields above the lookout on the night the raiders attacked. It was Sandor who ordered them to kill me. After you and the other men left, Constable, I walked across the fields toward town. Hurrying home, I found the house empty, or so I thought. I saw movement behind the door of my mother’s room, so I went inside and…and found her dead. She'd been poisoned." Seth stopped to compose himself.

Fergus’s face drained of color. "That’s quite a thing to say."

"I saw your mother's body." Constable McTavish swallowed hard at the memory. "She'd been brutally beaten. They'd have no need for poison after they fractured her skull as they did."

A wave of sickness came over Seth. What devilry had Sandor done to his mother's dead body? He shook his head, not wanting to hear anymore of the constable's words.

"The ranger told Sandor to cover up what he'd done, so you'd believe the raiders killed her. He must have beaten her after…after she was already dead. He's a master assassin, or so he claims." He leaned back away from them to calm his anger. "Sandor was hiding behind the door waiting for me. I believe he'd been paid to kill me by my mother's people." Seth looked into their disbelieving faces. "He pinned me to the ground and poured poison in my mouth. Sandor caused my illness. Don’t you see? He killed Mother."

"What a preposterous notion. Use your head, boy. If this phantom had poisoned you, why aren’t you dead as well?"

"A ranger saved my life," Seth insisted. "He came into the room and stopped Sandor."

"And the poor man you attacked tonight?" The constable spread his fingers across the desk. He looked tired.

"I thought he may have been my mother's killer. He’s Tslavian and seemed to take an odd interest in me. He says he knows who Pavel Sandor is and was willing to kill me as a favor to him."

"I know you’ve been through some hard times, young McCloud, but think about how this story sounds. It may have been the fever playing tricks with you. People see all sorts of things when they're ill." Constable McTavish turned to Fergus. "Under the circumstances, I think we can spare Seth a night in jail. I'll have a word with the ship's captain."

"You're much too lenient, McTavish. Come, boy. We’re going home and I don’t want to hear any more foolishness."

Seth followed Fergus toward home, feeling very much alone. No one except Riley believed him, and now his only confidant was being punished.

"You think I’m mad."

"I think you like attention." Fergus poked Seth's chest with the metal handle of his walking stick. "Your mother isn’t around to fuss over your every move, so you must call attention to yourself by making up these fantastic stories."

He grabbed the stick and pulled it out of Fergus's hands. Seth gripped it until his knuckles turned white. Anger turned to fury. He growled low as his hands twisted the metal handle.

"I am not making up stories! It was real! It happened, and I’ll prove it!" Seth pulled open his shirt, uncovering his scar from the raider’s knife.

"Hush, boy. Nothing you can do or say will convince me."

"I’ll find this Pavel Sandor and make him confess to Mother’s murder. You and the rest will see that he’s real!"

Seth threw the stick back at Fergus. The headmaster held the handle under a street lamp. The once smooth metal had been crushed and twisted into an unrecognizable lump. Seth stared at the damage he had done with his bare hands. His gaze lifted to rest upon the eyes of his volatile uncle. For the first time, resentment for Seth had been replaced by fear.

Finally, the headmaster spun away and limped as quickly as he could toward home. Seth stood staring dumbly at his departing back. Words of warning spoken by Sandor the night his mother died echoed in his mind. He'd cautioned Seth would become dangerous to those around him. Those words, spoken by a killer, were proven to be the only truth he could rely on.

Holding his hands up to the light, Seth examined them as if they were foreign objects belonging to someone else. Though they had easily crushed the thick metal handle, he found no mark upon them. What was happening to him? How could he do such things and not feel pain? Anger. It gave him incredible physical strength. Standing before Fergus and listening to another round of insults had knocked away the boundaries of his control. He'd been compelled to reach out and strike the older man. It had taken all the will he had possessed to pull away. The longing to harm the headmaster was overwhelming.

Turning his face away from the place he had called home, Seth ran from the square in desperate strides. Going back to the McCloud house tonight was out of the question. He'd been able to stop his anger this time, but the next insult or hateful look from the headmaster might push him too far. Seth cast a glance toward the shadows of the port's pillars. The entrance to his favorite hiding place waited beneath the platforms. It would take him to a quiet place along the cliffside, but the climb was dangerous after dark. Heading west, he ran for the one place that could offer him a welcome distraction.

Chapter Thirteen

It was late, a few hours from closing time when he reached Paddy's Inn. Business inside the common room showed no signs of slowing. Loud laughter and a poorly played fiddle shook the windows. Taking a tight hold upon his temper, he pushed into the common room. A quiet place to think was what he needed, not a party. His choices were rather limited on such a chilly night. Seth moved to the bar and squeezed in among the crowd. He wasn't much of a drinker, but tonight was a good night to pick up the habit.

Teb greeted Seth in a rush and took his order without comment. Cries for his attention rippled along the crowd pushing toward the bar. He snapped up Seth's coin and exchanged it with a full tankard. Seth, anxious to get away from the rush, moved uncertainly through the rowdy crowd of sailors. He spotted an empty chair in the corner. It looked like a good place for a nice long think.

Someone bumped into him, spilling Seth's full tankard down his ruined shirt. A small boy, no more than nine or ten, dressed in shabby trousers and a dirtied shirt stared up at him. Straw blond hair poked out from under a red knit sailor's cap. Small hands clasped tightly upon the handle of several tankards much too large for him to carry.

"Sorry, mate!" He hurried on through the crowd and out of sight.

Seth sunk down in the corner chair and stared into the nearly empty tankard. He sniffed at the dregs of ale. Sour and sweet mixed with the overwhelming smell of too many bodies in one room. He pushed the ale away and leaned his head back against the wall. This was turning out to be the perfect end to an awful day.

"Clumsy little nit!"

The music and laughter fell silent. Men who'd been sharing tales amongst their shipmates abruptly left their places. They hurried to the interior walls, giving the center of the common room to the evening's violent show. Trouble was about to begin, but it didn't discourage their taste for drink.

Seth stood with the rest as an unshaven, rough-looking sailor slammed his fist upon the table. He lifted out of his chair. Ale stained the front of his trousers and dripped down upon his boots. The young boy who'd spilled on Seth moments ago now cowered before the big man. He had bad luck enough to spill on the wrong person this time.

"Careful now, Tubs, Captain just got himself that new cabin boy. He'll be powerful angry."

A lanky sailor with a patchy beard and rat eyes put a hand upon the big man's arm. Tubs twisted away with a growl and reached for the cabin boy. He gripped the terrified lad by the collar and threw him against the far wall. His small body landed with a hard thud and a crack.

"Get up, you useless piece of rubbish."

Tubs marched toward the still body. Abandoned tankards shook on their tables as he passed. He kicked hard at the boy’s side with his boot. Seth, frozen in place by shock, looked around the room. Why wasn’t anyone stopping the man? He would certainly kill the boy if no one took action. The other sailors turned back silently to their drinks and their own business.

The little cabin boy groaned as the sailor turned him over roughly. Sad, frightened eyes returned Seth’s gaze. He had been beaten before by the brute no doubt. Seth gripped at the table. His breaths were coming in angry gasps. He bolted out of his chair and gripped the heavy tankard in his hand.

"Leave him alone!"

He threw it as hard as he could. It struck Tubs in the back of the neck, dazing him long enough for Seth to pull the boy up. They hobbled together toward Seth’s chair. Clutching his arm against his chest, the cabin boy cried muffled tears as he looked upon his hurt limb. It was bent in an awkward angle.

"You’ll pay for that, woolie farmer."

"Call me what you will. In my turn I name you a brute and a coward. Decent men don't mistreat children."

He raised his fists. Power came to them as his anger surged. It was hungry now, ready to devour and destroy. This time he wasn't going to stop it.

Tubs stood at his full height. His broad shoulders shook as he laughed. Every ugly feature. Every habitual tick came into sharp focus as Seth regarded him with predator eyes. Scars covered his hands and arms. This man had seen many years of hard labor and hard fighting. He wouldn't be easy to defeat.

Touching his senses, the brute’s shipmates came to crowd closer to Seth. They were a rough lot, smelling of old fish and too much drink. This wasn't to be a fair fight. All eyes in the common room were turned upon the ready combatants. The other sailors pressed harder against the walls. They wouldn't help him if they wouldn't help one of their own.

"Are you going to fight me on your own, farmer?"

"He does not stand alone."

A rich baritone voice cut through the crowd to his right. A faint scent of citrus caught Seth’s nose again. He turned with his attackers to the next table. Two men, hooded and cloaked, sat drinking fresh tankards of ale. He couldn’t see their faces fully, but the accent and their great height were unmistakable. They were Valdeonians. One of the men ran his finger along the steel of his naked blade. His other hand, the left one, was scarred and raw. Its middle finger missing.