Well of Sorrows (13 page)

Colin’s father straightened. “Yes.”

Karl shook his head. “You know he can’t be trusted. He’ll take back whatever he promised you eventually.”

A few of the settlers shifted uncomfortably, trading glances, but Colin’s father didn’t waver. “I don’t think he will. He needs us. He needs our skills.”

“He needs your cooperation,” Karl barked, and for the first time Colin noticed that he carried an ax, the weapon hooked through his belt. Most of the men behind him carried weapons as well, mostly knives but a few swords. They all shifted restlessly, the tension on the air increasing as the Armory around Colin responded in kind. Still focused on Colin’s father, Karl continued. “You should stay here, join us. We could use you and your men, the materials in those wagons, your skills. Sartori doesn’t have the right to force us out.”

“Yes, he does,” Colin’s father said sharply. “He’s the Proprietor, named by the charter that was signed and sealed by the Court. This isn’t Andover, or Trent. There are no judges here, no courts. There’s only the Proprietor.”

Karl bristled, his lips compressing, arms crossed over his chest beneath his beard. “Then perhaps we need a new Proprietor.” The men behind him rumbled agreement.

Colin’s father stiffened. “I’m not willing to take that risk, not when my wife or my son may pay the price.” He didn’t glance toward Colin, but Colin felt his attention on him nonetheless. The guildsmen from Lean-to behind him nodded. “You’ll have to find someone else to join your rebellion. You’ll get no support here.”

Karl grunted, head lowering. “So be it. But if Sartori comes with his Armory . . .” He left the threat unfinished, glancing meaningfully toward the Armory at Tom’s back.

When Tom didn’t respond, Karl spat to one side and stalked off in the direction of Lean-to, his men parting before him, then closing up behind.

“He’s the new Shay,” Colin’s father said, his stance relaxing as the group moved farther away. “And like Shay, he’s going to get himself killed.”

He frowned, turned toward Colin, then the rest of those gathered behind him. But before the group could begin to head back toward the wagons, someone shouted and motioned toward Portstown.

A group of Armory guardsmen trudged up the slope from the direction of the town, ahead of another group of ten on horseback, including the Proprietor, Signal Daverren from the West Wind Trading Company, along with one of his assistants in a brown vest, Sedric, Walter, and Patris Brindisi and another priest.

Colin frowned when he saw Walter scowling.

The group that had gathered to meet Karl and his men split, some heading back to the wagons, the rest moving to intercept the Proprietor. Colin spotted his mother headed toward the Proprietor as well and pushed through those gathered to her side. She smiled when she saw him, caught him by the shoulders as he moved to stand in front of her. He realized with a start that he was almost the same height as her.

He’d grown in the last few months.

Then Sartori and his escort drew to a halt before his father. The Proprietor dismounted, followed by all of the rest, and made his way between the Armory to the front. Arten, the commander of the guard, stood beside him on the right, with the Signal, Walter, and Sedric to the left, everyone else behind.

“Tom Harten,” Sartori said, nodding in greeting. “Is everything ready?”

“Proprietor, all of the men, women, and children are assembled and our supplies loaded. We were simply waiting for you.”

“Good. Then I’ll make this quick so you can be on your way. I’ve brought my contingent of representatives for this endeavor. There will be ten members from the Armory to serve as protection for the group and as escort. Commander Arten has volunteered for this service, along with nine other members of the Armory under his command.”

Arten nodded toward Sartori and then toward Tom Harten, while the other guardsmen shifted from Sartori’s group to the wagons. They were all dressed in armor and carried swords. And they all held the reins of their horses. Colin was happy to see the unshaven man who’d watched over him while he’d been imprisoned leading his own and Arten’s horse. There were a few uncertain whispers from the families gathered around them, but these died down quickly.

“From the West Wind Trading Company,” Sartori continued, “Signal Daverren is sending his assistant, Jackson Seytor.” Jackson stepped forward, pulling down on his vest as he did so to straighten out the wrinkles. He shook hands with Daverren and Sartori, then turned to Colin’s father, nodding before moving to join the Armory guardsmen with his own horse. “Also, Patris Brindisi noticed that your group had no priest. He has convinced one of the Hands of Diermani, Domonic Hansi, to accompany you.” The priest beside Brindisi knelt, kissed the Patris’ ring in blessing, then rose and bowed to Colin’s father before moving to the middle of the group. A few of the men and women smiled at him, touching his robe or murmuring a few words of welcome.

“And lastly, my own representative.”

Colin felt his stomach clench even as Sartori turned toward his two sons. His mother’s hand tightened on his shoulder in warning as he tensed, his hand dropping toward his satchel and the sling inside.

But Sartori had already continued. “For such an important venture, I cannot send simply anyone. The Family must be represented with someone of significance. And so I choose to send my youngest son.

“I choose Walter Carrente.”

“Did you know?” Colin demanded, glaring out over the grass in front of the wagons to where Walter had mounted and fallen into place behind Arten with a resentful scowl. The supplies for Sartori’s group had been thrown into the last wagon, and men were doing last-minute checks on traces and harnesses and horses before climbing up into the seats behind their teams. But Colin’s eyes were fixed on Walter, on where he sat stiffly in his saddle, chin lifted, gaze straight ahead. So arrogant, so proud.

Colin snorted, turned toward his mother, and asked again, his voice tighter, denser, “Did you know?”

She shook her head. “No, and neither did your father. We’re as surprised as you. We expected him to send a token representative, one of the mercantile men associated with the Family, someone like that. Certainly not one of his own sons.” She spoke calmly, but now her face tightened into a frown. “But it doesn’t matter, Colin. He’s here now. We can’t tell Sartori he can’t send his own son.”

Colin’s nostrils flared. “I thought I’d be rid of him.”

“He doesn’t have the rest of his gang with him. He’s alone.” Colin saw his father give the signal to head out, the order passed down the line. Before it reached the last of the wagons, the first two had already started rolling forward, Walter and his escort in front of them. Horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads, and dogs began barking wildly, dashing out ahead of the group into the grass and racing back. Children of all ages raced out with them before being called back sharply by their mothers.

When the wagon next to them lurched into motion, blocking the view of Walter and his group, Colin turned to his mother.

“Just stay out of his way,” she said, her voice laced with warning.

Colin spat to one side and saw his mother’s frown deepen, but he didn’t care. He turned away, caught sight of Sartori’s escort as they pulled their mounts around and headed back toward Portstown, then began jogging out ahead of the wagon train as it formed up. He heard his mother sigh in exasperation as he left and caught sight of his father from the side, but he ignored them both. He didn’t even stop when he heard Karen call his name, her voice distant, tattered by the wind. He pretended he hadn’t heard her.

He passed the lead group, the men who were scouting for the best path for the wagons, and as he moved he took the sling from his satchel, slowing enough to tie the straps to his arm.

When he had drawn far enough away from the wagons that they wouldn’t catch up to him for at least an hour, he began to hunt.

Colin returned to the wagons at midday, two prairie dogs in his satchel, and found his father waiting. Someone had forewarned him; he stood on a knoll, arms crossed over his chest. Colin halted when he saw him, then changed course to meet him. As he trudged up the slope, the wagons came into view, trundling down into the shallow fold of land behind his father.

He stopped a few paces away, noting the creases in his father’s forehead, the set expression on his face.

“Don’t ever run off like that again,” his father said. Colin stiffened defensively. “I was hunting—”

“No! Hunting alone while we were in Lean-to was fine. The land around Portstown had been explored. But once we pass beyond the last farmstead, once we pass onto the real plains, you can never hunt alone. We don’t know what’s out there, what the dangers will be. And we don’t have that many men. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”

Colin drew breath to protest, but the seriousness in his father’s voice forced him to stop. This wasn’t a lecture, spoken to a child. His father meant it.

He released the pent up breath. Looking at the ground, he said grudgingly, “I won’t hunt alone.”

His father relaxed, but he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t expect Sartori to give this expedition over to Walter, but he’s part of it now. This isn’t Portstown. This isn’t even Lean-to. Officially, Walter is in charge of this expedition. His word is final; he is, in effect, the Proprietor of the wagon train.”

His father glanced toward where Walter rode at the head of the wagons themselves; they’d begun making their way up the ridge they stood on. The tension—the sternness in his expression— suddenly lessened.

“But that’s only what’s written on paper. We have nearly eighty people here—thirty men, nearly twenty women, and twenty-seven children—and none of us will be inclined to follow his orders if they don’t make any sense. I haven’t had a chance to speak to Arten, the commander of Walter’s escort, so I don’t know how the Armory will react if we disagree, whether they’ll side with Walter or with us. But it doesn’t matter.” And here his father turned back to him. “I don’t want Arten to have to make a choice. Walter hasn’t caused any problems so far. He’s been content to lead the train with his escort, talking with Jackson. But once we reach the last farmstead tomorrow, that will change. So leave him be, Colin. Don’t provoke him, don’t speak to him, don’t even interact with him if you can manage it. Agreed?”

Colin had spent the entire morning venting his anger on the prairie dogs and the defenseless grass. He still shook with rage when he thought of the penance lock, of what Walter and the others had done to him while he was trapped in it, but he didn’t need to do anything about that now. He could wait.

So he looked his father in the eye and said, “Agreed.”

His father held his gaze a moment, lips pressed together, as if he didn’t quite believe him, but then he nodded, his features smoothing out. “Good.” He motioned toward Colin’s satchel with one hand. “Now, what did you catch?”

They passed the last farmstead deeded by Sartori as the sun began to sink into the horizon the next day. The farmer’s wife appeared in the doorway of the small wooden house, wiping her hands on the folds of her dress. Four small children ranging in age from a little over a year all the way up to seven crowded around her legs to watch the wagon train pass. Dust rose on a field behind the barn, and if Colin shaded his eyes, he could see someone turning the soil on a new field.