Brave Story (44 page)

People looked from doorways and windows as Wataru stumbled down the street. Some of the lodge patrons even fell in behind them. He heard a child clapping and shouting in a shrill voice, “They caught him! The killer-thief’s been caught!”

Up to this point Wataru had been mute with confusion and terror, but when he heard the boy he shouted, “I haven’t done anything! This is all a mistake!”

The innkeeper lashed out with his foot again, and Wataru was knocked to the ground. His cheek scraped on the dirt road, and gravel filled his mouth.

Just then, soft hands reached out and picked Wataru up from the ground. He looked and saw that the arms were covered with pure white fur—with stripes the color of milk.

He looked up to see the face of a cat, white with brown stripes, with large blue-gray eyes, staring at Wataru.

“Are you okay?” the cat asked. Tiny silver whiskers grew from its pink nose. Its voice was unmistakably feminine. It moved like a girl too—like one of his classmates back in the real world.

“Stay away from him, you! This boy is a murderer!” the innkeeper barked as he yanked Wataru to his feet. The cat-girl backed away trembling. Her eyes never left Wataru’s.

She had the face of a cat, but she was beautiful. She stood like a human, and was wearing something like a short-skirted jumpsuit.
Kitkin, I wonder?
She looked as frightened as Wataru felt, like she might start crying at any time.

She turned around and walked back into the crowd, glancing back at Wataru as she left. Her slender tail wrapped itself around her waist, and she crisscrossed her arms in front of her chest. Just then, Wataru saw her mouth move. She was saying something, and to Wataru’s eyes it looked like “I’m sorry…”

“Look forward! Walk!”

Something slammed Wataru on the head, and he blacked out.

When he came to, he was in a room. It was smaller, but sturdier, than the one he had stayed in at the lodge. He was tied to a thick wooden post with shackles on his hands. The chain was also fastened to his feet.

His cheek stung. His jaw hurt. His spine sagged. One of his eyes seemed to be swollen.

“You’re awake,” said a woman’s voice from directly behind him. The tip of a bright red boot slid under his chin and lifted his face. “Well? Beginning to regret what you’ve done?”

It was an ankha woman, with short, glossy black hair and fierce eyes. A cigarette dangled from her cruel lips. She was tall, and she was also quite attractive. She wore a shiny black leather vest, short trousers, spiked pads on her knees, and a red leather armband on one arm.

“What’s the matter? Hope he didn’t hurt you too bad,” she said with a guttural laugh. The woman slowly walked around until she was standing in front of Wataru. She was dragging something behind her on the ground that licked at the heel of her boot. Wataru blinked and looked at it again to find it was a whip of black leather.

“Well, well,” the woman said, chewing on her cigarette. “I’m Kutz, head of this branch. Of course, you probably already knew that. It takes some nerve to cause trouble in town on Kutz the Rosethorn’s watch. I admit, I’m impressed.”

In the back of the room, a man laughed. He had the face of a tiger, and he was wearing glasses.

“I haven’t done anything,” Wataru said. The act of talking made his mouth ache. “I haven’t stolen anything, I haven’t hurt anyone.”

Kutz guffawed. “You hear that, Trone?” She said to the tiger-faced man sitting nearby.

The tiger-man stood and walked over to where he could get a better view of Wataru. He was wearing a short leather kilt like Kee Keema had worn, with a large leather strap crossing over his chest. A sword was in the sheath on his back.

“Better for you to admit to your crimes,” the tiger-man said. “You cut the throat of the man next to you at the lodge, and stole his money. We know you were fighting with him the night before, and we know you needed money for your journey. The innkeeper told us everything.”

So it was the drunk who had been killed. Wataru grew even more frightened. The reality of the situation pressed in on him.

“It’s true, I was looking for work, and I did get mad at that drunk guy. But I didn’t kill him. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re covered in blood,” Kutz said plainly, tossing her stubby cigarette like a dart across the room. The cigarette disappeared into a bucket in the corner and went out with a fizzle.

“But I don’t remember doing anything!” Wataru said, shaking. The shackles binding him rattled in distress. “I only got here, to Gasara, yesterday…”

“One month ago,” Kutz said, entirely ignoring him, “a traveling merchant’s throat was cut at a certain lodge, his money stolen. The next time was ten days later, at another lodge…”

“It wasn’t me! I wasn’t even in Vision a month ago, or ten days ago! I’m a Traveler!”

At Wataru’s outburst, Kutz and the tiger-man looked at each other. Together they laughed.

“I wondered how you would try to wriggle out of this! A Traveler, are you? Of course!”

“It’s the truth! My sword—at the lodge you should be able to find my Brave’s Sword! Ask Wayfinder Lau, he gave it to me!”

“Wayfinder Lau? Who’s that? Sorry, but we Highlanders don’t truck with their sort.”

Wataru gaped.
They don’t know the Wayfinder? Was the Watcher of the Porta Nectere some kind of hermit, secluded from the larger world of Vision?

“Then ask Kee Keema. He’s a waterkin, a darbaba driver. He left for Satoko, but he’ll be back in three days.”

“Three days? How unfortunate. He’ll miss the big event.” Kutz stood before him with her weight on her left foot, her whip thrown over her left shoulder. “You see, you’re to be hanged as soon as the gallows are finished. Isn’t that right, Trone?”

“Quite,” the tiger-man said distractedly, picking up some sort of documents from the desk. “Shouldn’t take more than a day to build. Too bad for you, boy.”

“I expect every carpenter in Gasara will be hammering away soon. They’re building it right out here in the square—you should be able to see it through your window.”

“One day?!” Wataru said in a strangled voice. “What about an investigation? What about proof? What about a trial?”

“No need. We have the statement from the innkeeper, and need I mention again the blood on your hands?”

“What if the real murderer put the blood on me while I was asleep! What if I was framed!”

The thought had just occurred to him, but now that he said it, Wataru was sure that was what had happened. But Kutz and Trone merely laughed.

“Nice try, boy,” Kutz said, leaning down to eye level. “But we knew it was a child’s work from the first killing. Why? Because all three victims were killed in rooms with the door locked.”

“Even the drunk next door?”

“Indeed. And the only way into those rooms without having a key is to go through the roof from an adjacent room. But the crawl space between ceiling and roof is too small for an adult. They’d fall through.”

“But you can’t just accuse me because of that!”

“Please. You’re covered in blood. And you didn’t have a tem to your name the night before.”

Kutz stood and stretched luxuriantly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. They say hanging is surprisingly painless.”

“I’ve even heard it feels good,” said the tiger-man.

“No way!” Wataru yelled. “I have a right to prove my innocence!”

“A right to prove your innocence? Big words,” Kutz said, turning her back to Wataru.

“What about the Knights of Stengel? Aren’t they the keepers of the law in this place? How can you try me on a whim?”

Kutz whirled around. In a single smooth motion she lashed out, her whip cracking the post an inch away from Wataru’s ear. “That’s enough of that!”

Wataru froze.

“I suppose this is all part of your act as a ‘Traveler’—pretending you don’t know things that everyone else knows. But know this: you take the Highlanders lightly at your own risk!”

“But the Knights…” Wataru sputtered through trembling teeth.

“Newcomers!” Kutz said with agitation. “Before they came along with their United Southern Nations, we Highlanders kept the peace in the south.”

The tiger-man continued. “And, boy, the Knights of Stengel are too busy fighting monsters to care about keeping the peace. Who knows where their camps are now—or when they’ll return?”

“Feh!” Kutz spat. “It suits them just fine to play with those gimblewolves!” she snorted. “Trone, I tire of looking at our little felon here. Take him to the cell.”

The tiger-man stood, untied the ropes around the post, and picked him up. He had removed his sword, but his powerful arms and sharp claws were enough to keep Wataru in line. He didn’t even look for an opening to escape.

Trone tossed Wataru into a cramped cell, locked the door, and placed the key in a bracelet around his arm. Wataru noticed that he and Kutz wore the same red leather strap.

“Don’t even think about trying to escape,” Trone said, baring his fangs in a grin. “Try to enjoy your last few meals in this life.”

Wataru lay back on the wooden bed. The shock and fear were so great he couldn’t even cry. As he lay there in a daze, he heard the sound of hammering drift through the thick bars of his window. He stood up on his tiptoes and looked outside to see men working, as promised, on a platform in the middle of a large square.

A gallows.

Just like in a Western movie
, Wataru thought, and then his knees knocked together so fiercely he couldn’t stand.
What do I do now? They’re really going to hang me.

Wataru wondered where his Brave’s Sword was. In the real world, they would search his belongings, but Wataru didn’t think they paid much mind to things like procedure around here. The innkeeper had probably taken it for himself. That little woman was probably using his Brave’s Sword to cut bread and vegetables by now.

What happens if I die in Vision? Do I go home? Does my body stay here?

Outside, the rhythmic hammering continued.
Bang bang bang
. The sound of lively conversation. Happy voices. Would he stay here, in the cell, until the gallows were completed? Would he even get a chance to defend himself?

The bars on the window and door were as thick as Wataru’s wrist, and shaking them or hitting them only made his hands hurt. Finally, he was able to cry. But no matter how loudly he wept, no one came to check on him.

After the sun had set, an ankha dressed similarly to Trone brought him dinner and a wool blanket. Wataru pleadingly asked him questions, but the large man merely pushed the food through the cell’s bars and left without saying a word.

“But I’m innocent!”

Wataru’s shout echoed sorrowfully down the hall.

Dinner was watery soup and stale bread. Wataru wasn’t hungry at all, so he curled up in a ball on the bed and cried himself to sleep.

But he slept in fits and starts, and had a bizarre dream. His mother was in it, and, for some reason, Kaori Daimatsu. She was trapped behind iron bars, just like Wataru. Her eyes were glistening, and she was staring at him. In his dream, Wataru realized that Kaori was a prisoner too—a prisoner in her own body, broken by some horrible crime. Unlike Wataru, her prison had no key. It didn’t even have a door.

—
How do I get you out of there?
he asked, but in the dream she didn’t respond, only looking down and shaking her head.

—
Your dad and your brother, they’re worried about you.

Kaori looked up and whispered something. He couldn’t hear.
What? What did you say? Talk louder. Louder—louder—

“Don’t make me shout, boy!”

Wataru jerked out of his dream. He was still curled up, trying to hide under his blanket. Kutz stood by the bed, hands on her hips, looking down at him with a sour expression. “Finally, you’re up,” she growled. “You’re a late sleeper, aren’t you? Do you know how many times I tried to wake you? I thought I’d go hoarse. Your mother must scold you something fierce.”

Wataru got out of bed, still hunched over. Maybe she was here because the gallows was ready. He couldn’t hear the hammers anymore.

Kutz’s mouth curled and she snorted. “You are free, boy. You’re lucky, you get to leave.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It made no sense.

“I said you’re free! Stop moping. If there’re two things I can’t stand, it’s mopey kids and wimpy men.”

Wataru looked up at her face in a daze and said the first thing that came to mind. “Why?”

Her mouth curled even more. “Why? Why? Because you’re no longer under suspicion, that’s why.”

“But why not?”

“Do you always ask so many questions? You’re free to go, isn’t that enough? If that doesn’t make you happy I can just close the door and leave you here, you know.”

Wataru dashed past her through the open door into the hallway. Kutz scratched her head and followed him. She kicked the cell door closed behind her.

“While you were in here last night, there was another incident at another lodge—same scenario,” she said, not sounding too happy about it. “The victim this time was badly wounded, but not killed. So we have a firsthand witness, you might say. It was two small men, working together, and they sounded awful pleased that you had been caught in their place. They were the ones who put blood on your hands and clothes, it sounds like. We were all taken in. Bastards!” she said, spitting.