Finder's Shore (11 page)

“I’m not sure there’s enough time,” Lara says. “Kush said —”

I’m out the door before she’s finished, running for the stairs. Why I wasted an hour playing ship’s helmsman rather than — the thought that intrudes hits me hard in the gut, leaving me breathless and aching: perhaps that was why Dev kept me occupied. Kush might have planned it that way. Has he already gone ahead? Am I too late to stop them, to save Ronan’s arm?

I burst through the cabin door, startling Kush to his feet. “You haven’t! Tell me you haven’t!” My eyes fly to Ronan, to the shape of the bedclothes, the smooth curve of the sheet.

I stride across the tiny room and pull the bedding aside. The bandage is where it should be, swathing Ronan’s hand. My body folds with relief, knees buckling beneath me. Ronan stirs but doesn’t wake as I sink onto the edge of his bunk. Kush’s steadying fingers encircle my arms.

I glance up at him. “Lara said — I thought —” I clench my teeth against the quiver in my voice.

“I discussed the possibility of amputation with her, but I’ve been waiting to talk to you, Ness.” He releases his hold. “It’s a last resort, but if it comes down to his life or his arm — as both medic and friend, I’m sure you agree that we have to consider it.”

I can’t agree, not to that. I swallow. “To save his life,” I say slowly, forcing the words out. “But only then. And only after we try Merryn’s salve.”

Kush’s mouth moves as if he’s trying out words. “We 
can’t leave it much longer,” he says finally.

I look at Ronan. His breathing is shallow, his eyelids stained the purple of a bruise. Up his forearm, above the bandage, red tendrils mark the infection’s spread. I check the lymph nodes of his armpit and neck, and shake my head. “Not yet. Wilum has offered to fetch Merryn’s salve. There’s time yet.”

“Not much.”

I stand to face him. “Promise you won’t go ahead without me here.”

His hesitation is brief. “All right, Ness. Unless it’s life or death.”

It’s the same offer I’d make if the situation were reversed. I nod swiftly, my breath held. “Only then,” I agree.

The sea is quiescent around us, the rigging clanking quietly. Wilum casts me a salute before he swings over the side. Lara, beside me, returns his signal. She’s taken us as close to the headland as she dares, but there’s no haar tonight to cloak the boat’s arrival onshore and the moon casts its light like a net across the sea.

“They’ll be back in a few hours,” she says quietly.

I focus on the chill of the rail beneath my hands. Farra had no patience with my suggestion that I should go ashore. “It’s an unnecessary risk, Ness. If Wilum is seen, his presence can be explained. Yours can’t. Better you stay with Ronan.” He’s right, but still it sits like a burr against my skin that there’s so little I can do.

Farra’s plan is that Malik will drop Wilum at the inlet then row back to the cove to wait. It means the boat is never left unattended, and as well it saves Wilum the slow climb up the cliff.

“We’ll be quick,” Malik promises, looking up from the heavy surfboat. I swallow. Double-rowed, the surfboat 
is far faster than the dinghy, and speed is what matters. Ronan has deteriorated even in the hours it’s taken to reach the headland. No matter how quick Wilum can be, I’m no longer certain that the salve will be enough.

Half an hour to reach the inlet, another to cross the headland, from Merryn’s to the rookery, the rookery to the cove: I map Wilum’s steps in my mind.

One hour. Two. I move restlessly between Ronan’s bedside and the deck. As the third hour slips into its second quarter, there’s a flash of light from the headland. A pause and the light repeats. Wilum’s at the rookery. A tiny flicker lower down tells us that Malik is waiting. My heart lifts.

As a concession to my anxiety, Lara bids me stand lookout in the bow. When at last I see the surfboat, my heart lifts like a wave.

“Merryn sends her greetings,” Wilum says, as he steps nimbly onto
Explorer
’s deck. “And this.” He hands me a pot of her salve.

Cradling it as if it’s a talisman, I hurry below. “Ness?” Ronan’s speech is blurred by the sedative Kush gave him.

“I’m here.”

“Kush said I’ll lose my arm.”

My voice comes out fierce. “Your arm will be fine now we have Merryn’s salve.” I hold the pot where he can see it. “Wilum fetched it from her especially.”

Gently as I can, I smear the sticky unguent onto his palm, where the livid wound was split wide by Kush’s scalpel.

The door opens behind me. “How is he?” 

I move aside as Kush bends to outline in ink the progress of the infection. The lines he’s marked through the day climb like a ladder up Ronan’s arm, the latest the highest yet.

“We should see improvement by morning.” I try to sound more certain than I feel. “Or by afternoon, at least.”

Kush makes a non-committal sound. “I’ll dress it. Farra wants you. He’s in the main cabin with Wilum.”

“They were self-appointed I’d say: a bunch of young whelps aiming to win themselves glory.”

I slide onto the bench beside Lara.

“They stopped you?” she asks.

“Aye,” Wilum says. “Demanded to know my business. I told them it was my own and urgent. They didn’t like it, but the younger two would have left it at that. The older lad wanted trouble even if he had to make it himself. He started blustering about being on Council business.”

“Jed Barritt.” I’m sure of it.

“Aye, that was the name Merryn used. I told him that if the Council was taking an interest in my family’s welfare it was welcome, and they could help me best by giving me directions. The boy didn’t want to let it go. Demanded to know the purpose of my visit. When I said my
granddaughter
was ill, he had opinions on that as well. I got a little short with him.” The smile he gives is almost feral.

I picture the Jed I remember. From childhood he’d shown himself to be cruel, taking delight in torturing animals as well as in spying on Sophie and me. After the last time I saw him, I harbour no illusion that he’ll have 
fond memories of me.

“I didn’t trust him at my back so I suggested he leave the others to their patrolling and show me the way to Merryn’s. He was eager enough, thinking he’d somehow catch me out. When we arrived I gave her my story on the step and she sent him packing with a weight of embarrassment on his head. I was careful getting away, but I had no more trouble.”

“He’ll have reported it to his father. Ton sits on the Council,” I say, and tamp down my anxiety at the thought of the trouble Jed Barritt can make out of nothing.

“How’s Ronan?” Farra asks.

“I’ve applied Merryn’s salve. We’ll know in a few hours whether it’s working.”

Lara nods briskly. “While we wait, I’ll set a course for Tarbet. If we drop Wilum ashore tomorrow night we can —”

The door of the cabin bursts open. “We’ve got a problem,” Dev says. “The dinghy’s gone.”

Lara frowns. “Who tied it?”

“I did, and it was there when Farra and Wilum left in the surfboat. It wouldn’t have come unhitched on its own.”

In the hollow of silence that follows his
announcement
, dread oozes through me. I stand up. All their eyes turn, but it’s Farra who puts their question into words. “Ness? Do you know something about this?”

I shake my head. “Only that I haven’t seen Ty for a while. I might be wrong; I hope I am —”

“Malik, Dev, see if you can find him.” Lara’s tone 
leaves me in no doubt as to the seriousness of the crime.

It’s no surprise when they return grim-faced.

Farra studies me. “You’re sure you knew nothing?”

“Ty told me in Dunn that he didn’t want to leave without talking to Sophie, but I didn’t think he’d —” I stop. I’ve been so focussed on Ronan, I’ve barely spoken to my brother since we boarded
Explorer
. “I should have made sure he was settled.”

“The boy is entitled to stay on Dunnett if that’s what he wants,” Farra says, raising a hand to still the objections that have already gathered on my tongue. “But we can’t leave without the dinghy. It’s as good as a signpost announcing we were here, and it would put people in jeopardy — Merryn and your family amongst them.”

“It’s also essential to our work.” Lara’s expression is severe.

“That aside, we can’t just leave the lad,” Wilum says. The leap of gratitude I feel fades as quickly as it grew. “He’s as good as dead if Colm Brewster finds him, and likely he’ll end up wishing for that mercy.” He shakes his head. “He’ll end up telling them anything they want to know.”

Images of the prisoners tortured at Ebony Hill burn behind my eyes.

“We need to know how long he’s been gone,” Farra says. “Ness, when did you last see him?”

“About six. He slept for most of the day, then I made him a meal.” Remorse filters through me. I’d fetched it for him, but not stayed to talk while he ate. I’d been too intent on Ronan. “I told him we were going to the 
headland; that Ronan needed Merryn’s salve.”

“I saw him not long after Wilum and Malik left,” Dev says. “He asked how long it would take to row ashore. I assumed his interest was in them; it never occurred to me that he planned to take the dinghy himself.”

Farra grunts. “Anyone else?” No one speaks. “Five hours then, maybe less.”

“Long enough to get there and back, if that was his plan,” Lara murmurs.

My guilt blossoms wide. “He’s never rowed a boat before. We can’t even know if he —” The words choke off.

“My guess is that he’d aim for Skellap Bay rather than the inlet,” Dev says. “That’d take an hour from here, more for a novice.” Seeing my face, his voice softens. “The sea’s easy tonight, and there’s light to go by. No reason he wouldn’t have made it.”

Wilum stands up. “One way to find out.”

Lara is thin-lipped. “I need to move us farther off shore. I can take us around by the bay but we can’t afford to linger, not without risking being seen come daylight. Unless you find the dinghy fast, we’re going to run out of time.”

“Which means we’ll have to rendezvous tomorrow night,” Farra says, pushing to his feet. “I’ve a bad feeling about this. Dev, you might like to come with us.”

“And me,” I say firmly, leaving no time for objections. “I know where Ty will have gone.” There’s precious little argument anyone can set against that.

I squint into the fading dark, trying to sieve sense from shadow. Drops of water spatter my skin as, with a flick of the oars, Wilum corrects our sideways slew and we’re carried in a rush up the sand. The dinghy is there. My limbs feel flabby with relief.

Dev’s hand steadies me as I clamber over the prow. While Wilum and Farra tow the surfboat up the sand, Dev and I check the dinghy. It contains no clue to Ty’s purpose, but nor do I need one. My brother told me his plan, though I didn’t heed it.

Farra’s voice is pitched low. “Dev, you stay with the boats. If we lose them, we’re trapped. Ness, Wilum, we’ll check the farm. If he’s not there, we’ll meet back here before we decide our next move. We’ll be an hour, no more.” He hands Dev a package wrapped in oilcloth. “If you have any trouble, use this.”

There’s enough light to see the men’s outlines, but not to read their expressions. Farra turns to me. “On you go, Ness.” 

Jittery with nerves, I lead them up the hill, my feet following the curves of the sea path almost by rote. At the stopbank I pause while Farra scours the shadows. East, the sky shifts from grey to palest gold as the first rays of the sun creep skyward beyond the hills. Farra sends me on with a lift of his chin.

The farmyard is dim and silent, but not empty: two horses stand near the gate, ears flickering at our approach. My feet stall.

“Problem?” Farra breathes.

“It could be,” I whisper. “We — Marn — hasn’t any horses.”

“Saddled,” Farra comments. With a signal, he sends Wilum on ahead through the trees. “Wait here,” he says, as he turns in the opposite direction.

The horses have lost interest. Lowering their heads they crane their necks to steal mouthfuls of grass from the far side of the fence. I think about Ty: what would he do, finding horses at Leewood? He wouldn’t give up. He’d likely assume, as I do, that Colm is paying a visit. My eyes settle on the barn. Ty would wait.

Ignoring Farra’s instruction, I creep through the trees till I’m directly behind the barn then, hunched low, I scramble forward and crawl between the bottom wires of the fence. I’ve grown since I did it last; I’d have been better climbing over. With my breath coming in short jerks, I cross the weedy ground to the rear of the building. Something heavy shifts inside. It’s likely only old Sal, our milking cow. Sidling along the wall, I peer into the yard. Empty. The windows of the house stare blankly back at 
me. My gaze slides up, to the small attic room I once shared with Sophie.

The barn doors face the house. Slipping around the corner, I fumble the latch free. The door creaks. I dart through, pulling it closed behind me.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. A third horse stands unsaddled in a stall. There are few horses on Dunnett, and those mostly reserved for pulling carts, but, like the mounts at the gate, this is no draft animal. Its presence perplexes me.

The horse huffs as I walk past. I run my hand along its flank, the familiar dry smell of the barn unlocking a hundred memories of my childhood: milking and apples and harvest and haymaking. My foot has found the first rung of the ladder that runs up to the hayloft when the early morning quiet is sliced in two by a scream.

Fear squeezes my heart in its vice till it feels as though it might burst out through my ears. Sophie. The scream came from Sophie.

Someone calls from the trees as I run across the yard, but I pay no heed. Surging through the front door, I slam it behind me. My breath is coming in gasps. The scene before me seems posed, everyone trapped in their places. Marn, face rumpled as if he’s newly clambered from bed, stands with one hand outstretched to the wall to support him. Sophie is on her knees, tears flowing. A man I don’t know looms over her, fists bunched. An old woman — Tilda, I can scarcely believe it’s her — hangs back by the stove. And Colm. Colm faces the door, his mouth twisting into a smile when he sees me. 

“So. All the rats gathered in one nest.” He turns to his companion. “An even better audience for your work, Ely.”

I see then what I’ve chosen till now not to see; what I’d still rather not see. The man, Ely, bends to lift something from the floor beside Sophie. She grabs at his arm but he shakes her off. It’s Ty. It’s my brother, his face bloodied, head hanging. Ely pulls back his fist.

“Stop! He’s done nothing to you!”

Ely, short and stocky, cocks his head towards me. His sneer exposes sharp pointed teeth. “He’s mine, and I claim my rights. He flouted the rules. Now he pays.”

“Abelton. You’re Abelton.”

He swings his fist into Ty’s face.

I charge towards him. Colm’s arm stops me. “All in good time,” he says, as I struggle. “You, I’d rather save for the Cleansing Day fires.”

My muscles clench but Colm’s hold is too strong for me. “Marn, do something! Help Ty!”

Marn’s face is ravaged. He looks old and broken, his legs barely supporting him.

“Marn’s mine, aren’t you Marn? Just as Ty is Ely’s. Thanks to you,” Colm sneers, then tosses me away from him. The force of his thrust sends me spinning across the room. My hip collides with the table, pain searing through me. As I crumple I catch sight of Sophie stumbling to her feet, running across the room towards Colm.

“Please. Please!” She grips his arm. “Colm, for me! Don’t hurt them. I’ll do anything. I —”

He grabs a handful of her hair and holds her at arm’s length, fury scrawled across his face. “You’re as traitorous 
as the rest. Did you tell me she’d been here? And don’t try to tell me she hasn’t: your reaction betrays you. I should have believed Jed, rather than your lying mouth.”

“Colm, please, I —” She writhes in his grip, hands trying to claim back her hair.

“Tell me now: have you seen her before today?”

“Yes,” Sophie cries. “Yes, she came here, last week. But I sent her away. I swear. I told her there was no place for her here.”

“Told her. But not me.” He pulls her close and hisses in her face. “You need a lesson in loyalty.” He releases her hair and she staggers sideways. Colm, like an enraged bull, glares around the room, head lowered and ready to charge. I try not to flinch as he strides toward me, but it’s not me that interests him, not for the moment. He reaches to the wall by the door. When he turns he has Marn’s strop in his hand.

He crosses the room in two strides, the strop swinging in a hissing arc. It catches Sophie across the shoulder. She cries out, half falling. His next wild slash wraps the leather around her back. She stumbles to her knees. I run forward, fists bunched. Abelton’s arms grip me, lifting me off my feet. “Your turn next,” he snarls into my ear. “First we’ll enjoy the show.”

I kick and call out. Everything happens at once. The door bursts open, but even before, there’s a rush of movement and a banshee wail. I lock my teeth in Abelton’s forearm. He yells and drops me abruptly. I spit to clear the vile taste. A boot comes near to trampling me and I crawl away, searching for Sophie. There are feet 
everywhere, and shouting.

Sophie has blood on her cheek, bright in contrast to her white face. Her eyes, wide and staring, latch onto mine. I pull her into my arms. And suddenly, there’s silence.

I look around. The first face I see is Farra’s. He has a swollen lip. He extends a hand to help me up. I try to raise Sophie with me but she whimpers and, mindful of the strop, I release her. She flinches away and shuffles back beneath the table.

“You all right, lass?” Farra asks.

I nod and search for Ty. I find something else, something I can’t quite make sense of.

Colm is lying on the floor. I step forward. The angle. His —

Farra’s hand is on my arm.

“I’m fine.” I study Colm. A dark pool is spreading around his head. I don’t need to check for a pulse to know that he’s dead; the shape of his head tells me that. My eyes travel upward, to Tilda. She is panting slightly as she leans over Colm’s body, a heavy griddle pan hanging in her hand, the iron of its base gleaming dark and wet. The tableau holds. I stare around. Ton stands midway across the room, Malky Shehan at his side. Wilum is framed in the doorway, arms folded.

A sudden noise draws all our eyes. Tilda has dropped the heavy pan. Slumping to her knees she crawls beneath the table. As she pulls Sophie against her she begins to keen, her voice harsh as a crow’s.

As if it has returned sound to the scene, Abelton begins shouting. “You’ll burn. You’ll all burn!” 

In two strides Farra is between Abelton and me, the look on his face cutting off the man’s raving.

“Ty,” I say.

Marn has him, wrapped in his arms. I kneel beside them. Ty’s face is thoroughly bloodied. I check his pupils, his skull, his facial bones. Surface damage, but messy. “What were you thinking, going off like that? Why didn’t you talk to me at least?” I demand. Ty says nothing. “Idiot,” I add.

My brother grins like a ghoul, his teeth streaked with blood from his pulped lip. I glance at Marn, and find his eyes fixed on mine. “Hello, Marn.”

My uncle nods. It feels like balm to my soul.

“We should fetch the doctor from Tarbet.” Ton’s voice is cracked. “Colm …”

“I’m a doctor,” I say, standing up. The word feels foreign to my tongue, but I want Ton to understand. “I trained on the mainland, in Vidya.” I keep my eyes on his. “There’s nothing we can do for Colm. He’s dead.”

From the corner of my eye I see Malky start forward. “She’s right,” he confirms.

“Perhaps someone would care to explain what’s going on here,” Wilum says. When no one answers, he shrugs. “I was asked to deliver a package to Marn: are any of you he?”

“I am,” Marn says. He makes no effort to get up.

Wilum pulls a glass bottle from his pocket. “Then Merryn sends you this, with her compliments; for your wife, I believe. As for the rest —” he looks around, his silence eloquent. 

I, for one, doubt that he can pull it off. “You’ve been at Merryn’s this evening?” Malky asks.

“I have. My granddaughter’s ill and a neighbour recommended a tonic made by a woman near Wester. We’d tried everything else. When I finally found her she was helpful enough, asking only a favour as payment.” He flourishes the bottle.

“It was you near the inlet earlier?” Ton demands.

“I passed an inlet,” he confirms. “I’d cut onto the headland from the Dunn road, but I must have left it too soon. Some lads gave me directions.”

“If you came from the south, you’re going the wrong way to return,” Ton points out.

Wilum frowns. “Does the Wester-Dunn road not run by the junction east of here? After losing my bearings on the way, I decided I’d best keep to the roads for the journey back.”

There’s a silence as his audience decides what to make of this. Ton’s scepticism shows. “I took you for one of them.” He jerks a thumb towards Farra. “Your arrival was very timely.”

“As timely as yours,” Farra points out.

“His story tallies with what Jed told us,” Malky says.

“Jed: that was the name the lad gave,” Wilum confirms. “Suspicious type.”

Ton’s nostrils flare. “He told me that the man who went to Merryn’s didn’t leave by the road.”

“Well, he’s wrong in that, else I’d not be here.”

“Are there not more important things to attend to, with a man lying dead on the floor?” Farra asks. 

“I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of business that’s nothing to do with you,” Ely Abelton blusters.

“And I say having witnessed it makes it my business.”

“We don’t need to justify ourselves to —” Ton begins, but Wilum interrupts him.

“Maybe we do, Councillor.” He squares his chin to Ton’s hard stare. “There’s Colm Brewster dead and a young lad beaten. In my view that warrants a bit of explaining.”

“The boy’s tithed to me,” Abelton insists, as Ton’s glance flickers across him. “By his own actions, his life is forfeit.”

“By what action?” Farra asks, his voice low and reasonable.

“He ran away.”

Farra leaves a small silence of doubt before replying. “Perhaps he had reason.”

“And who are you to judge?” Abelton demands. “You’ve no rights on Dunnett.”

“We’ve all the right to judge right from wrong, though most of us seem to have forgotten it of late,” Wilum says, eyeing each of the islanders in turn. “Dunnett has become a place it’s hard to be proud of. Perhaps that’s why we don’t welcome strangers.”

“If you’re from Dunn, as you claim, you should know full well why we don’t welcome strangers,” Ton objects. “Have you forgotten the death they brought us?”

“I lost half my family in the plague. I’m not likely to forget.” Wilum’s tone is crisp. “But that’s a long while ago now.”

Ton’s gaze shifts speculatively. “The question of 
strangers is secondary. There’s a murder been done that needs dealing with first.”

“Self defence.” Farra’s tone is firm. “Any mother has the right to protect a daughter from violence.”

Ton bristles. “He was to be her husband. His right was the stronger.”

“That’s the way a man treats his bride-to-be here?” Farra shakes his head.

“Tilda will hang for this,” Ton announces.

“And the rest of you beside her. Starting with you.” Abelton’s finger picks me out. “You’ll pay for the trouble you’ve caused. The Cleansing Day flames will —”

“There’s been enough death.” Malky’s eyes find Ton. “More than enough. There’ll need to be a trial, but you know as well as I, Ton, that Tilda’s not been herself for years, not since Colm began his campaign of persecution.”

There’s a heavy silence before Ton answers. “This isn’t your affair, Malky. You’d be wise to stay out of it.”

“He’s a witness, as I am,” Wilum interrupts. “Or were you planning to silence us both in Colm’s fashion?”

Ton shifts uncomfortably.

It’s time that I spoke up. “Everything Colm claimed as truth is a lie.” I direct my words to Ton. We’ve never been friends, he and I, but Marn always believed him a decent man. “There’s a whole world beyond Dunnett. Things on the mainland are hard, but not as hard as here. Dunnett could gain so much, if you’d only open your eyes. There’s the possibility of trade, for a start, and we’re fishing again, too — the sea’s safe, at least in places.”

“We’ve no need of your poison fish, or your poison 
words,” Abelton snaps.