Small Magics (29 page)

“Probably.”

“I don’t usually cry.”

“I believe you.”

“Good.” She wiped her eyes again then leaned against his chest once more. He wrapped his arms back around her, held her for a moment longer, then kissed her gently on the cheek. She didn’t move for a moment, then turned her face upwards, close to his. Thomas could feel her breath against his lips, her body against his. There was a question in her eyes, but Thomas couldn’t guess what it was, let alone begin to answer it. He nearly leaned closer, nearly kissed her. Instead, he stepped away. “We should get you in before George comes out.”

“George is out,” said George from the door, making them both turn to look. His face was neutral, and the taunt Thomas expected didn’t come. Instead, George held out a hand to his sister. “Ailbe is waiting for you inside.”

“All right,” Eileen stayed where she was a moment, then took one of Thomas’s hands and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

She let go, and Thomas watched her walk inside the house. Something inside him felt much lighter than it had all day. He realized he was smiling just as George tossed a blanket at his head. Thomas caught it with his face. He unwrapped it from his head and started laying it out on the porch. George did the same. Both avoided the broken boards and the patch of blood from the night before. Neither said anything until Thomas pulled his sword free of the scabbard and lay it down beside him.

“You think you’ll need that tonight?” asked George.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Aye,” George smiled and raised his walking stick where Thomas could see it, then put it down beside his blankets. The two made themselves comfortable on the porch and watched the sun setting. It wasn’t until the last of the sun’s orb had disappeared behind the horizon that George said, “Thomas… about Eileen…”

“Yes?”

George fell silent, and Thomas waited, watching the last light of the day fading from the sky. At last, George said, “I mean, I know she’s going to be kissing someone, but…”

George trailed off again, and Thomas filled in the obvious conclusion. “But you’d rather it wasn’t me.”

“Aye.” George sounded embarrassed. “I mean, you’re a good man, but look at the mess you’re in. And there’s no way she can be thinking straight right now. Not after all she’s been through.”

“I know.” Thomas hugged the blanket closer, trying to use its warmth to fill the empty place that had just opened inside him. “That’s why I didn’t kiss her.”

“Good,” said George. “I mean, thanks.”

George pulled the blanket over his body, and settled himself into the porch. A moment later he snorted quietly. When he spoke again, Thomas could hear the wry amusement in his voice. “Besides, there’s no sense you two starting something now. Once we get back to Elmvale, it’ll be years before my parents let you see her again.”

“True.” The empty place inside Thomas grew at that thought. He sighed and made himself as comfortable as possible with his sword hand free of the covers. “Good night, George.”

“Good night, Thomas.”

Thomas waited for sleep. It should have come quickly, to make up for the time lost the night before. Instead, memories of all that had happened warred in his head with imagined scenes of what was waiting for him at home. He laid awake deep into the night, staring at the woods and the sky and listening to the night sounds as his brain whirled. At last, with the setting of the moon, he drifted to sleep.

On the other side of consciousness, a man with a knife and a hole in his stomach was waiting. Thomas spent the whole of his dreams killing him over and over again.

Chapter 13

The next morning dawned clear and bright. George looked less haggard, as if his spirit had started healing as he slept. Eileen also looked better and moved a bit easier, though she winced on every second step. Thomas, blurry from lack of sleep and wearied further by the night’s dreams, did his best not to be grumpy as they ate breakfast with Ailbe and Shamus. Afterward, he and George divided up their supplies and Ailbe’s blankets and the contents of Eileen’s bag into their own.

“The sheriff’s coming,” said Shamus, just as they were finishing. He pointed out the window, to where the sheriff, riding his horse, was emerging into the clearing. Shamus went to the door. “Morning.”

“Morning, Shamus,” said the sheriff. “Thought I’d tell you the bishop’s gone.”

“Gone?” Shamus repeated. “What about those with him?”

“Them, too” the sheriff said. “Save the dead man. Apparently, the bishop left enough coin to pay for the burial and his rooms and that was it.”

“Did they say where they were going?” asked Thomas, leaning out the window.

“Nay, they did not,” the sheriff frowned at Thomas. “Though back to the city would be my guess. And what about you?”

“We’re just packing,” said Thomas. “Then we’ll be on our way.”

“Good. Good day to you, Shamus. I’ll stop by around lunch.”

“Until then,” Shamus stayed in the door until the sheriff rode off into the woods, then stepped back inside. “Well, the bishop’s gone, anyway.” He shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t solve much, though.”

“No,” agreed Thomas. “I don’t suppose it does.”

“At least the ones who got Timothy are dead,” Shamus looked at Ailbe. “That’s something.”

“Not much,” said Ailbe, grief and pain lacing the words. “Are you three packed?”

“Aye.” Thomas saw the sorrow in her face and wished he could help ease it. “I’m sorry about the trouble we brought you. And about Timothy.”

“I’ll see you in a few days,” said Ailbe, not answering his words. “Just mind you tell the Reeve I’ll be coming for him.”

“We will.” Thomas picked up his bag and watched as George picked up his own and Eileen’s. George and Eileen said good-bye and George led the way out the door, Eileen following right behind him. Thomas wished he could find something better to say, but only managed, “Goodbye,” before he turned and followed his friends.

Their progress down the path to Elmvale was slow. Obstacles that had been easily surmounted on the way to Lakewood were now serious challenges. On one particularly rough and steep section of the path, George picked Eileen up in his arms and carried her. Once near the top, though, she insisted on being put down.

“I’m not a complete invalid, you know,” she said. “Ailbe said I should be completely healed in a week or so.”

“Good,” George put her lightly down on the grass. “Injury hasn’t made you any lighter, you know.”

“Listen to you complain,” Eileen turned to Thomas. “He once carried Maggie Stewart on his back for an entire day, just to prove he could.”

“Is that true?” Thomas asked.

“It was a bet,” said George. “And I won it.”

“What were the stakes?”

George glanced over at his sister, and coloured slightly. Thomas, guessing at what George had won, didn’t pursue the question any further.

Eileen just rolled her eyes. “Boys.”

“You brought it up,” George protested. “I was just filling in the tale.”

“And did anyone say it needed filling?”

“Well, if you hadn’t started it, I wouldn’t have finished it.”

“Oh, aye, I’m sure.”

“Can we argue while we walk?” Thomas asked.

“Aye, surely,” George started going again, but Eileen waved a hand to stop them, and set herself down on a nearby rock.

“I think maybe a rest is in order.”

“A rest?” George looked pained. “After only an hour? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Let me check the stitches.”

“It’s all right, George!” she snapped. “I’m just tired. Ailbe said I would be. I’ll be fine in a bit.”

“How far do you think we’ve come?” Thomas asked, looking around in the woods. With only the trail as a guide, and trees obscuring the view, it was difficult to tell where in the country they were, let alone their relation to home.

“About half as far as we would if Eileen wasn’t hurt,” said George. “We should make that clearing by late this afternoon.”

“Why don’t we stop there for the night?” said Eileen. “Easy to set up a campfire, and there’s a good view. It would be a grand place to wake up.”

“It would be,” George agreed, “if we can
reach
it by night.”

“We will,” Eileen pushed herself to her feet with a groan. “Come on.”

The rest of the day went much the same way. Eileen stopped often enough to leave Thomas and George chafing with impatience, but didn’t seem any the worse for wear. With Lakewood behind them and the bishop no longer an immediate threat, Thomas could and did spend the day worrying about what John Flarety had planned for him. George kept plodding steadily on, his eyes on his sister. Occasional bits of banter broke out between them, but for the most part they walked in silence. Their lunch—yesterday’s fish and water—went down quickly, though they rested a while for Eileen before heading down the trail again. The sun was starting to set as they reached the clearing on the top of the hill. George led them to a spot with trees on three sides to shelter them from the wind.

“I’ll dig us a pit for the fire,” he said to Thomas, “if you can find some wood.”

“I’ll try,” said Thomas.

“And what am I supposed to do?” Eileen asked. “Sit here like a lump?”

“Aye, that’s what I was thinking,” replied George.

“Good.” Eileen put her back to one of the trees and slid down to sitting. Resting her head back against the tree and putting her hands in her lap, she said, “Call me when we’re ready.”

They made their camp and sat with their backs to the trees and their fronts to the fire, dining on a late supper of cheese, bread, and a flask of wine that Shamus had put into their packs. When the last of the food was gone they sat in silence. Thomas looked out at the hills, watching the light from the setting sun turn the sky into a blaze of red and orange. The few clouds caught the light, changing colours as the sun sank lower.

“That,” said Thomas, “has to be the best part of the last week.”

“Aye,” Eileen’s voice was quiet. “It’s beautiful.”

“Bet you don’t see any like that in the city,” said George.

“Not many,” agreed Thomas. “The closest you get to a view like this is sitting on a rooftop, which is actively discouraged.”

“How come?” asked Eileen with a yawn.

“People fall off.”

“Oh.”

“We still do it, though. Our apartment’s nearly high enough to give a view of the entire city. Some nights, when the sun is setting, you can almost believe that it’s a beautiful place.”

“Isn’t it?” asked George. “You said it was, before.”

“It has its moments,” said Thomas, “but not like this.” Thomas waved a hand out, taking in the valley below, the fields and trees coated in gold from the last of the sunlight and the sky above slowly deepening into the dark blue that comes just before night falls. “Not at all like this.”

The three fell silent, watching the sky change colours until the sun was below the horizon and the stars had come out from hiding. George fed a couple of more logs onto the fire then turned to his sister. “You should get some—” he began, then stopped. Gently, he reached down and tucked Eileen’s blankets around her.

Thomas watched as George made himself comfortable next, wrapping himself in his blankets and promptly falling asleep. Thomas wished he could do the same. All it would take, he was sure, was for his mind to stop running long enough for him to drop off. He had hoped the wine would help.

Thomas sat, watching the stars chart their slow course through the heavens until the last of the flames burnt down to embers, then lay there in darkness until exhaustion finally claimed its toll. The thoughts that had kept sleep at bay for most of the night stayed with him and ran him ragged in his dreams.

***

Eileen fared much better the second day, stopping to rest less often and making better time. She was still in pain, though, and any sudden movement would make her hiss through her teeth. Every time she did, Thomas and George were right beside her, asking what was wrong. After the fourth time, she glared at them and snapped, “What do you think?” Still, she managed to keep moving, and by afternoon the three had pushed away the last of the branches that overgrew the path and stepped onto the road that led to the smithy.

Thomas had no desire to face Lionel and Magda. He had even suggested staying at the inn, rather than coming home with them. The other two had refused to hear of it.

“Better to face them now,” Eileen said. “Get it over with.”

“Besides,” George added, “if Father’s mad enough, he’ll track you down wherever you go.”

“Wonderful,” Thomas remembered the man’s reaction at Fire Night. They rounded the last bend and saw the smithy and house. “You’re home.”

Eileen’s face lit up, and as soon as the three were close enough to be heard, Eileen started calling for her mother. A moment later, Thomas could hear Magda from inside, calling back and shouting to Lionel. By the time the three friends reached the door both parents were coming around the corner of the house, one black with soot from the forge, the other wiping dough off her fingers. The expected cheerful welcome was not forthcoming, however.

“Thomas!” Magda stopped dead in her tracks, shared one horrified look with her husband then snapped. “Into the house! Quick!”

Thomas started to protest, but Lionel grabbed him and shoved him inside. Magda did the same with George and Eileen, making the one protest and the other cry out in pain.

“Are you daft, lad?” Lionel demanded, once he had Thomas inside. “You should have kept going, not come back here!” “What’s wrong with you?” Magda demanded as she pushed Eileen in through the door. “What happened?” “Your father has a price on your head,” said Lionel. “He’s demanding you appear in front of the magistrate.” “I know,” Thomas’s eyes were on Eileen. George had her by the arm and was

leading her to the chairs around the kitchen table.

“You know?” Lionel was stunned. “Then what the devil did you come back for?”

“I’m not running from him.”

“I’m fine,” Eileen told George. “It just hurts.”

“He’ll have you heaved into the gaol, you young idiot!” Lionel was nearly yelling now. “Of course you’re going to run from him!”