Small Magics (34 page)

How many more?
Thomas wondered.
How many more has he torn open? How many has he killed?

The wind stirred the trees, making the leaves rustle and shiver as they danced in the darkness. The night animals were making their noises; the insects and the owls and the bats and the many animals that crawled across the ground, seeking food. They would have been silent, Thomas knew, if anyone had been coming.

I can’t let him keep going.

So how do I stop him?

There is a certain point in exhaustion when all extraneous thoughts vanish, all feeling and ideas are stripped away, and a strange lucidity comes. For Thomas, it came just as the sky was changing from dark to deep blue. Everything made perfect sense.

Or I could be so tired that I’m not making any sense at all.

Either way, Thomas had a plan.

The sun had just broken the horizon when Eileen rolled over and opened her eyes. She had to brace herself with her hands to sit up, and the effort made her groan. She peered around herself, bleary and dazed. Thomas waved at her.

Eileen blinked, shook her head, and slowly pushed herself to her feet. Still wrapped in her blanket, she came over. She was pale in the bright light of the sun, and lines of worry and unhappiness were creasing her forehead. She leaned against Thomas’s tree and scanned the wood. “Any sign of them?”

Thomas shook his head. “Not so far.”

“Have you been up long?”

“All night.”

“Oh.” She pulled the blanket closer around her, hugging herself with her arms, and yawned. “I’m surprised I wasn’t.”

“Must run in the family,” Thomas said, looking over to George who was still snoring into his blanket.

Eileen followed his look and smiled slightly. “Probably.” She turned her gaze back out to the woods, and Thomas watched her smile fade and the worry lines on her forehead return. “Thomas,” her voice was much smaller, “I’m scared.”

Thomas reached up and found one of her hands. He squeezed it in his. “Me, too.”

She squeezed his back, and Thomas welcomed it, drawing comfort from her touch. The feeling must have been mutual, for she held on to him a long time.

The sun was nearly entirely above the horizon when she asked, “What do we do now?”

“Well, first, you take off your clothes.”

Eileen’s turned her head slowly towards him, her eyebrows high. “And then?”

Thomas smiled, “And once you’ve done that, you can put mine on. They’re looking for two men and a girl, not three men. It isn’t much of a disguise, but it will have to do for now.”

She glared at him some more. “I suppose you thought that was funny.”

“A bit, aye,” said Thomas, pushing himself off the tree and getting to his feet. “Of course, after being awake all night, pretty much anything can be funny.” He went over to where George was lying and picked up his travel bag. Rummaging through, he came up with the brown breeches and spare white shirt he’d worn at the fire. “You’ll need to find some way to hide…” He found himself unable to finish the sentence.

She watched him, waiting, and Thomas felt himself turning red. “Hide what?” she asked sweetly.

Thomas wondered briefly why, of all times, he chose now to get embarrassed. “You know what.”

“Indeed I do, and I’m thankful I’m not built like Marie McNichols, I can tell you that. That girl could fall on her face and miss.”

Thomas felt the colour rising higher. “I’m sure.”

“I need to tie them down with something,” Eileen said, looking around. “Just a moment.”

She went over to her own bag of clothes and came up with her spare cloak; plain brown wool, but lined with a lighter, undyed flax material. A quick cut with her knife opened a seam, and she followed it up, ripping until she had a length of the beige cloth in her hands. She cut twice more then tied the pieces together into a single, long length of fabric. “That should do, and not so dark as will show through.” She picked up her clothes. “I’ll go behind the trees,” she said, picking up his clothes, “and don’t you dare come looking until I call.” She stepped out of the little shelter. “And make sure that lout doesn’t come looking either.”

“The lout,” George said, voice slightly muffled from his blankets, “has no desire to see his sister’s skinny backside. Now hurry up so we can get going.”

Eileen stuck out her tongue at him, then went to the other side of the trees, while George hauled himself up. He rubbed his face and stretched where he sat. “Any sign of them?”

“Not so far,” said Thomas.

“Good.”

“I don’t suppose you know where we are, do you?”

George pushed himself to his feet, dropping the blanket on the ground and stepping out of the little copse of trees. He took his time looking around before he answered. “More or less. We stayed going east last night, heading towards the city, for all the good it will do. It’s two weeks to walk there.”

“Three, if the weather is bad,” said Thomas, remembering just how much bad weather he’d encountered.

“If we head straight east, we should come to a road,” said George. “From there, it’s straight south to the nearest town. Greenwater, if I’m right.”

“Which is on the river.” Thomas remembered coming through it on the way home. “Good.”

“And what are we going to do with ourselves?” asked George. “Aside from walking to Hawksmouth?”

“I have an idea,” Thomas picked up his bag and settled it onto his shoulder.

“Mind telling me?”

Thomas hesitated, “I’ll talk while we walk.”

“Well,” said George, raising his voice high enough for his sister to hear, “if Eileen will ever finish dressing, that might just happen.”

For a reply, Eileen stepped half-out from behind the bushes, giving Thomas a quick glimpse of one bare leg as she threw her skirt at her brother’s head. Some time later, she stepped out again, dressed in his shirt and breeches, her own boots back on her feet. It looked, Thomas realized, very good on her. The breeches fit snugly across her hips, and Thomas found the sight of her wearing them was raising a flush in his neck.

You are being chased by the bishop’s men,
he told himself.
Pay attention to what’s important.

“How do I look?” she asked, stepping out and turning. “Can I pass for a boy?”

“Not with that hair,” said George.

“I didn’t mean the hair.” Eileen turned to Thomas. “Well?”

Eileen was a petite girl, fortunately, and had bound herself down enough that the shirt flowed loosely across her chest. Thomas, well aware of her brother standing beside him, tried to look for a polite way to say so. He settled on, “It looks fine.”

“Flat as a board,” said George. “Not that you had far to go.”

Eileen replied by throwing her bodice at him, which he caught, and her balled up shirt, which he didn’t. While George was pulling the shirt off his head, Eileen stepped over to Thomas. She reached up and grabbed her thick red hair. Turning away from him, she said. “Cut it off.”

“Oh no,” Thomas was horrified. “I can’t.”

“It’s a giveaway,” Eileen said. “I’ve cut it before.”

“But—” Thomas was surprised at how much the idea disturbed him. “But you have beautiful hair.”

She looked back over her shoulder, a small, shy smile playing on her lips. “Do you really think so?”

“Aye,” said Thomas. “I do.”

He smile widened a bit, then she turned away again and gathered all her hair together at the top of her head, holding it between her hands. “It will grow back,” she said, though there was something of a hitch in her voice. “Please?”

Thomas drew a deep breath and his dagger. Eileen was right; it was a giveaway, and they really didn’t need to be more noticeable. He put his blade against the hair underneath Eileen’s hands. With a swift motion, he sliced through.

Her hands dropped, and she stared at the mass of red in them. For a long time she just stood there. At last, she said “It’s only hair,” but the assurance was gone from her voice.

“It
will
grow back,” Thomas said, quietly.

“Aye, I know.” She looked at the hair in her hand a while longer, then tossed it to the ground. A few wisps clung to her hand, and she blew on them to send them off. “Come on. Let’s get going.” She pointed a finger at George. “And no more words from you.”

George, for once silent, handed Eileen her blankets and began packing up his own. When they were all organized, George led them east, away from Elmvale, towards Hawksmouth.

Thomas had intended to tell them his plan at once but the woods, though they seemed much less threatening in the daylight, were no easier to traverse. The underbrush was thick enough to block their view of anything more than twenty feet away, and more than thick enough to trip up Thomas a half-dozen times. George and Eileen moved along easily enough, and Thomas began to wish sincerely that he’d spent more time walking in the woods and less in the library.

Half-way through the morning they found a stream. They stopped to drink and to rinse their faces in the cool water, then moved on again. They had no food, and the water bottles they had taken to Lakewood were back at the house, left behind in the rush. Bellies began to rumble and mouths dried out as the morning wore on. George picked some of the grasses from the forest floor and passed them out for everyone to chew. It helped their dry mouths, but did nothing to ease hunger.

It was nearly noon when, true to George’s guess, the group struck a road. It was little more than a cart-path, heading north-south. George, remembering what he could of the area, was certain it wouldn’t change direction.

“Now what?” asked Eileen.

“This road is bound to meet up with the main road sooner or later,” said Thomas. “When it does, we can head toward the city.”

“Well, if it’s the road I think it is, we should be a day’s walk from Greenwater,” was George’s opinion. “Of course, if it isn’t, then I’ll just keep us moving south. We’ll end up at the river eventually.”

The road ran relatively straight, as George had predicted, and was flat and clear enough to be a relief after the woods. There were still weeds and ruts enough to trip up the unwary, but the walking was much easier.

They walked on without conversation, hunger taking all their focus and keeping them moving. It was well into the afternoon and Thomas was getting to the point where he was wondering which of the grasses would make a full meal before they came upon the first farm. It was just a small house, set back from the road, on a cleared patch of land. No one answered their knock, so George led them around the back, into the fields. They found the farmer and his family, hard at work getting the crop into the ground. Thomas waved and called out to get their attention.

The farmer came over to them, a hoe in his hand and a wary look in his eyes. “Hello to you,” he said. “What can I do you for?”

“We’re looking for lunch,” said Thomas. “We’ve a long way to walk today, and were hoping you’d have some food to part with.”

“And a skin to carry water,” added George.

The farmer nodded. “I might.” He scratched at his beard and smiled at the three of them. “How much would you lads have to spend?”

Thomas smiled, realizing that Eileen had just passed for a boy. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. From the pleased expression on her face, she had realized it, too. “Well,” Thomas said. “Why don’t you tell us what you’ve got and what you think a fair price would be, and we’ll tell you if we can afford it?”

The haggling which followed was quick and to the point, and while Thomas was certain that the farmer had gotten the better of him, he was too hungry to complain when the man handed him skin of water and a sack with dried sausages, withered apples, and fresh-baked biscuits. “Made by the wife this morning,” the farmer assured them. “Worth the money all by themselves.”

Thomas nodded his agreement and opened the pouch his brother had given him. He took one look inside, and promptly closed it again and put it away. The farmer’s face darkened, and his grip shifted on the hoe he was still carrying. Before he could say anything, Thomas pulled out the pouch of coins from Lionel. “Picked the wrong one,” he explained. He found the proper coins and handed them to the farmer with thanks. Farewells were exchanged, then Thomas led his friends back to the road.

“Aren’t we going to stop and eat?” Eileen asked as they left the farmhouse behind.

“Not here,” Thomas glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the road ahead. “A little further down the road.”

“Why?” George asked. “And why didn’t you pay him from your brother’s money?”

“I couldn’t,” Thomas said, handing the pouch to George. George opened it, then whistled and handed it back. “That’s impressive, that is.”

“What is?” Eileen intercepted the pouch and looked inside. “By the Father, how much is that?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas looked behind them again. There was no sign of the farmer or anyone else following. He stopped and opened the pouch, counting the coins into his hand. “Fifty gold coins,” he said when he was finished. “Enough to pay for my schooling for the next two years and to set you two up in whatever trades you like.”

“Your mother’s dowry,” Eileen sounded at once impressed and horrified. “She gave you all of it?”

“Aye.” Thomas poured the coins back into the bag, feeling sick inside. “She’ll have nothing, now.”

“Your brother will take care of her,” said George. “And your father, when he comes to his senses.”

“If he comes to his senses,” said Thomas. He looked at the pouch, wondering how to keep it safe. “George, could you put this inside your shirt?”

“Me?” George look appalled. “I’ve never held that much money in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Thomas said. “But a pick-pocket’s a lot less likely to get inside your shirt than he is to get inside mine.”

“I suppose,” George didn’t sound convinced. “Just give me a moment.”

He reached into his bag and came up with extra laces for his shirt. With deft fingers he turned the lace into a make-shift necklace, tied it to the pouch and tucked the whole thing into his shirt. It was nearly invisible between the muscles on his chest. “Will that do?”

“It will.”

They found a small rise, shaded by a half-dozen elms, only a little way further down the track. George declared it to be the ideal place for lunch, and sat down. It was a sure sign of how hungry they all were that no one said anything until they were on their second round of the food. Only then did George speak up, “You know, you never did tell us what you’re planning.”