The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance (25 page)

chapter twenty-seven

The farmhouse had
been quiet for hours by the time Daeryn jumped to his windowsill and slipped through the propped open sash. The jumps didn’t jolt his healed foot, but he took the next steps carefully, his polecat body adding another shadow along the foundation. Once around the firewood piled under the porch covering, he scanned the moonlit farmyard.

Empty. Sounds filled the night. Crickets on a slow chirp, leaves skittering into the buildings, the distant hoot of an owl. His silent padding disturbed none of it while he trotted through the side yard, his dark body melding with the silhouettes cast by the pear trees.

Had it been only a day—two nights—since the attack? By the Path, now that he was really moving, it seemed like a week. He crossed the drive, circling to the farmhouse, and paused again at the edge of the fields.

The farmyard sat roughly at the eastern central point of Wellspring’s property. From Jac’s description of the new sections, he was overlooking the middle, the one James and Maraquin would be hunting. After a few minutes searching, he spotted James’ lynx form and the wolves. The ropens, on the other hand, eluded his keen eyesight until one rose above the tree line.

With that confirmation, Daeryn turned south. Still at the same easy pace, he traveled the farm road’s shadowy edges. When the corn stalks gave way to a fallow field, he hugged the ground. Across a perpendicular road, pea nut plants grew on either side in Zar’s old section. Knowing the lynx, he’d stick to the old rotation pattern. Daeryn trotted the route in reverse to run into him as soon as possible. It’d be rude not to.

Two hilltops later they met, Daeryn shifting to human form first and strolling forward.

Giving a shake, Zar rose to two feet and offered a hand still tufted in fur. “Better, huh?”

“Yes, but taking it slow. Don’t want to promise too much until I’m certain I can do it.”

“Then Jac doesn’t know you’re out.”

Daeryn grinned and shook his head. Another male caught on faster than one of the wolves would have. “Figured you’d understand. I want to help, but it wouldn’t help any of us if I got into too quick a chase the first night out and did something stupid. Can I cover your far fields and free you up to roam more into the middle?”

Zar gave a curt nod. “Good plan. Soon now the wolves won’t have time to hunt the middle.”

Oh? So what Jac had laid out at the morning communication wasn’t exactly what the team had been doing?

Zar must have read his expression. “Changes on the paw, like she told you.”

He rolled his eyes. “She did.”

They parted with a wave. Daeryn kept to the trot until out of sight. No twinges from the even padding so far. He hated to miss the pest action sequestered away at the farm’s far end, downright boring these days, but he had his own plans. His muscles bunched tighter, and he leaped. Once, twice, to check the harder landings on his paws. Feeling no change, he stretched into his polecat’s bounding stride.

The crops blurred, his eyelids narrowed in the wind and his nostrils flared into even breathing, taking in and dismissing the familiar scents. By the end of the field, his heart hummed with joy and his body quivered for more, but Daeryn forced himself into a walk. No pain or twitching. With a field’s length behind him to make sure, he gathered his legs beneath him and sprang forward, speeding until he ran full-out. Afterward, another walk patrolling the length of the section confirmed he had no soreness.

Now for the final test. Daeryn ran, then jerked into a sharp turn. He cornered left, right, swerved and finally skidded to a stop in the middle of the dirt road. He raised his nose to the stars and yipped with relief.

His foot did it all, just as it always had.

Thank the Creator. He’d had a few doubts while watching Maraquin sleep. What if Annmar drew it wrong? Or if he didn’t have the same strength or agility? His imagination had run a little wild, but he’d worried for nothing. Annmar was good at this, for a new Knack-bearer. Could she even do a healing “wrong” or would her Knack not allow it? He’d like a chance to talk it over with her, but that was a definite show of tail she gave him this afternoon. No approaching her until she came to him.

Daeryn returned to a slower pace to meet Zar at the end of the first rotation.

“Picking up,” the lynx said. “If it’s fine by you, I’ll stick to the middle. Wolves are too busy to notice.”

That worked for Daeryn. With his body tested and limber, he leaped through the section at his normal rate, giving the farthest fields a real look. Besides the two mice he caught and ate, the section stayed free from pests. Which was great for the growers and the harvest, but only frustrated a guard who knew his skills might be better spent saving another portion of crops.

Hell, if he was this good off, he couldn’t spend another night inside. Daeryn threw caution aside. Several hills lay between him and the northern section. The highest over at the western edge in the middle would be the best to scope out where the others hunted. He cut across a bean field, leaping some of the shorter plants to gain a few rows north before racing to the end and popping out onto the road. He glanced toward the hill—just as a huge shadow descended on him.

Ropen!

Daeryn twisted and leaped aside
.
A single claw grazed his flank. He jumped spastically and shifted at the same time.

Creator, please!
He rose to two feet and spun, arms lifted. Beyond his splayed hands, the ropen veered, leathery wings spread. They hung like draperies blocking the stars above, and below, two sets of talons the length of human hands. Agonizing seconds ticked by before the claws closed and the wings folded. The huge ’cambire dropped yards away, shifting as he touched down.

Heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears, Daeryn could only stare at the looming figure.

“What the hell is a scrawny ’cambire like you doing out here?” snarled Paet.

Daeryn sprang forward and shoved his face into Paet’s. “What the hell are you doing down here?” he yelled.

“Hunting what I thought was vermin,” Paet snapped back.

Daeryn’s hand fisted. His arm jerked back…and he stopped it. “Don’t you...” He stopped his mouth, too. He drew a breath. “Jac told you to hunt the northern fields. You either follow her directions, or you find yourself a new job.”

Paet glared, his mismatched eyes unnervingly steady as Daeryn’s whole body shook.

“Suppose following orders is better than causing an accident and being tried for murder.” He spun on his heel, took three long strides, shifting as he did, and spread his enormous wings.

Once he’d disappeared over the rise, Daeryn fell to his knees and vomited.

Chapter twenty-eight

Daeryn paced the
too-small sickroom, from the window, to the door, to the window again. The sky was lightening, so within minutes Jac would head in for the morning communication. He wanted to tell Miz Gere about Paet’s mistake before Jac arrived. It was only fair, but damn, this house and its interfering barriers. He had no idea if Miz Gere was up yet.

He stuck his head out the door to listen. Silence. Any longer and he wouldn’t be telling this tale alone.

But was telling the lady the right thing to do?

He could predict the conversation. He’d go to Miz Gere. First off, she’d demand to know how he’d healed. Planning to tell everyone they healed differently in Rockbridge was all fine and good, until it came down to doing it. He couldn’t lie to Miz Gere any more than he could betray his promise to Annmar.

Daeryn leaned his forehead to the doorjamb. “But I’m lying now,” he whispered.

He might be able to defer answering the question of his healing, but knowing he’d nearly been caught by... Those huge talons extended horribly over his head again. Daeryn swallowed and forced the nightmare away. The story would only add to Miz Gere’s worries. Until he had a solution in hand, it might appear he was asking her to pick him over them.

Dismissing the ropens would not help Wellspring. Daeryn itched to be out there hunting, too, but he couldn’t risk being in the fields with them flying anyplace they chose. The nervous hours he’d spent running Zar’s section while looking over his shoulder barely passed as guarding. His polecat size was too similar to a pest’s. One slip and he was a dead man.

He blew out a breath. No matter which solutions he tried to play out in his head, he couldn’t oversee the team without the freedom to travel the complete farm. Jac, in her solid wolf form, might keep the ropen in place…but no, she’d already tried and he didn’t think it’d been half measures with Jac. But her huge wolf had a better shot at stopping Paet than Daeryn did. Keeping the lead wasn’t as important as keeping this place running. Besides sparing his neck, that’s all Daeryn wanted. The wood against his skin cooled and cleared his thoughts. He’d listen to Jac’s report and hear what plans emerged from it. His own relied on Rivley. If his friend could rig a tiny lantern for Daeryn to wear on a harness on his back, then he’d be identifiable as not-a-pest. He’d be the farm laughingstock, but alive.

Now, he had to approach Annmar. If she gave him permission to reveal the healing, he could go to Miz Gere with no additional burdens and put his conscience to rest.

Then tonight Jac would be lead. Creator help them. Before then he’d better make his petitions at the chapel in person.

* * *

A half hour later,
Daeryn hobbled outside with weight on both feet, the crutches still under his arms. A group of growers heading to breakfast nodded, and his face burned with guilt in response. He clenched his teeth and moved to the spot under the tree where the morning communication usually met. The wagons sat loaded for Market Day, the steam tractor idling while Miz Gere spoke with the head grower.

She crossed to him a few minutes later, her frown visible in the dim light, but she only said, “Good morning. Curious as I am?”

“Of course.” Daeryn nodded to the changing hut at the edge of the fields. “Jac’s on her way.”

Famil appeared from the bunkhouse first, accompanied by the other day guards. Seconds later, Jac emerged from the changing hut and strode across the farmyard, hair wet from her spray wash and falling in strands to her flannel-covered shoulders. Her chin was up, but as she strode closer, the cuts across her face became visible. Great Creator, she looked as bad as he felt inside.

“Tough night,” he said.

The addition of Maraquin and James covered half the fields, and the kills increased. The ropens reported forty-three vermin killed, a number Paet updated every hour, to Jac’s continued annoyance. She’d managed only six kills, while the other Wellspring guards killed seven or eight apiece.

“About eighty?” Famil asked. “We’ll verify as we collect them.”

“Maybe.” Jac rubbed a scratch trailing from under her cuff to the back of her hand. “We’ve solved the mystery of the dead vermin disappearing the first night we were attacked.”

She met Daeryn’s gaze, her lips curled in disgust. “Tell Rivley he was right. Cannibalistic. One ran over to eat another I had just killed. Kind of explains why they all converged on us the other night.” She blew out a breath. “So we’ll have to trust the counts. When Maxillon gave me theirs, he dismissed my idea the pests are increasing. He said they’d have the lot cleared in a week.”

One of the day guards snorted. The others shuffled, and Jac darted a glare at them before meeting Daeryn’s gaze. He gave a one-shoulder shrug. Shouldn’t insert
his
bias.

“What’s your opinion?” Miz Gere looked incredulous herself.

Jac frowned. “I’d like to believe it, but Maraquin and I swear we’re seeing more pests than a few nights ago. Max claims the vermin are stirred up because of the killings, that the ropens’ presence is threatening.”

“Indeed?” Miz Gere frowned. “At today’s Market, I shall inquire of the neighboring farms that have no ropen workers. Speaking of Market, Mr. Hortens needs help setting up. Jac, can you pass on my request to the team? Then they are free for the day.”

Good, the ropens would be off property. No chance Daeryn would run into Paet and risk him pointing out Daeryn had been off crutches last night. The meeting ended. Daeryn turned to the farmhouse, and like yesterday, Annmar’s sweet earthy scent wafted across the yard.

She was crossing the far end, with Mary Clare and Rivley, joining a group of growers starting for town ahead of the wagons.
No
. He’d forgotten Riv said Miz Gere had asked him to accompany Annmar today. Daeryn wouldn’t have a chance to have a word alone with either until this afternoon.

From the opposite direction, the changing hut door banged. The team heading to Market Day. Daeryn better get inside before Paet—a thought hit Daeryn like a punch to the gut. Paet’s dammed attention to Wellspring’s females hadn’t stopped. And now both Annmar and Paet were headed to town.

* * *

Annmar stared down
Chapel Hollow’s quiet Main Street. At least, it had been quiet yesterday. Market Day was like nothing Mary Clare had described. It was more. Stands lined the closed street. Since the houses and shops weren’t cheek by jowl like in Derby, the various carts and tables overflowed into many a wide yard and the nooks of side streets.

Large and local, Wellspring staked a fair space on a corner, backing to trees surrounding the stone chapel Mary Clare had pointed out. The workers soon had the two sideless wagons unhitched from the steam tractors. A couple of growers, including the boy who had been in trouble the day before, Henry, climbed on the backs and rode off with the drivers.

“Come on, now,” called a tall, wiry man wearing a straw hat. “Get this batch set up before the next arrives.”

The remaining workers did as the head grower, Mr. Hortens, said, picking up crates of vegetables and moving them with no effort. Annmar hadn’t specifically been asked to pitch in, but when she and Rivley had walked down with the others, he’d asked if she minded waiting while he helped set up. She didn’t, and in fact, dressed in the loose and rugged fabric of her new bib-and-brace, and looking like everyone else, she felt she could help. However, she could barely budge an apple crate.

“What?” Jac said from behind her. “You tired, too? From running a pencil over paper?” The wolf girl’s flannel-covered shoulder shoved her aside, and Jac grabbed the crate by its side slots and swung it wide, nearly catching Annmar’s elbow as she stumbled out of the way. Jac rolled her eyes and her lips twisted into a sneer before she walked off, leaving Annmar feeling like a helpless child.

Hairy hands attached to even hairier arms extending from rolled shirtsleeves of black fabric reached for the next crate.

Annmar’s stomach lurched, and before she could move, the man leaned closer.

“Not havin’ a good start to yer day, eh, miss?” said Paet.

She fell back, met his gaze and hastily dropped hers to the ground. She turned and bumped into Mary Clare.

“Could you unpack the carrot bunches?” She steered Annmar to the far end of the wagon and hissed, “Stay over here,” before loudly directing, “Lay them out like this, piled to this one side.”

She did the easy job, while nearby Mary Clare stacked neat pyramids of jarred preserves on the wagon’s middle. But then she left to help unload the second wagon.

So did both ropen men, their distance flooding Annmar with relief. She just had to keep her eye on them. And Jac. Upon finishing the carrots, she searched for Mary Clare, but instead met Paet’s grinning gaze. Heat flushed up her cheeks as she jerked her gaze down and adjusted a few preserve jars.
Where is Mary Clare?
She didn’t dare risk looking another time. With her knees jelly-like, Annmar made a pretense of wiping dirt off the carrots.

Someone tugged at her arm, sending her heart to her throat.

“How fresh are these carrots, miss?” A lady dressed in gingham held a bunch aloft and turned them to and fro.

“Uh, I—”

“Pulled last night, ma’am,” Rivley said, suddenly right beside her. “Greens, tomatoes and fall grapes will arrive within the quarter hour.”

Giving a hard swallow, Annmar stared.

“I’d like two bunches and a head of cabbage.”

Coins changed hands, and the vegetables disappeared into the woman’s bag. Another customer handed Rivley more money. The customers flooded their stand, and he answered their questions, placed produce in their baskets and accepted their money.

Annmar edged out of the way and took her familiar sketchbook from her satchel. She ducked her face to it and found a fresh page. Hand shaking, she outlined the buildings across the way. When she looked up for the details, a tall, antlered man with a prickly gray beard strutted into view. He wore a long suit jacket with a leather purse buckled over top at his waist and nothing else but a basket carried over his arm.

She drew a breath, and though she knew she should lower her eyes as the deer man strode on his cloven hooves up to the stand, she couldn’t. She stared, and his return stare turned to a frown as his gaze dropped to the sketchbook in her hand. His lips peeled back, revealing enormous, flat teeth jutting from his lower jaw. She started and turned toward the stand, only to run into a woman with a silk turban topping the whiskered face of a lynx. The cat-woman released her breath in a hiss and waved her off with a clump of parsley.

Annmar bit her inner cheek to keep from exclaiming. Lynx were extinct in Britain. Or at least in the rest of Britain. How were they still here, and if they were what—who?—else might she stumble across? A wall of tweed appeared between her and the strange people.

“Annmar?”

Her gaze rose from Rivley’s waistcoat to his amber eyes.

“Breathe.”

She did, closing her eyes when he gently pivoted her behind the wagon. Rivley spoke to someone who answered in a gravelly voice. The deer man. She wrapped her shaking arms around her waist and peeked at Rivley filling the man’s basket with turnips. He paid and strutted off, his tail waving like a banner.

Rivley turned to her. “Better now?”

“Yes, thank you. Mary Clare warned me Market Day is a real mix of Basin residents, but I had no idea.”

“You’re seeing things Mary Clare cannot. You best put away your sketchbook. People may not take to having their hidden selves shown.”

Oh. She darted a glance around. The people approaching the stand looked normal. Then a second later, they didn’t. “You’re right. Today my Knack is coming on without me calling it. I don’t know what is, uh, visible to everyone else and what’s not.” She slipped the book into her satchel.

“Probably need a bit more practice.” He smiled at her. “The other wagon is done and the growers working the stand, so we can go.”

Did that mean the ropens were also free? Without meaning to, Annmar looked to the far end of the stand. The wagon was rolling off, the extra workers riding it, including Jac. The black-clad ropens weren’t among them.

“Have you eaten today?” Rivley’s question drew her attention back.

“I got up too late.” Plus, dinner and sleep hadn’t seemed to revive her after hours of drawing she barely remembered, though Annmar now had seven label mock-ups to present to Mistress Gere.

“MC,” he called. “I’m taking Annmar up to Mrs. Ruby’s for breakfast. Your break coming soon?”

“I’ll meet you there.” Mary Clare left her newest stack of jars and took Annmar’s hand. “You’ll stay with Riv, won’t you?”

Something intense hid behind her normal question. Rivley also wore an expectant look. Annmar frowned. “Tell me what the problem is.”

Mary Clare squeezed her hand. “I don’t want you getting lost.”

Annmar nearly laughed. “In a town of a handful of streets and a dozen blocks?”

“Very well, it’s not the town but the visitors. Like the ropens, some of them can be rough. You’re naïve about the species, an easy target.”