Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (6 page)

“My name is Kiya, not Mahrime.” I struggled to slide down the tree trunk without getting any splinters in my butt. “Are you related to Mrs. Faa?”

“She’s my grandmother.” His cold blue eyes rested briefly on the dog on my arms. “Are you going to drown them or not?”

I gawked at him, outright gawked with my mouth hanging open (again). “You are kidding, right?”

He said nothing, just turned around and started down the path. “My grandmother is waiting for you. She doesn’t like to wait on anyone. Stop playing with the little bastards and get back to her.”

I bristled at both his tone and inhuman attitude toward the adorable pugs. “Puggies, heel,” I said, snatching up the leashes from where I’d secured them on a bit of the tree’s root. “I am so going to tell your mom what her grandson said. I don’t care if tattlers never prosper, he was serious when he asked if I was going to…no. I can’t even say it. What a jerk.”

The pugs and I marched down the path (if you could call five pugs—joyous at having escaped wading in a stream—frolicking and leaping about one as “marching”), muttering to myself about the cruel man we’d just met. We got lost twice, paused to rescue a deceased raven
from Terrance’s advances, and had several exciting adventures with assorted leaves and sticks before we managed to burst free of the fir trees and arrive back at the old mill clearing. “If I could drown anyone, I know who I’d pick,” I finished before stopping next to Mrs. Faa’s RV to untangle the pugs from my legs.

I’m not an overly shy person, but when the group of people who were clustered around a picnic table in the center of the mill yard turned en masse and looked at me, I was overcome with a sudden desire to bolt.

There were four men—one the obnoxious Andrew Faa—and two women (both of whom held a child in their respective arms), and two toddlers playing quietly nearby.

“Go away,” one of the men said loudly, turning a craggy face with an unbearably proud expression on it toward me, grandly gesturing toward Eloise as he did so. His voice was deep and rich with something it took me no time to identify as pure malice. “Your kind is not wanted here. Leave before we force you away!”

“That will be enough, Vilem.” The razorlike voice of Mrs. Faa emerged from the group of people, followed shortly by the woman herself. The people—presumably her family members—parted like the Red Sea, an act I thought was due to respect for her until I saw her use a knobby cane to smack the legs of whoever was impeding her progress. “The girl is here on my authority.”

“But, Mama!” The sallow-faced man named William turned to frown at her. “She is mahrime!”

“Actually, my foster mom is Presbyterian, but I don’t see what that has to do with the price of tea in China,” I said, allowing the pugs to pull me over to where Mrs. Faa had seated herself on a wooden lawn chair.

She cooed to them for a few seconds, her arthritic hands patting each dog as she asked them if they had a good time. “I have engaged Kiya to attend to my darlings for a few months, until we go to Scarboro,” she finally said, leaning back in her chair. I unhooked all the leashes and, with a murmur, replaced them where they hung on a couple of pegs just inside her RV.

“But, Mama—”

“She will stay here with us, so that she may take care of my darlings as they deserve.” Mrs. Faa cut across her son’s protestations. She pursed her lips and added, “Unless you have changed your mind, and wish to take over that task yourself?”

William snarled something under his breath that I was willing to bet wasn’t at all what one should say to one’s elderly mother, and turned his glare to me. “Stay away from the women,” he snarled, jabbing a finger toward the two women who were still clustered together, wary looks on their faces.

“I beg your pardon?” I gasped in surprise.

“You are mahrime. Unclean. I will not have the women and children tainted by your presence.” He shot a fast, nasty glance at his mom before pinning me back with a look that should have stripped the hair from my head. “Remember what you are here to do, and stay out of our way.”

Before I could respond to the not-so-thinly veiled threat in his voice, he turned and stormed off to the RV at the far end of the semicircle, Andrew following him.

I glanced at the women and men who remained behind. They stared back at me with hostility. “I am not unclean,” I told them. “I shower every day. And I love long bubble baths. I might look a little grubby now, but
that’s because I had three pugs stuffed in my shirt, and was lying on a log, and Terrance kept trying to get it on with my ankle, and he has dirty paws. So that ‘unclean’ slur is just totally bull.”

“My son is volatile,” Mrs. Faa said, waving a dismissive hand toward William’s RV. “You will not be distressed by him. I will now take my nap.”

Immediately, one of the women handed her child to the woman next to her, and moved over to assist Mrs. Faa in rising. The old woman slapped at her hand before beckoning imperiously toward me. “Kiya will assist me. Piers, Arderne, you have work to do, yes?”

The two men—both dark-haired, and apparently twentysomethings—nodded.

“The women will attend to their duties, as well.”

A hurt look flashed in the woman’s dark eyes before she nodded and bowed her head, returning to claim her child before moving off to one of the RVs, the other woman herding the toddlers into another RV. The two men scattered, one grabbing a gas can and heading to a motorcycle, the other taking an ax and disappearing around behind the one standing building.

“Were those your sons and daughters?” I couldn’t help but ask as the old woman grabbed my arm and used it to pull herself to her feet with a grunt.

“I have seven sons, and fourteen grandsons, but no daughters. Vilem is my oldest son but one. Andrew, Piers, and Arderne are my grandsons. The oldest of the women is Lorna, Piers’s wife. The other is Rachel, Arderne’s bride.”

“Wow. Big family. And all boys, huh? Here, let me help you—”

She didn’t need me to hoist her up onto the step of the
RV—she simply grasped my arm with one hand, and the handrail with the other, and more or less pulled herself up the steps. The dogs must have been trained well, because they stood back until she had climbed the three steps before clambering in after her. “Three of my grandsons are wed, and have eight children between them, so yes, we have a big family.”

“Are they all here?” I asked, trying to remember how many RVs there were in the circle. Five, I thought.

“No. They will join up with us in August when we journey to the Scarboro gathering. Here. I will rest on the sofa.”

She settled herself on a long butter-colored leather sofa that ran along one side of the RV. I used the time it took her to get settled with all five dogs around her to surreptitiously glance around the motor home. I may not be a connoisseur, but I recognized money when I saw it, and the interior of Mrs. Faa’s home away from home screamed affluence. The couches (two) and chairs (four, not counting the driver’s and passenger’s seats up front) were all the same rich leather. Gleaming, highly polished oak was highlighted with brass fittings, and the kitchen area toward the rear had what looked like real marble on its tiny counters. “We will rest for two hours,” Mrs. Faa said grandly, patting a pug (Jacques) with one hand while picking up a book with the other. “You may use this time to get yourself settled. You will tell Vilem to lend you the camping equipment that is stored in one of the caravans. You may also wish to go into town to purchase whatever else you need for your stay.”

I stopped eyeballing the interior of the RV and tried to look attentive and highly reliable. “Oh, like a toothbrush and such? Yeah, I suppose I should get that.”

“I will provide you with an advance on your salary since you are obliging me by staying on the mill grounds with us. Tell Vilem to put up your tent next to where you parked your car. That should provide you with the privacy you no doubt seek.”

“Sure. But what about water? And bathroom facilities?” I adopted an expression that I hoped would demonstrate just how ill equipped I was to cope without basic amenities.

“Hmm? Oh, you’ve seen the stream. It is quite clear and suitable for washing, although I would not drink from it without first obtaining a water purification kit. As for the other—Vilem will instruct one of my grandsons to dig a latrine for you. Since we have limited running water here, we have set up similar facilities so as not to strain our resources. You will no doubt wish your own facilities.”

“Yeah, that’s probably going to work out better.” I didn’t want to think too much about using any pit toilet, but at least one dedicated solely to me would be less icky than using a communal one.

“Just tell Vilem what you need, and he will see to it.”

I thought of the unpleasant William and blanched. Until that moment, I never fully understood the act of blanching, but just the idea that I’d march out and tell Mr. Anger Issues that he had to dig me a pit toilet left me with a very fine appreciation of all those Victorian heroines who blanched at the drop of a hat. “Um. He might not want to do that. He didn’t seem to like me….”

“It matters not.” She pinned me back with a look that had me straightening my back and squaring my shoulders. I wondered if Mrs. Faa had ever been a drill sergeant. “He will do as he is told. Come back to me in…It
will take Vilem some time…. Four hours should be sufficient for you to go to town, do your shopping, and return here. By that time, Vilem should have your tent erected, and your facilities arranged. You will then take my darlings out for a drive. They will enjoy that. Do not let Maureen sit in the front seat, though. She gets carsick.”

I all but saluted her as I left the RV, her snappy commands sealing the impression of a drill sergeant. “Just a couple of months, and I will have enough to get Eloise fixed up properly. I can do this,” I muttered to myself as I crossed the mill yard over to the RV into which the cranky William had disappeared. I braced myself to knock, adding my foster mother’s favorite motto depicting courage: “With your shield, or on it, Kiya. Although I really hope it’s with my shield, because if it’s on it, it means I’m dead…. Oh, hi. It’s me again, the unclean one. Um. Mrs. Faa said that she’d like you to do a few things for me.” I gave him the list of his mother’s commands, and waited for the explosion.

I wasn’t in the least bit disappointed. I spent ten minutes sitting next to Eloise, waiting while William had an argument with his mom, but in the end, Mrs. Faa had her way. A few minutes after that, I was driving down the long drive toward the main road, a salary advance nestled safely in my pocket—courtesy of a snarling, obscenity-laden William—and a fervent hope that maybe things would be all right.

P
eter Moore Faa was annoyed. It was becoming a normal state of mind, given his situation in life, but nonetheless, he was annoyed that he seemed to be annoyed so much of late. He thought briefly of being annoyed over the annoyance regarding his present state—annoyed—but decided that down that path madness lay, and if he didn’t stop, he’d be caught up in some sort of endless loop that would result in his brain exploding. Or something of that ilk.

“Travellers,” he snarled to himself.

“Yes?” the stuffy-sounding voice in his ear asked in a mild tone that would have annoyed him, except he knew he’d go stark, staring insane if he added any more shades of irritation to his life. “Are you speaking of something in general about them, or just making an observation that there are Travellers near you?”

“Neither. Although they are here.”

“What is that being ahead?” Peter didn’t bother to turn to look at the source of the slightly singsong Indian voice. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had—in the bright sunlight that flooded the passenger seat, the speaker would be all but invisible. “It is another tunnel? What a lot of them this area has. I enjoyed the last one most
greatly. Peter-ji, if you would be so kind as to roll down the window of your expensive car, then I might chant loudly and hear my echo again. A wondrous thing this is, yes?”

“You’ve had enough yelling in tunnels for one day,” Peter told the faintly visible blob of light that bounced excitedly in the seat next to him.

“What’s that?” the voice in his ear asked.

“Nothing. I was speaking to Sunil.”

“Sunil? Oh, the animus that was bound to you. How’s that going?”

“As can be expected.” The predominant note in Peter’s voice was resignation. He was momentarily pleased by that fact. It made a nice change from annoyance.

“Just so. Still, he’s a cheerful fellow, and bound to be good company for you. And as for the Travellers you say are in the area, I’m glad at least that my journey out to this sagebrush hell hasn’t been in vain. Have you seen them?” The voice faded out for a few seconds as Peter drove through a tunnel that curved around the side of a massive granite cliff, affording him a brief moment of respite from pain. Unfortunately, the Bluetooth device clipped to his dashboard indicated he was still connected with his boss. “—if they’re not here as you thought, then we might try Portland. I’ve heard a rumor, a very nebulous rumor, that a group of Travellers was seen in the suburbs.”

“You will please to give my compliments to the sahib-ji,” the quarter-sized ball of golden light said when they emerged back into the sunshine. “I am hoping that he and his family are well and happy. Look, there is a sign ahead. It is being a different color from the other signs. How very curious that is. It must be a sign of most importance.
I cannot read the lettering yet, Peter-ji, but I am fully confident that it will indicate something of great desire. I await with breath most bated our arrival at the sign.”

“As do I, Sunil.” Peter flinched at the resumption of the stabbing pain in his head when the connection was restored. “Sorry, Dalton, you cut out there for a minute. If you were asking if I was sure that Travellers were here, then yes, I am. I ran into one of them in the woods while I was out discovering where they were living.”

“So it’s true, then? It is this group that you’ve been looking for?”

“Yes. Considering the abuse that was hurled at me by the man who found me checking out their camp, they aren’t happy to see me. I couldn’t make any arrests without enough proof, naturally, but we had better do so soon before they decide to cut and run again.”