Watcher in the Pine (2 page)

“The rooms aren’t made up.” The woman was shivering in the wind, which was blowing into the doorway. She turned to Tejada. “I’m sorry, Señor Guardia. We weren’t expecting—that is, you’d have to wait.”

“Look,” Tejada interrupted her. “My wife has been traveling for almost twenty hours. She’s expecting a child, and it’s snowing. All we need is a room.”

“Or a manger,” Elena murmured, unable to repress a grin.

“Don’t blaspheme!” Tejada growled. “You’re exhausted, and you need rest! There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Sorry.”

The innkeeper’s wife had listened to this exchange without changing expression, but now she smiled slightly. “Come in, Señora. I’m afraid it won’t be much warmer than a manger, but at least it’s out of the wind.”

Elena stepped inside with relief. The room was dark except for a lamp in one corner, but she received the vague impression of a long rectangular space, with a bar counter at the far end, and a few rickety tables, with chairs piled on top of them for the night. As she made out the shapes of the upturned chairs, she remembered how much her feet hurt, and realized how sorry she was that she could not sink into one of them. The truth of her husband’s comment about twenty hours of travel suddenly struck her, and she wondered a little vaguely how much longer she would be able to remain upright. Carlos was setting the bags inside the doorway, and the innkeeper’s wife was ushering her toward a stairway, talking all the while. “The fire’s banked for the night, so hot-water bottles will be difficult, but I can offer you extra quilts.” She heard her husband thank the man who had driven them from Unquera, and heard the innkeeper’s wife say, “Good night, Luis,” as the door to the street closed.

She turned to the gray-haired woman, swaying with weariness. “I’m sorry. The bathrooms are . . . ?”

“This way.” The woman smiled comprehension, and took her elbow. “I’ll show you. It’s the second floor, Lieutenant,” she added over her shoulder, as Tejada picked up the first of the suitcases.

Elena made her way to the bathroom. She was too tired to feel more than a bit disappointed to discover that it was a latrine. Somehow she found the strength to drag herself up two flights of stairs, following her hostess’s directions. A door off the upstairs hallway opened into a large room with a table shoved under a shuttered window. She passed through the room down a passage too short to be called a hallway, but just wide enough to accommodate a closet, and saw lamplight flickering off a bed. The gray-haired woman was tucking in a sheet, and there was a pile of folded blankets stacked beside it. Elena went toward the bed and sank onto the mattress, begrudging the effort it took to kick her shoes off her throbbing feet. The room was freezing, and she hastily decided against undressing further as soon as she took off her coat. She wormed her way under the sheets, pulled the blankets the woman had given her over the bed as best she could, and closed her eyes, relieved simply to be dry and lying down.

She was already asleep when the lieutenant brought up the last of their bags a few minutes later. He spread the blanket a little more completely over the bed and inspected Elena before turning out the lamp on the night table. Her face, always thin, seemed more sharply drawn in the dim light. Only the curve of her stomach was generous. He sat beside her and touched her belly lightly. Neither she nor the baby stirred. Very gently, he pulled the pins out of her hair, and uncoiled the long braid onto her pillow. She shifted, murmured his name, and then sank back into deeper sleep. The lamplight glittered off the single diamond set in a tiny gold cross that nestled in the hollow of her throat.

Tejada looked at the forgotten ornament, and smiled in spite of his own exhaustion. He had given her the necklace when she had first confirmed her pregnancy, and she was seldom without it, although she wore no other jewelry. He stroked her hair for a moment, and then forced himself to his feet one more time. His pistol became unbearably heavy as soon as he unbuckled the holster, and it was once more a weight separate from his clothing. He stooped, ignoring his aching back, and slid first his rifle and then the pistol under the bed. He undressed, shivering, and then slid into bed, profoundly grateful that Elena was already warming the icy sheets.
At least we’re here
, he thought, as his head touched the pillow and he snaked an arm around his wife. A
nd after a trip like this, what else can go wrong?
Then he was asleep.

Chapter 2

E
lena woke up reluctantly. She needed to pee but was unhappy about the idea of leaving the warmth of the quilts. The steady breathing beside her told her that her husband was still asleep, but light was leaking in between the slats of the wooden shutters in one corner.
It must be only a few minutes before reveille anyway
, she thought, and then she recalled that the barracks in Salamanca did not have shutters like these, and she remembered where she was.

The knowledge that she would have to go downstairs to reach the bathroom did not make her more eager to get out of bed, but her body was insistent. She sat up carefully, doing her best to avoid waking Tejada. She was only partially successful. He flinched at the rush of cold air when she pushed back the covers. “’s cold,” he mumbled.

“Shh-shh.” Elena hastily stood up and drew the blankets back up to his chin, hissing slightly as the cold of the floor tiles leaked through her socks. She would have appreciated slippers and a bathrobe, but since these useful items were buried in her trunk she reluctantly squeezed her feet back into her shoes and tiptoed toward the chair where she had flung her coat, hoping that it would provide some protection against the chill in the air. Her coat was still slightly damp. She slipped out of the room as quietly as possible, hoping that she would find a stove in her explorations. The room outside the bedroom narrowed at the far end into another passage, this one leading to a small room with a woodstove, a sink, and several cooking implements. Elena sighed and headed for the hallway. The door closed softly, without squeaking hinges, and she smiled, glad that Carlos at least would be able to enjoy an uninterrupted sleep.

She was in a darkened corridor, with another door identical to the one she had just left opening off it and a staircase that she vaguely remembered from the night before at the far end. The door was set directly across the hallway and probably led to another apartment, similar to theirs. She crept toward the stairs, hoping fervently that the guardia’s quarters had running water. The steps were stone slabs, worn smooth with age and hemmed on either side by walls without a banister, and she felt her way down them carefully. A square of light on the wall at the landing just above the bar and the subdued murmur of voices below encouraged her. She had almost reached the landing when one of the voices was raised in sudden annoyance. “
Idiotic
thing to do!”

“. . .didn’t have much choice.” This voice was a deeper grumble. “We can’t afford trouble with the Guardia.”

Elena froze where she stood, flushing slightly, and wondering if the speaker knew that a Guardia officer was asleep upstairs. “But to have them spend the night
here?
Of all places?” The first man spoke again, as if in answer to Elena’s question.

“It’s only one, and for one night.” The deeper voice was soothing.

“I don’t know what Anselmo will say.” The tone was dubious now, waiting to be convinced.

“Which brings us back to the main point: Where
is
he?” The deeper voice subsided into an unintelligible mumble.

Mentally cursing the frailties of pregnancy that made it impossible to go back upstairs and lie down again, Elena coughed loudly and marched down the steps, hoping that her silhouette on the stairway wall would announce her presence if her footsteps did not.

She was unable to judge the success of her strategy, but no one seemed too startled by her appearance. It was full daylight in the room below. The chairs were still reversed on top of the tables, but a trio of men were hunched over the bar, and the gray-haired woman from the preceding evening was behind it. It was the woman who noticed Elena. “Good morning, Señora. I hope you slept well?”

“Yes, thank you.” Elena hesitated, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m . . . er . . . sorry to disturb you.” She marched in the direction she remembered from the previous night, running the gauntlet of the men’s silent stares. Semihostile scrutiny had become a constant since her marriage, and by now it was more an annoyance than a threat. And the men at the bar wore neither arms nor uniforms. She did not bother to try to listen to their conversation again. She was sure that they would be absolutely silent until they knew she was gone.

Tejada was up and nearly fully dressed when she returned. “There you are.” He smiled. “I was worried.”

“Toilet,” Elena explained succinctly.

He looked up and stopped buttoning his coat. “Are you all right? Were you nauseous?”

“I haven’t been nauseous in weeks.”

He nodded, still looking anxious. “You’re sure? Did you sleep well?”

“Like a stone. And you?”

“Fine. And the baby?” Tejada stooped, and fished under the bed for his rifle.

“Fine, as far as I can tell.”

“Good. No, no, sit back. I’ll get that.” The lieutenant twisted, still kneeling, and began to retie his wife’s shoe.

Elena swallowed a smile. “I’m not sick, you know. Or made of porcelain.”

“You shouldn’t strain yourself. Do you want breakfast?”

He was still occupied with Elena’s shoelaces and thus did not see her mischievous face as she said soberly, “Wild strawberries would be nice.”

He stood and headed for the door with a sinking heart. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Elena’s laughter stopped him. “Carlos! It’s March! And it’s snowing! I was joking!”

“Ingrate,” the lieutenant said, looking slightly sheepish.

Elena relented. “Sorry. Coffee?”

“God, I hope so.” Tejada held the door for her. “They should have it at the post, at worst. But let’s see if we can find our host.”

The barroom was empty except for the gray-haired woman when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Elena wondered briefly where the men had disappeared to. Perhaps it was later in the day than she had thought. Perhaps they had decided to avoid the impending presence of a guardia. Elena suppressed a sigh. Not so long ago, she would have avoided the Guardia also. But it was going to be difficult, being so isolated in a town where she had no friends or family.

Tejada, as usual, did not notice the effect of his presence. He nodded at the woman. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Lieutenant.” She was courteous, if not friendly. “Can I help you?”

Tejada glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes before eleven. “Where’s the telephone? I’d like to call the post.”

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have one.”

The lieutenant blinked. “Oh. Well, then, we’d like some coffee. And if my wife could stay here while I walk over to the post, I’d be grateful.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” She brought them coffee silently and stood by the entrance to the hallway, watching them as they drank. Elena was sorry for the scrutiny. She would have liked to communicate to Carlos the conversation she had overheard. But she had a shrewd suspicion the woman had taken part in the conversation, and to admit to eavesdropping would not be a good way to begin an acquaintance.

Tejada finished drinking quickly and stood up. “I’m going over to the post. I don’t know what the mix-up was last night, but I want it sorted out as soon as possible. You’ll be all right here?”

“Of course.”

The lieutenant looked at his wife sharply. There was the faintest hint of constraint in her tone. He saw her eyes flicker to the woman who had brought them coffee. He leaned over, kissed her lightly on the cheek, and breathed. “We should talk later in private?”

“Yes.” Her voice was soft, pitched for only his ears. “I’m all right for now though.”

He gave her a smile that he hoped did not look anxious, and then put on his cloak and hat. Their hostess saw him to the door. “The footbridge is just up that way, Lieutenant. And you can’t miss the post.”

“Thank you.” Tejada set off in the direction she had indicated. The snow was lighter now, barely more than a few flakes, but the wind was still bitterly cold. The street—or rather track— was completely empty, although a few cart tracks in the snow suggested that traffic had passed in the last few hours.

When he reached the bridge, Tejada understood the carter’s reluctance to cross it with a vehicle. It was a rickety-looking structure that hardly looked wide enough for a man on horseback. The buildings surrounding it were thatched and Tejada guessed that the fire their driver had mentioned the night before had not reached this corner of the town. The bridge creaked under Tejada’s weight as he hurried across. It was impossible to tell what was paved and what was not beneath the unplowed snow, but a few buildings were planted at a respectful distance from a businesslike medieval tower in the center of a vaguely rectangular space that Tejada guessed to be a plaza on the other side of the river. A bare flagpole stuck up in front of one of them. Tejada headed toward it, remembering the carter’s directions the previous evening, and was rewarded by the sight of the familiar crest of the Guardia over the door. He rapped on the front door, wondering with half his mind if the lack of guards in front of the post was due to understaffing or to laziness, and noting absently with the other half that the man who had taken them to Potes appeared to have given accurate information. The man had mentioned that the
fonda
was run by an Anselmo, though he had thus far not appeared. Tejada wondered briefly if Anselmo would present himself when they settled their bill.
Maybe he lets his wife handle the business
, Tejada thought. And then, as a particularly malicious blast of wind nearly blew his hat off,
Maybe he hibernates in the winter, lucky bastard
.

The door to the post opened a crack, and Tejada was confronted by a man in his midtwenties, holding a leveled rifle. “What do you want?”

Tejada saluted, mentally noting that it would be desirable to make the Guardia’s challenges a little more formal. “Lieutenant Tejada. I’m here to relieve your current commander.”

“Sir!” The door swung back, and the guardia saluted, looking uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. We weren’t expecting . . . that is, Ortíz and Carvallo went to the station this morning, sir, to pick you up. But if you’re here . . .” The young man turned away to shut the door as he spoke, perhaps relieved to have an excuse not to finish the sentence.

Tejada was inspecting his surroundings with interest. He was in a small cold hallway, lit by a single lantern. The lack of windows was more than compensated for by the poor insulation. Most of the hall was taken up by a square staircase on his right. On his left was a small table, a patently ineffectual stove, and a chair that he guessed the guardia at the door had been occupying. Beyond the stairs, a closed door signaled an entrance to the rest of the building. The guardia bolted the outer door behind the lieutenant, and then hurried to the door at the back of the hallway, opened it, and called, “The new lieutenant’s here! Go tell Sergeant Márquez!” He turned back to Tejada. “My partner, sir,” he explained. “Corporal Battista.”

Tejada nodded. “And you are . . . ?”

“José Torres, sir.”

The lieutenant took off his cloak, in spite of the chill in the hall. “And how many men are there at the post, Torres?” he demanded.

“Five in all, sir. Well, six, now that you’ve come.”

Tejada frowned for a moment. “And they are the guardias you mentioned earlier, Ortíz and Carvallo, was it? And yourself and your partner, and the sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Sergeant Márquez has been the ranking officer?” Tejada asked, wondering why he had vaguely assumed that the post, however small, was commanded by someone of his own rank. It was common for rural outposts to be under the command of a sergeant, after all.

Guardia Torres looked embarrassed. The opening door saved him the necessity of answering. A burly man in his mid-forties emerged. He wore a sergeant’s uniform and was followed by another, slightly younger man, whom Tejada guessed to be Corporal Battista. “Sir.” The sergeant saluted. “Márquez. At your orders.” Tejada nodded without speaking, and the sergeant added in a slightly aggrieved voice, “We thought you were at Unquera.”

“I was, last night.” Tejada forced himself to keep his voice mild. “The cable must have mistaken the time I arrived.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Márquez did not sound overly apologetic. “We had an emergency last night.”

Tejada breathed through his nostrils as he understood that someone had casually decided to leave him to wait in a train station all night in a snowstorm without word. “What sort of emergency?” he asked, sounding somewhat grim.