A Latent Dark Page 8

  “There was… something,” he said, realizing it sounded crazy even as he said it. “Something in the corner of the church. I only caught a glimpse from the corner of my eye. It was probably nothing.”

  “Probably?”

  John cleared his throat. “I thought maybe smoke, but when I looked it was gone.”

  “Curious,” said Lyle, a small grin spreading on his face. “And what then?”

  “They… when I looked back the crowd had panicked. It was out of control.”

  “And you say the mother was there in the congregation? Did she do anything… odd before all this happened?”

  John narrowed his eyes. He felt as though he was being led to specific conclusions, which he didn’t like. He continued grudgingly.

  “Lynn had stood during the service,” he said, no longer meeting the man’s eyes. “She had pointed at the corner. Told people to look at it.”

  “Look at it?”

  “She said ‘Look at the corner. Don’t you see it? There in the corner.’”

  John could still remember the screaming, the way fear drove the crowd as they pushed and shoved. And him, up on the pulpit, helpless as the herd forced their way over and out of the doors, trampling anyone that fell. And he had seen it—something shimmering in the periphery of his vision as the people ran.

  “What do you want from me?” he finally asked the man in white.

  “I just want you to keep your eyes and your mind open,” Lyle said. “The girl knows you and she might come by for help. I’d appreciate it if you would contact me.”

  “I’m not sure how you do things out east, but we don’t practice witch burnings.”

  “Who said anything about that?” Lyle said. “In fact, quite the opposite. Have you ever been to Rhinewall?”

  John shook his head.

  “Pity, but I guess you wouldn’t. Things have been prickly between city-states since the Crusades, eh?”

  The priest shrugged.

  “They have a facility there you really should check out. Amazing technology.”

  “Is it a psychiatric facility?”

  “Of sorts,” Lyle said. “Let’s just say that it might be able to purify the demons that no doubt plague this poor child.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “Do you think Skyla might flee there?”

  Lyle looked thoughtful. “It’s possible, but let’s say that I am just trying to keep my options open. In the meantime, keep your eyes open if you could.”

  “And what if she never returns? What if she isn’t even in the city?”

  “Well, that will be bad news for all of us, I’m afraid,” Lyle said.

  A pause stretched out like a chasm between the men. Finally, it was John who spoke, curiosity on his face.

  “How did you find that house, Reverend Summers? If you asked any person in this city, anyone at all, they would tell you that even if they drew a map, you couldn’t see it. I know teenagers who would take dares, trying to walk into the house. They woke up a block away, no memory of it.”

  The Reverend Summers thought about his answer for a long time. When he finally looked up at John a shadow passed over his face. His eyes, once blue seemed gray now, distant. He said nothing else.

  Something cold and slimy crawled into the back of John’s mind and curled up there. Those cool blue eyes stared through him without blinking. After a moment, it passed and Lyle got up suddenly.

  “You’ll excuse me, Father,” he said. “I’m afraid I let the time slip by us.”

  Father Thomas got up and escorted the Reverend Inspector out through the chapel. When they reached the front doors, Lyle placed his white hat onto his head with a flourish and shaded his eyes.

  “I am staying at the Sanders-Westmore Hotel if you happen to think of anything. Don’t hesitate to contact me day or night, and there is a TickTalker in the room in case I’m absent.”

  “Fancy,” John said. “I’ll have to stay there some day when they make me Pope.”

  Lyle waved and turned away, disappearing into the crowd. John went back into the church and summoned Julian, his page, who followed him into the office. Father Thomas took a piece of paper from his desk and scribbled something on it.

  “Julian,” he said, still writing and then sealing the note in wax. “I’d like you to shoot this off to the archbishop as soon as you can.”

  Julian’s face brightened. “Yes Father.”

  The young boy took the note and dashed out of the office, robes flowing behind him. John sat back in his chair, lost in thought.

  The man was clearly hiding something. John wasn’t an idiot, even if he had a tendency to trust people a little more than was good for him. Maybe he had trusted Lynn more than he should have.

  And Skyla now. Was that my fault too? Couldn’t I have taken her in? How many opportunities have I been given to help her?

  He could still see Skyla’s face, staring up at her mother, tugging her sleeve, mortified as the congregation stared and jeered. He remembered how those jeers faded into something more dangerous until—what was that he had seen in the corner?

  John stood up and looked out the window. A troop of militia marched by a recruitment line that went down the block. A factory he hadn’t noticed in a long time was now billowing smoke. A boy chased a wind-up toy down the street, laughing. Vendors bellowed from the shade of their markets, ignored for the most part by the bustle of busy men.

  He could almost believe that the world was normal.

  Chapter 8

  Something small whizzed past Skyla’s ear and embedded itself in a branch near her head. She turned towards the sound and saw a small arrow with tiny green feathers sticking out from the end.

  Movement caught her eye as she looked up into the foliage to see a figure lifting an impressively large crossbow. They readied it to fire a second time. A female voice called from the thick shadows. Skyla was certain it was a language, but it made no sense, simply a stream of buzzing Rs and Vs. The woman produced a warbling birdlike sound and the forest exploded with movement.

  As her eyes adjusted, Skyla realized that there were more of them, people, covered from head to toe in dense leaf-green streamers, their eyes white dots hidden behind thick paint and mud, blending them perfectly into the surroundings.

  The woman spoke again.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand you,” Skyla said.

  A pregnant pause stretched out as the two of them stared at one another, a second camouflaged figure moving to talk to the woman.

  “I. Don’t. Understand,” Skyla said in slow deliberate words.

  The woman said something over her shoulder to the figure beside her. She could only tell he was a man by his voice.

  “Vana says you are alone, but for your pet.” His voice carried the same rolling consonants.

  “I am,” she said. “We are. Who are you?”

  The man and woman spoke again and Vana lowered her weapon. Skyla exhaled as the woman engaged the safety and reset the string. Skyla realized her palms were sweating. She slowly wiped them on her uniform and felt the woman’s eyes follow her every move.

  “I am Alexei. This is Vana. What is your name?” asked the man.

  “I am Skyla,” she said.

  “Skyla what?”

  She froze, uncertain what to say.

  “Just Skyla.”

  Alexei narrowed his eyes and said something to Vana who began to raise the crossbow again. Skyla felt her heart race.

  “Your last name, please.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  This drew another round of sharp dialog between the two lookouts. The woman lowered the crossbow again and laughed. Alexei turned back to Skyla.

  “Vana says that you must be from Bollingbrook, because they are the only people who don’t let their poor carry surnames. Are you poor, Skyla?”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes. Very.”

  Orrin landed on her shoulder and squawked, echoing the sentiment.

  “Bollingbro
ok causes us much trouble. Do you know this?” said Alexei.

  “They cause me trouble too,” she said.

  She was relieved to hear the man laugh. It was a warm sound and when he spoke to the woman she chuckled as well. Vana spoke again. He listened and translated to Skyla.

  “Vana says she likes your goggles. She has never seen a pair in such good condition. She wants to know how much.”

  “They aren’t for sale,” said Skyla. Great, she thought, next they are going to just take them. But another thought crept into her head as well. Are there other goggles, other people like me?

  Alexei shrugged and spoke to Vana. She seemed disappointed, but not angry. She spoke back to the man.

  “Vana says that a young girl like yourself can get hurt in Lassimir. Do you plan to teach?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your name. It means ‘scholar’. So, you must be a teacher, yes? Because it also can mean you are a fugitive. Though you seem young to be a teacher.”

  “No, I mean yes… I mean… I’m just trying to find my aunt.”

  The two sentries spoke in hushed tones again.

  “What makes you think she is here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The man held up a hand. “Wait, please.”

  He then took Vana by the elbow and turned their backs to Skyla. There was a long heated conversation between the two of them as the forest went still once again. When Alexei turned back to her, his voice was serious.

  “Listen to me. You must do exactly what I tell you. You may visit Lassimir, but you may not live there until a city resident can vouch for you.”

  “How do I do that?”

  There was more discussion and the man sighed. “Many new people make acquaintances at the tavern on the edge of town. You find work, or you offer to help, eventually someone will let you in. We are not savages, but the people will not speak to you unless you show proof that you can be trusted. Do you understand this, Skyla?”

  Skyla nodded fervently.

  The man whispered something to Vana, who seemed satisfied. She gave a curt nod before the two of them descended down onto the trail, where Skyla followed them from a safe distance, that crossbow never leaving her mind. All above them a wooden clicking echoed through the tops of the trees, mechanical applause announcing her arrival.

  “What’s that noise?” she asked when they had traveled a bit further.

  “It is the semaphores,” said the man. “They are like lanterns that blink. They are relaying your arrival so that you will not be shot.”

  “Who are you?”

  “We are the guard,” he said, his face barely visible beneath the dense coat of leafy strands. “We watch for signs of trouble from the trees.”

  “You live up there?”

  The man laughed. “No, but it does feel that way at times.”

  “What about the Wilds?”

  The man cocked his head a bit. “What is this Wilds?”

  “The place between here and Bollingbrook,” she said. “It’s where I came through.”

  Vana muttered something and Alexei leaned toward her. “Ah,” he said. “Your Wilds do not trouble us. We have… an agreement… maybe the wrong word. We do not bother the spirits and they do not bother us.”

  The forest spilled out onto a muddy road, flanked on either side by dense woods. Alexei turned to her as Vana left, vanishing into the forest.

  He pointed toward the river. “There is Lassimir. I suggest you do your best to make friends.”

  “Wait,” she said as he turned to go. “Just me? All alone?”

  His shaded eyes glanced between her and Orrin. “You must understand something, Skyla,” he said. “There are many people from nearby cities who do not wish to see Lassimir exist. We are large as a city, but we are not recognized. For me to let you this far, you are very lucky. I will hope you do well.”

  And with a couple steps the forest engulfed the man until all that remained were the rustling of branches and leaves in the wind.

  “Already we’re making friends,” she said to Orrin, who squawked from her shoulder.

  *

  The Hungry Skunk was one of the few solid buildings within miles of Lassimir. Unlike most structures near the river, made from cloth and rope, the tavern was a solid—if swaying—building of stonework and thick beams, a sagging roof and cobbled chimney. Several windows had been broken and replaced with new panes that didn’t quite fit, the residents doing what they could to preserve one of the few permanent monuments of the growing settlement.

  Marley, the proprietor and second oldest monument to the city, rubbed a dirty dishcloth over the surface of a wood counter, his hand encrusted with massive steel rings. His head was a hairless dome, encircled by a scar running from eye to ear, his mustache a thick white horseshoe which twitched as he scowled, annoyed not for the first time by the only other person in the tavern, Half-Dale, who sat on a nearby stool.

  Watching the man drink, Marley worked his way down to a mug at the end of the counter, which he cleaned while glowering at the man. He grumbled something incoherent as he jammed the dishrag into the cracked mug, scrubbing it furiously.

  Dale simply stared at his pint, his mind somewhere else, his twisted stump of an arm tucked beneath a ragged uniform. He gave Marley a sideways glance and flashed a smile.

  “But I provide so much needed companionship. I help you dispose of this swill so that you don’t throw it out and poison the trees. And I scare away the customers… the pretty ones anyway.”

  He smiled and slid the empty glass across to Marley who picked it up and began washing it, a deep, seismic grumble emanating from his throat. He glared at Dale.

  “For all the free beer I’ve given you, I might as well add you to the payroll.”

  Dale held up his left arm, it bent dramatically at the wrist, the fingers crooked. “I’d love to help.”

  Marley mumbled something as his scar turned white against his flushed head. He looked away from the man as he focused on polishing the glass, tiny in his enormous hand.

  “I ain’t running a charity,” he growled. “Go sweep.”

  “Too drunk.”

  “Go push in a chair.”

  “Too easy. As if you couldn’t do that yourself.”

  “Then pick up a dammed rag and rub it on something, you sad sack. Go find something to make yourself useful.”

  Dale gave him a tired grin. “If you’re just going to scream again, I’ll just take my business elsewhere.” He stumbled to the door, blinking in surprise to see someone already there when he opened it.

  “You’ve got early customers,” he said over his shoulder. Both men fell silent, taken aback their argument had been overheard.

  Marley took one look at her and bellowed “Out!”

  Skyla only stared at him, the other man now stepping back from her.

  “No children!” Marley hollered, taking a heavy step toward the door. He lowered his arm and picked up another mug that was shaped like a coiled cobra. “And you ain’t bringing that rat with wings into my pub either. Now shoo!”

  “Maybe he’s deaf,” Dale said, stepping back toward the bar. “It happens a lot with those gypsy kids. They stand too close to a cannon or they get water in the ear—”

  “She,” said Skyla, trying to raise her voice above a fresh argument.

  “What?” Marley said, leaning in.

  “I said ‘she’,” Skyla said, more tired than annoyed. “I’m a girl. And this isn’t a rat, it’s a raven.”

  “I don’t care if it’s a talking possum,” said Marley. “Go sell your trinkets somewhere else.”

  “I’m not selling anything, I just need a place to sleep for the night.”

  Marley laughed, his huge mustache cracking wide to reveal a row of mostly intact teeth. Dale continued to stare at the girl as if hallucinating.

  “Does this look like an inn to you, kid?” Marley said, amused. “Go stay in town somewhere. I ain’t taking lodgers.�
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  “I don’t have any money.” She took a bold step into the pub. “And they told me I can’t stay in the city yet.”

  Marley already had his palm out. “Not my problem. That bird’ll make a mess of the place.”

  “You’re worried about a bird making a mess of this?”

  Dale snorted then fell silent under the weight of Marley’s scowl.

  “The answer’s no,” Marley said, placing both hands on the counter, the wood protesting as it bent inward under his weight. For all his intimidation, Skyla could see his other shadow on the wall. He was mostly safe despite his immense size, his shadow drooping with guilt and shame.

  “I can go,” said Skyla, “if you think you can live with yourself when I end up dead, or worse come morning.” She winced inwardly as his shadow looked back.

  But Marley only blinked.

  After a pause, she broke into a smile. “Besides, you look like you could use some help keeping this place clean.”

  Dale watched her take two more steps into the bar and turned to Marley. “She’s right you know. This place is sort of a sty.”—he caught a dishrag with his good hand—“And you could certainly use the help around here.”—He dodged a mug, smiling as Marley hurled a plate at the floor by his feet.

  Marley grunted, and then sighed. “Can you use a mop?”

  “I can,” she said, then glanced around the floor. “But apparently you can’t.”

  Dale laughed again as Marley gave a defeated sigh.

  “Mop’s in the back,” he said, jabbing a massive thumb over his shoulder. “You’ll wait the tables and get clean cups from the back if we run out. Think you can handle that?”

  She saluted as she headed toward the back of the pub, Orrin squawking from her shoulder. Marley asked her name.

  “Skyla,” she said. “And you?”

  “Marley,” he grunted. “That bird had better behave itself. You can work for one night, then out you go. There’s a guest bed on the loft above the pantry.”

  “Will you vouch for me?” she asked.

  “Huh?” He raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “The guards said you had to vouch for me.”

  He looked between her and Dale. “We’ll see how it goes.”