Demons! His mouth was watering like the Fillan in spate. He scrambled all the way to his feet and sniffed. He was not imagining it. Someone was roasting pork somewhere upwind, and not very far away, either.
He went back to the cellar, laid the wet shirt and hose on a prickly bush to dry, and then sat down crosslegged. "Tell me. They hung you up by your hands?"
Toby was sitting up, wearing his doublet, wrapped in his blanket. "Nothing so crude. Baron Oreste has more subtle methods." He grinned more surely this time, more like his own self.
"Oreste? He's in Barcelona?"
"He was in my dream."
"That was no dream!" Hamish squeaked. "You mustn't go to Barcelona if he's there!"
Toby frowned and looked mulish, which he did very well. "I suppose that would be charging the bull, wouldn't it? Does this mean that you believe in my visions now?"
Oh, demons! "No, I don't believe in visions, not yours, not anyone's." The only thing Toby's visions might mean was that the hob was finally driving him out of his mind, and Father Lachlan had warned him of that years ago. Or the hob itself was going crazy, locked up in his mind. It wouldn't make much difference, would it?
"Then there's no problem!" Toby smirked at outwitting Hamish Campbell. "No reason not to go to Barcelona? We can talk about it in the morning. Nice town, Barcelona. Roomy dungeons, all the latest torturing machines. I didn't see you there. You didn't miss much."
"Tell me about the second vision."
"I've told you a dozen times."
"Tell me again!"
"You sound just like your father. You want me to pull down my britches and bend over, domine?"
"Is that the only way to get your attention?"
Toby smiled ruefully. "Sorry. We were walking along that street in Valencia, the one I pointed out to you the next day. It wasn't much of a street, because all the houses had all been burned. You saw that. What you saw in reality was just what I saw in the vision, except there was a ragged old man there. We talked with him."
"You don't remember what we said?"
"No. He seemed friendly enough. After a while we went off with him, and he led us through a doorway. That was all. Then I was sitting on the trail feeling giddy, and you were asking if I was all right."
"And when we reached Valencia, you found that street, but there was no one there."
"Yes."
"So these... these dreams you're having... they're not real, Toby! They don't show you the future. They can't. That isn't possible! What you're having are fits of déjà vu. It's not uncommon to see a place and think you've been there before. Everyone does, sometimes. I do."
"Not like this." Toby held out a thick wrist, torn and scabbed with blood.
"It's the hob playing tricks on you."
"Then I wish it would stop. Now I'm going to go to sleep. So should you." He eased himself down, moving like a very old man. He rolled over.
"Toby. Someone's roasting pork. I could smell it. Upwind. Not far."
Longdirk heaved himself up on one elbow, grunting at the pain. He fixed Hamish with a dangerous stare. "I smelled it too."
"Well?" Hamish pleaded. "They might share?" Zits, but he was hungry for a decent meal!
"Not me. That's what I saw in my first vision, Hamish. Or smelled, I should say. There was a fire in an orange grove with something being roasted on a spit. I'm not going near it!"
"What?" Hamish swallowed a mouthful of drool. "Why not? I know it's a risk, but if we warn them we're coming and we're not armed—"
"I did. Last time. Listen, I'll tell you again exactly what I saw. There's a fire, obviously, and a tent. Made of cloth, blue and gold. I think there were horses, but I'm not quite sure about that. You were with me, and it was a night just like this one: warm, starry, very little wind. In the vision I shouted to warn whoever was there, and they came out of the tent, two of them, a gentleman and a lady, very well dressed. He had a green and gold jerkin on, she was in red and white. The man called to us to come forward. We walked forward, me in the lead, and just as I neared the fire, something frightened me."
"What?"
"I don't remember! All I know is that I shouted and turned to run. Then I ran into you, and that was all. I woke up." He grinned menacingly. "You go and explore if you want to. You don't believe in my visions, so you've got no reason not to, right? I'm in no state to go anywhere, but if you feel like bringing me back a juicy rib or two, I won't refuse."
Hamish glared back at him suspiciously. "How far did you go tonight?"
"Just to where you found me, I'm sure. I wouldn't have gone on without my staff, would I? Go and see if my vision was true."
Tobias Longdirk was not the only man who could be stubborn. "Very well!" Hamish said. "I'm going."
"Wind's from the northwest. Take your bearings from the stars. Bon appétit!" Toby smirked and lay down again.
Hamish took his staff and went to the wall.
"Hamish?"
"What?"
"Be careful!"
"I can look after myself," Hamish snapped. So he could, by most men's standards, because Toby had taught him. Toby was in a class by himself when it came to fighting, but that didn't mean Hamish Campbell was a pushover.
CHAPTER TWO
Beyond the spring Hamish came to the start of an orange grove, just as Toby had predicted. Toby could have seen that in daylight.
The trees made things tricky, and there was no clear path. He went slowly, being extra cautious. Creeping up on anyone was dangerous in war-ravaged Aragon. People slept with their bows strung nowadays. He was a little surprised that Longdirk was letting him do this—not exactly an unwelcome surprise, but an uneasy-making surprise. Toby was treating him as an equal now, no longer the boy he had been when they began their adventuring together. Although he was full-sized, or almost so, and a seasoned traveler with smatterings of five or six languages, he was still a little disbelieving every time he drank from a pool and saw the fuzzy fringe of beard around his face. He would never admit it to anyone, of course.
Nor would he admit that he was now scared spitless. Creeping up on strangers in the dark like this was not prudent. Normally he would have tried to talk Toby out of trying it. He would certainly never have volunteered to do it himself, alone. He couldn't go back now, of course. But if something jumped out at him, he knew he would head for Longdirk fast as prunes through a goose.
There were other things moving in the woods. He paused a couple of times to listen, but when he stopped they stopped, and all he achieved was a higher level of funk. They were probably those feral dogs, attracted by the smell, just as he was. Feral dogs and feral Scotsmen...
There was no way to go quickly in the dark, even knowing that the roast pork might be all eaten before he arrived. The ground was littered with dead branches, the air full of live ones at head-height. Don't trip in the tangle of weeds, which... ouch!... included thistles.
Yes, a faint light twinkling in the darkness ahead! The mouth-watering odor was stronger. Not very far at all, and Hamish had a nervy vision of the men who had built that fire creeping around in the trees to find his fire at the same time as he was creeping... no, his was downwind and it didn't have any pork on it.
He began planning what he would say. He would start by telling whoever was there that they were in no danger, of course, so that they didn't start banging away with muskets. Then admit to being a foreigner but not part of the Fiend's army. The delicious aroma of roasting meat was making him slaver like a dog. He eased through the grove toward the yellow flicker, keeping eyes peeled for guards or sentries, but the fire was a small one, and there was only the one. He couldn't see any people near it, only trees. The smoke stung his eyes.