Shell glanced at the bruises on Henry’s face where the man was looking and understood part of the wariness but suspected the unsaid fears with the farmer had more to do with the disappearances of people in the area. He said, “Well then, I thank you for the information. Camilla, Henry, we need to go.”
As they made a wide berth around him, the old man used his horse to shield himself from them getting too close to him. Once they were past, the clop, clop of the horse speeded up. Shell didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the man and didn’t blame him for his fears. There must be wild stories told about the evil done nearby, the missing travelers and the people hunting for them, and he suspected that the reputation of the area would be sullied for years.
Camilla came up to walk beside him. She said, “I didn’t know how we were going to get past him.”
Henry said, “He had a knife hidden behind his leg.”
“I can’t hold that against him,” Shell said, irritated that he hadn’t noticed the knife.
The road wound around a hill and down a slope. In front of them, far down the road, several plumes of smoke rose, and as the road opened into a valley, the village of Bretton stood before them. Even from the hill and distance, they saw that the village appeared almost deserted, and the buildings dilapidated. At least two buildings had recently burned to the ground, leaving black scars on the ground where they once stood.
But the remaining buildings were little better off. One seemed to lean in one direction, and a second the opposite. The walls were unpainted, or the whitewash worn off since the last time it had been applied. A lonely looking milk cow was staked in one yard, but it was the only animal in sight. Not even a dog wandered out to meet them.
Camilla said, “I don’t like what I see.”
Shell agreed. “Maybe we can just find the person in charge and move on. Tonight.” But even with those words, he reached out and touched the wolf with his mind, finding it already on the far side of the village, waiting. Its mind clear and eager, not the fear and danger Shell expected. But it wanted to move on. It didn’t like Bretton.
They walked closer, and as they passed the first ramshackle building, Shell felt the eyes on them, but when he looked at the nearest house, a curtain of a window was quickly pulled closed. A man stood at the corner of another house, a hatchet in hand, a defensive stance that told Shell that one move in the man’s direction would have him fleeing. The fear was palpable, almost a scent they could smell.
Henry walked at their rear and said, “There are at least twenty houses. Where are the children? And dogs, chickens, and goats?”
They reached the single cross street. Turning right took them west, and Shell said as he turned, “This way. We’re leaving here.”
Neither protested, and they moved faster down the road, walking in a tight bunch in the direction of the waiting wolf, their eyes searching, and their ears hearing none of the familiar sounds they expected. The houses and buildings looked weary, forlorn, and many stood empty, tall grass in front, and weeds taking over.
A man slowly stepped from a doorway ahead, a sword prominently at his hip, his right-hand resting on the pommel. He walked to the center of the dirt street and paused, feet spread apart, facing them. A sad smile found its way to his lips. When they drew nearer, he said, “Leaving so soon?”
Pudding? Shell ventured the single thought. The wolf had moved closer to the village, but remained calm. The wolf relayed no animosity or danger. Shell returned his attention to the man. “Is that your business?”
“It is.”
While Camilla and Henry remained where they were, ready to fight at the first indication, Shell was detecting something else as he walked carefully closer. Yes, the man prevented them from leaving the town, but there were laugh lines around his eyes, and more beside his mouth, the kind that a man earns after years of good humor.
Shell pulled to a stop a few steps away and asked, “Why is it your business?”
“I’m the constable, appointed by the Earl of Princeton, himself. I’m making it my business to know why each person is entering, leaving, or passing through our village.” The words were soft, sincere, and said with iron just below the surface.
An idea entered Shell’s thinking. This man didn’t wish to fight or delay them; he was conducting deadly business, meaning possible deadly to himself, not Shell. But if he had truly been appointed by the Earl, he held the King’s authority. “Constable, I see that your village is about to fall down. Then you will be out of a job.”
“Why are you here? I demand an answer.”
Shell nodded and said, “I will certainly answer, but first I need to know why your village is almost deserted.”
“Most have left in the last few years.”
“Leaving their homes and buildings to fall apart? Would that have anything to do with tales of missing people around here?”
The sword was drawn before Shell could move, the point held near his throat. Shell glanced to where he expected to see Pudding charging to his rescue, but the wolf didn’t move from the bushes he hid behind. The wolf still didn’t think the constable meant to harm him, although the blade didn’t waver. He held his arms out, palms empty. “I think we might be able to help you. My name is Shell, and this is Camilla and Henry.”
“What are you doing here? I won’t ask again.”
“We’re on our way to Fleming from over near Bear Mountain. Henry has lost his parents, and we’re taking him to live with his relatives.”
“By the Six Gods, two more people missing?” The man’s face paled, and he looked ready to faint, not fight.
Realizing the incorrect assumption the man had reached, Shell stepped closer to the blade, “No, I’m sorry, he didn’t lose them around here. There was an accident. In their barn at home.”
The point of the sword wavered.
There seemed no reason to belabor the truth. The constable was obviously aware of the problem and doing what he could to resolve it. Shell said, “But on our way, we found a lot of dead people.”
“You found them? Are any alive?”
Shell shook his head. “We also killed two.”
The sword touched his throat. Camilla snapped, as she stalked forward, “Put that damned sword away and listen to him you fool. Would he be telling you all of this if he was part if it? We’ve had a couple of hard days you are not going to give us another.”
Shell hadn’t turned his head to look at Camilla, but suddenly she was standing a single step in front of the constable, her face red with anger, and fists balled. Shell said, “I’d listen to her if I was you.”
The constable let the tip of the sword fall near the ground, then he half-turned and slipped it into the scabbard before turning back to Shell. “I am sorry, son. Everyone around here is scared, those few of us left. Now, you say you found something?”
Shell felt more eyes on them from the veiled windows. He nodded to the door the constable had come from and said, “Can we do this off the street?”
“Of course.”
On the way, Shell tried to decide how best to explain. Inside was a kitchen and a table with two chairs. Shell reached for Henry and spun him around, then reached deep into his backpack. His probing fingers found a ball of cloth and he pulled it out and then spilled the contents on the tabletop.
“Great Gods, what is that?” the constable hissed, not touching any of the rings, bracelets, chains, or medallions.
Shell pulled the second and third bundle out and dumped them beside the other. “We found all that. We want it returned to the owners.”
The constable sat heavily in one of the chairs. “How in the names of the ancient Gods am I supposed to do that?”