There was a knock on the door, which at once snapped open. Startled, Keelin lurched back into his chair, stuffing the pebble deep into the pocket of his gown with the threatening note.
Chieftain Farr and the lady Janna entered the room. Zak was with them, tiptoeing cautiously as if he had been warned to be very quiet. Petronelle swung round from the bed and by the time the door had shut she was hovering protectively by Keelin’s side.
‘Never fear, Petronelle,’ Farr said with a tired smile. ‘We were at breakfast, so came along together, but we will not trouble your patient too long. I merely wish to know—’
‘He still remembers nothing,’ the old woman said bluntly. ‘Not so much as his own name, let alone anything else. But it will come.’ She glanced at Keelin and he nodded, his heart sinking as he saw the disappointment in Farr’s eyes.
‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I have tried, but …’
‘Do not apologise!’ Farr said, moving forward and stretching out his hand. ‘It is we who should apologise to you! You were hurt saving our son! And for that I can only thank you, from the bottom of my heart.’
Keelin took the offered hand. ‘I am sure you would do the same for me,’ he murmured, then felt awkward as he saw Farr and Janna exchange puzzled glances as if his reply seemed a little strange to them.
They do not say that here, he thought suddenly. They reply to thanks in a different way. And silently he added another fact to his small store. He was a stranger in this place. A foreigner.
Yet he did not feel a foreigner. Until this moment he had thought he was one with these people. A lost one, certainly, but not a stranger.
Zak was whispering to his mother. At her nod, he moved forward and gravely presented Keelin with something wrapped in a white napkin. The gift proved to be a small brown cake that smelled of spices.
‘Thank you, Zak,’ Keelin said. ‘I will enjoy that later.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the child said, then added, with a sly grin, ‘I mean … I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’
Janna smiled. Keelin’s heart warmed.
‘Was there nothing in his possessions that might identify him?’ Farr asked Petronelle as she carried away the spice cake and put it on the shelf where she kept her supply of food.
Keelin saw the old woman’s eyes slide quickly to the chest in the corner of the room and just as quickly slide away again as she shook her head.
‘At last your memory will return, Keelin, I am sure of it,’ Janna said gently. ‘It is best you do not strain yourself to remember.’
‘Sometimes another shock or blow will do it,’ said Petronelle, returning to Keelin’s side. She frowned at Zak, who had leaned forward with interest. ‘Not,’ she added forcefully, ‘that this should be tried. It may do more harm than good.’
There was another knock on the door. The door opened a little and Jett’s face appeared in the gap.
‘Councillors Manx, Sigrid and Barron are here, Chieftain Farr,’ Jett said, his scarred face expressionless. ‘They say the matter is urgent.’
Farr nodded shortly. Petronelle began to protest, but he quelled her with a glance.
‘Farr—’ Janna murmured.
Farr shook his head. ‘I must hear what they have to say, Janna, and I can’t do it in the hallway. Besides, they will know by now that Keelin is awake. They will have asked Jett and he would see no reason to lie.’
Keelin watched alertly as three people came through the door—a thin, black-robed man, a stout, red-faced man and a very upright woman with a grey braid wound around her head. As Farr introduced them to him, Keelin could feel their suspicion and dislike. Or perhaps the dislike flowed from only one of them. He could not tell.
‘Has the boy’s memory returned?’ asked the stout man Farr had called Barron.
As Farr shook his head, the other man, Manx, frowned. ‘We have news from the inland,’ he said. He glanced at Petronelle, Zak and Janna, clearly unwilling to talk in front of them.
‘Petronelle, would you please take Zak back to our rooms and see that he finishes his breakfast?’ Farr asked easily.
Shooting Manx a scathing look, Petronelle took Zak by the hand and left the room, squeezing past Jett, who was still hovering in the open doorway. Janna stood her ground, smiling pleasantly as if she was entirely unaware that Manx wanted her gone.
‘Yes, Jett?’ Farr asked, as the guard made no move to shut the door.
Jett held out an envelope. ‘This came for you a few minutes ago, sir,’ he said, moving into the room. ‘I did not want to disturb you, but you may wish to take it now.’
Farr took the envelope, glanced at it, and suppressed a sigh.
‘A message from Carryl,’ he said to his wife as Jett retreated, closing the door behind him.
Manx looked sour. Sigrid sighed. Barron turned down the corners of his mouth in comical dismay. ‘Open it, Farr!’ he groaned. ‘Let’s see what the old girl has to say this time.’
With obvious reluctance, Farr pulled a note from the envelope. The writing was large and spiky. Keelin could easily read it from where he sat.
9 - The Chest
With a rueful glance at his wife, Farr re-folded the note and put it back into its envelope. Then he pushed the envelope deep into his jacket pocket. If he had hoped that by removing it from his councillors’ sight he would discourage them from remarking on it, he was disappointed.
‘The same old story,’ sneered Manx. ‘By the stars, the woman never gives up!’
‘Carryl deserves our respect,’ Sigrid said stiffly. ‘She was a great chieftain in her day.’
‘Indeed she was,’ Barron agreed. ‘But she’s … well, she’s very old now, Sigrid, and her mind’s not as clear as it once was. Her obsession with that shambles she calls a museum and what might lie beneath it—’
‘There is nothing wrong with Carryl’s mind!’ Janna broke in. ‘She just sees things differently from other people.’
‘Yes.’ Manx smiled thinly. ‘And that is because she buries her head in the sand in more ways than one. Carryl has never seen a slay. She has never heard the screams of beasts caught outside shelter. She has never seen words of terror scarred in a field, the crop withered as if by a freezing hand.’
‘And she still refuses to believe the stories of beings that prowl at night, setting fires and attacking innocents,’ Barron added, his jowls trembling with earnestness. ‘She calls them rumours and fishermen’s tales, when we all know they’re true.’
Farr glanced at Keelin and frowned. ‘This isn’t the time or place to be discussing Carryl,’ he said. ‘What news do you have for me?’
‘There were hundreds of slays over Fell End and the surrounding farms last night,’ Sigrid said in a low voice. ‘Five Riverside people were found this morning dead in their beds for no apparent reason. And there was another message burned into a tarny field halfway to New Nerra.’
‘And it said?’ Farr demanded.
Barron shrugged, fiddling with the gold earring in his left ear. ‘Oh, the usual,’ he muttered. ‘“Prepare to Die!” Our enemy has no imagination.’
‘This is no joking matter!’ snapped Manx. ‘Farr—the pipeline will be completed tomorrow and the people want you to act! They cannot understand your dithering! They have all heard of the attack on your son. They cannot understand why even that was not enough to move you. They see it as weakness!’
‘That can’t be helped!’ Farr snapped. ‘I can’t act blindly! I have to find out more before taking a step that can’t be reversed!’
‘It’s a big decision,’ agreed Barron. ‘And it’ll be a brave man who makes it. I’m glad it’s not up to me.’
Sigrid curled her lip. ‘I daresay you are. Especially since delay suits you, Trader Barron. After all, you are very fond of money, and the longer the slay attacks go on, the more slay shields you sell.’