Flight From Blithmore (33 page)

Thirty-Nine
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The Theft

Less
than an hour
before Ruther rode back into camp from Quincy’s shop,
James roughly shook Henry awake. “Ruther’s gone, Henry! Get up! Ruther’s gone!”

Henry
thought James had made some mistake. Night still covered the sky, with only the
faintest glimmer of the rising sun. “Gone?” he repeated as he squinted his eyes
to peer around the camp. “Where did he go?”

James’
jaw was clenched, his eyes ablaze. “I don’t know. Get up. I’ll wake the
others.”

Henry
slowly looked over to the horses. Ghost was not tied up with the rest. The old
suspicions planted in his mind, first by Wilson, then sown by Ruther’s actions,
roared to life. Henry headed straight to the carriage, determined to count the
gold and see for himself what remained. James went back to waking up the rest
of the travelers, starting with Isabelle.

Henry’s
vision, still not fully restored from the fish attack, was too cloudy to see
well inside the carriage. He rummaged around for a few minutes, then called for
help. Isabelle was the first to respond.

“What’s
the matter?” she asked sleepily. “Ruther wouldn’t have left us, would he?”

“Can
you find the gold for me?” he asked her.

“Why?”

“I
want to count it.”

The
bags of gold were usually easy to locate. When she didn’t find it right away,
Henry started worrying.

“Henry,
it isn’t here! All the bags are gone!”

James
cursed Ruther when he heard Isabelle. He grabbed his pack and mounted Sissy.

Henry
ran over and held Sissy’s harness. “Where are you going?”

“You
know where,” James answered, gripping the reins tighter.

“No!”
Isabelle told him. “That’s a foolish idea. We can’t wait here for you.”

“I
know,” James said, not looking back at his sister, “but my intentions have
never been to follow you into Pappalon. Keep going until you reach the pass.
I’ll catch up to you after I find Ruther and the gold.”

Henry
wasn’t surprised at James’ pronouncement, but Maggie and Isabelle were
appalled. Brandol seemed incapable of doing anything but standing in place and
listening to the conversation with his mouth open. Again Henry was not
surprised. Brandol’s nerves had grown worse every day since they’d left
Bookerton.

“Why
aren’t you coming with us?” Isabelle asked

“I
have my reasons, finding Ruther adds one more to the list.”

 “You
planned to leave us all this time?” Maggie asked. “You’re a fugitive, James,
you’ll be killed.”

Isabelle
grabbed her brother’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

Maggie
hushed them all. The other four voices quickly fell quiet. “Someone’s coming.”
She pointed southward. James put his hand to the hilt of his sword. Isabelle
grabbed the largest pan. Henry crept out over the crest of the hill and saw
Ruther riding Ghost over the hills not far in the distance.

“It’s
him,” Henry said.

They
waited in silence for Ruther to ride into camp. James unsheathed his sword,
stabbed it into the ground, and yanked Ruther down from the horse hard onto the
earth.

“James,
no!” Henry shouted as he ran to Ruther. James shook Ruther like a ragdoll, and
twice jammed his fist into Ruther’s face.

“You
took our gold!” James cried. The voice of the brutal guard was back as James
continued to jerk Ruther up and down. “Tell us where the gold is, you filthy
thief.”

Henry
tried to pull James off Ruther before he landed another crushing blow to Ruther’s
swelling face. Isabelle held onto Maggie’s dress to stop her from joining
James. Brandol sat in the dirt moaning, “God help us! We’re all dead!”

James
shoved Henry onto his back, but it allowed Ruther to squirm his way out from
underneath his attacker. When Ruther drew his sword and pointed it at James,
Henry thought James was a dead man. Henry had seen Ruther in bad situations
before, some of them even recently, but Ruther had never had such a fearsome
look in his eyes, a feral expression of both terror and rage.

A
large cooking pan sailed through the air and caught Ruther on the side of his
head. He fell hard and hit the ground groaning. James pounced on him, wrested
the sword away, and dragged him over to a fallen log. Ruther made no attempt to
resist. His eyes were dull and unfocused.

Henry
looked over at Isabelle, who had thrown the pan.

“I
couldn’t let him hurt James,” she explained. “I thought—I thought—”

James
rummaged through Ruther’s pockets and pulled out several items, some of great
interest to the group, others not: three double crowns and several pieces of
lesser coinage, a small map, a feather pen and torn parchment, and a lumpy red
cloth. Once satisfied Ruther’s pockets were empty, James went to the fire
Brandol had just built and removed the pot of water.

“Don’t
do that,” Henry and Isabelle both shouted in protest, but before they could
stop him, James threw the water in Ruther’s face.

Ruther
yelped and cursed several times at James while spitting water out of his mouth
and coughing up the rest.

“Let’s
talk,” James said. He squatted down in front of Ruther.

“Wait!”
Henry said. “Let’s all—”

“Stay
out of this, Henry,” James warned, still sounding like the man Henry had heard
ordering soldiers around in Bookerton.

“You
are not interrogating him,” Henry said. “He came back. He deserves a chance to
tell us his story.”

“Story,”
James repeated it as if Henry had uttered a vile word. He gestured angrily at
Ruther. “What has he ever done but tell stories? I’m not going to let him be
comfortable enough to tell another story.”

“I
won’t let you hurt him.”

“Neither
will I, James,” Isabelle said. “You’re not that kind of person.”

“I
am that kind of person,” James answered. “If that disappoints you then so be
it, but I don’t hear Maggie or Brandol disagreeing with me.”

Henry
looked at Maggie, but Maggie refused to meet his eyes. “Maggie . . . ” he said
softly, but still she refused to look at him. “MAGGIE!”

“No,
Henry!” she answered with a voice as loud and angry as his. “You think Ruther’s
your friend—you’ve always thought Ruther’s your friend, but look! Open your
eyes! He is not!”

“He
is,” Henry said, “and so is James, and I will not watch my friends harm each
other.”

Maggie
did not answer; James did not protest. Henry turned to Ruther now, his
expression neither kind nor cold. “Alright, Ruther, you can talk. Tell us
everything.”

The
way Henry said that last word got Ruther’s attention. Everyone stared down at
him as he squirmed like a worm on a hook. His clothes were so disheveled he
couldn’t hold himself normally. His face had turned bright red with purple
splotches and small scrapes, all testaments of the abuse he’d suffered. His
eyes, normally bright and laughing, were now bloodshot and drooping. Despite
everything Henry knew about Ruther, he didn’t believe his friend could have
stolen the gold. Maggie and James had to be wrong—they had to be.

“What
do you want me to say?” Ruther asked in a scratchy voice.

“Tell
us where you were and what you did,” James ordered.

“I
went to a jeweler,” Ruther said, pointing wearily at the lump in the red cloth.
Maggie finally recognized it and opened the cloth. She gasped when she saw her
necklace and looked up at Ruther with a sick face.

“You
were going to sell my mother’s necklace?” she shouted. Her features twisted in
rage and pain, and she whipped Ruther across the face with the gold chain,
cutting a thin bloody line into his already bruised cheek. “My dead mother’s
necklace!”

She
wept as she raised her hand again, but Isabelle grabbed it. Maggie tried to
slap Isabelle, too, but missed. This seemed to give her some control over
herself. Ruther cried out in protest during all of this, but Maggie’s voice had
more energy and drowned his out.

“I
didn’t!” he bellowed. Now he also wept. “I didn’t! I didn’t try to sell it. I
fixed it. Lord Almighty, tell her. I paid a jeweler to fix your necklace!”

“Why
are you lying?” James shouted in Ruther’s face. He grabbed the necklace and
held it in his fingers for Ruther to see he’d been caught.

Ruther
shook his head and swallowed hard. “I fixed it. Look at it.”

James
held it high and let it dangle from his fingers so everyone could see that the
necklace was anything but fixed.

“No—no—no,”
Ruther protested into his hands. “That can’t be right!”

James
stood and went to Henry. “You see what I’m saying? He will not tell the truth.
He’s incapable of it.”

Henry
pushed past James and sat by Ruther. “What was the jeweler’s name, Ruther?”

“Quincy.”

“Why
would he fix something for you in the middle of the night?”

“He’s
an old friend of my uncle in Reddings,” Ruther struggled to explain. “I used to
live there when I was—before . . . . He owed my uncle a favor, so I collected
on it. Henry, I’m telling the truth. Go speak to him if you wish. Go!”

“We
don’t have time to go,” James argued. “He knows that.”

“Why
did you have some of the gold in your pocket if he owed you a favor?” Henry
asked.

“It
wasn’t free, it was cheaper than if anyone else had done it. The chain must
have broken when James pulled me off the horse. It was in my pocket.”

Ruther’s
voice was so pathetic and worn, Henry wondered if his friend was manipulating
it for greater effect. He had seen him do it before, but never imagined
Ruther’s talents being used against him. Then again, he never imagined a
scenario like this.

“Where
is the gold, Ruther?” James asked.

“I
don’t know! I swear it!” Ruther repeated this over and over until Henry cut him
off:

“You’ve
been stealing from me to pay off your debts all along.”

Ruther
shut up fast and stared at Henry. He stared straight into Henry’s soul with large,
haunted eyes, and reminded Henry of a captured rabbit. “Why didn’t you say
anything if you knew?”

“I
didn’t want to believe it.” Henry spoke first to Ruther, then to everyone.
“Wilson told me. Wilson told me about your debts, and I didn’t want to believe
him. He thought less of me for it. I thought less of myself, too, after I saw
you leave for town while we stayed at his house.”

Ruther’s
eyes did not deny it.

“You
paid off debts in Washborough, Fenley, Grubbingville, and who knows where else.
Even Bookerton?”

Again
Ruther’s expression confirmed it.

“How
much did it cost you?”

Ruther
swallowed again and spoke, his voice drier than ever. “Four hundred crowns . .
. almost.”

Isabelle
began crying behind Henry. James, Maggie, and Brandol said nothing. Henry
didn’t know who to speak to now, so he stared at the ground and addressed
everyone. “I’m sorry for saying nothing. I didn’t want to—I don’t know anymore,
but I’m sorry. This is my fault, too.”

“No,
it’s not,” James said. “Don’t blame yourself for this filth.”

Ruther
pleaded his case once more. “I was going to pay it all back, Henry, I swear it.
Not all of it came from the bag. I used the money we got from the soldiers
after that performance, too. That was over forty crowns. They gave us a lot.”

“Why
pay off the debts?” Henry questioned. “We’re leaving the country.” Then he
looked into his friend’s face with utter disappointment as he divined Ruther’s
intent. His friend’s exhausted stare dropped to his hands. “You weren’t going
to go into Pappalon because you’re not a wanted criminal like the rest of us.”

“I
was going to see you safely to the border. I was going to tell you about the
money—that I’d pay you back. I was going to go back to Richterton and get the
money from the sale of your house and shop and bring it to you! It wasn’t
supposed to come out this way.”

“Ruther,”
Henry wanted to stop himself from saying the things on his tongue, but could
not find any other words to say it, “Ruther, that money was given to Isabelle
by her mother. It was for us to start a new future. You are part of our
future.”

“So
where’s the rest of the money?” Maggie asked.

“I
don’t have it,” Ruther said, matching Maggie’s venom with his own. “I didn’t
take it. One of you did.”

James
barked a laugh. “How would you know that? You were gone all night.”

Ruther
looked at Henry while he addressed James. “A thief or a band of thieves
wouldn’t come out here randomly looking for a large chunk of gold, and they
would have taken more like horses, swords, clothes. They would have killed the
men and kept the woman.”