Shepherd Hunted (2 page)

Trent swept a bow and kissed the back of Kit’s hand. He hesitated when he saw her ears. “You are as lovely as always. Why, I would think you were one of those foxes the Church hunted if I didn’t know better.”

Timothy choked.

“Thank you. What brings you to the festival, Master Mohmed?” Kit asked.

“Please, call me Trent. After our shared success, I would think us closer.” Trent grabbed Kit’s tail. “So it
is
real fur!”

Kit jerked straight, and her voice strained. “Let go.” Her hand clawed Timothy’s arm. He winced.

Trent sifted through Kit’s tail. Kit squirmed, but the man didn’t notice.

“It is a little cheap for my taste. I prefer mink. I have a scarf that will suit you better than this drab fur.” Trent stroked the white tuft. “Shefar already tried to rope you into joining the upcoming melee, didn’t he?”

Kit snatched her tail away. She shivered and glared murder while she smoothed the fur.

Timothy cleared his throat. “He did. What is this melee thing?”

Trent shrugged. “You will see soon enough. I suggest you sit on the barrels over there for a good view.” He waved at the mead barrels.

“To touch me like that…and then call me cheap!” Kit muttered. “My tail is not for just anyone to do that with.”

The man seemed unaware that Kit’s eyes had killed him a dozen times over.
So…never touch Kit’s tail without her permission.
Timothy doubted she would restrain herself if he made that mistake.

“And where will you be?” Timothy asked.
Best to be far away from him before Kit decided to do something.
She quivered and stroked her tail. Maybe she was cold?

“Not here.” Trent adjusted his ridiculous hat. “I have…other arrangements. Which I cannot keep waiting, so if you will excuse me.” He swept a bow and attempted to catch Kit’s hand. A single look from her twisted his mouth and caused his hand to drop.

“I swear if there weren’t so many people, that man would be dead on the street with that hat shoved down his throat. No one touches my tail like that without my say so. Do you know—no, you wouldn’t know what that feels like do you, Timmy?”

“I don’t have a tail, so no, I guess I wouldn’t,” Timothy said. The crowd surged around them. He blinked. Darkness had snuck in on them. “We better take Trent’s advice, unless you want someone else grabbing your tail.” A man with a foaming wooden mug staggered into Timothy. The man wore chicken feathers!

Kit clutched her tail to her chest. “No more.” She plowed into the crowd. Timothy followed. Falling darkness washed out details.

She slammed into a wide merchant. A hat even larger than Trent’s floated to the ground. The man landed hard on the cobblestones.

“How dare you! Do you know who I am?”

Timothy helped Kit to her feet. “Sorry, sir. My wife has had a little too much to drink.”

The wide man snatched his ruined hat. “Cheap fur in a costume like that. My hat is worth more. And to think you would run into a merchant of my renown.”

Kit spluttered. “Twice now.
Cheap!
My tail is far from cheap, you fat—”

Timothy stepped between them. “She is sorry. We beg your—”

Kit flung Timothy away. “We beg nothing, you bloated oaf.” She stood as high as the man’s chest. “My fur is one of a kind and worth more than your greasy hide.” Her tail bristled.

Timothy laid a hand on Kit’s tense shoulder. “Kit, let it go.”

The merchant crimsoned, and he shook. “Get your whore under control or I will.”

Kit growled. “Whore?”

“Kit, let it go. We don’t want the militia—”

A roar erupted from the crowd and shook the air. The merchant brushed his hat and sat it on his head. “Lucky for you it is Founder’s Day. I don’t have time for the likes of you.” The fat man pushed into the crowd.

Kit took a step after him. Timothy held on. “Stop, Kit. We are here for fun, remember?” Some fun this had turned out to be.

She rounded on him. “Let it go, you said! You just let Trent and that fat oaf walk all over me.” She drilled a finger into Timothy’s chest. “What kind of man are you?”

Timothy winced. What could he say to that? She was right. He could only think of a way to smooth the problem. His shoulders slumped. He couldn’t even tell her about her home.

Kit let her hand drop. “I need a drink.”

“Honheim! Honheim!”

The shouting pulled Timothy’s gaze. The press of people began shouting and thrusting fists into the air. Several held torches.

“Get up here.” Kit sat on the oak barrel and offered a hand. Her other hand held a wooden mug she had found somewhere. Timothy tried not to think about how dirty that mug would be. So she did intend to get drunk.

He stared at the hand. “You are not plotting to push me off or anything are you?”

“I can’t promise I won’t after what you did—or rather failed to do. You owe me. I will think of something suitable for your lack of manliness. Maybe pink bows.”

Timothy did not doubt her on that. He couldn’t fault her either, but pink bows? Did she want him to peacock like Trent? That would be like her though. He took her hand and climbed up beside her. Her hip pressed against his, and she sipped from the mug.

Bare-chested men thrust smoking torches in time with the crowd’s chant. They marched toward the wooden castle. Men in various costumes jeered from the parapets and shook their fists at the marchers. At the base of the castle waited other young men dressed in those ridiculous bee-striped barrels. They held tied sheaves of wheat against their shoulders.

“Honheim! Honheim! Honheim!”

The bees shouted defiance. “Our honey! Our honey! Our honey!” The men on top of the castle hurled more colorful insults. Timothy rolled his eyes.

“My fur is not cheap, is it Timmy?” Kit was slurring her words already. It was amazing how fast alcohol took her. Maybe because she was a fox? Timothy didn’t know.

The air shivered. “Ealo!”

“It is beautiful.” Timothy made sure not to touch her drooping tail.

“You are just saying that.” Kit swayed and gulped the mug.

The bare-chested men charged the men in the ridiculous bee barrels. Shefar towered over the melee. The man’s dark skin glistened in the firelight. His strange hat singled him out from the crowd. The man attacked with zeal.

Fire sizzled and slapped against wood and skin. Sparks flew. The bee men warded off the attack with fists and their wheaten weapons. Surprisingly, the attackers’ torches fizzled to smoke with just a few swipes from the defenders. The people on top of the wooden castle jeered and pelted the attackers with rotten fruit and cabbage.

Kit sneezed. “That smells terrible.”

The attackers fell back. More than a few wore purpling blotches. The handful of defenders was worse off. Smoke wafted from hair. Several young men had black singe marks dotting their barrels. The attackers lit their torches again from the bonfires. They charged in a loose triangle formation with Shefar in the lead. The spectators cheered.

The charge splintered the resistance, and the sound of the impact waved through the spectators. Torches slapped against the castle and garbage rained down. The bee men gathered into two groups and mounted a charge on both sides of the attackers. Wheat bundles whiffed and cracked against exposed skin. Timothy found himself cheering on the valiant defenders. Kit laughed and teetered on the barrel.

“Hit him! Hit him! Don’t let him do that. Get them, Shefar!” She swayed. Timothy wrapped an arm around her thigh to steady her. She cuffed him on the head.

“Did you see? Did you see that?” she asked. Her tail flogged his back.

The attackers retreated to their bonfire. The bee men hurled insults. One bee man charged the retreat. Shefar and two burly attackers grabbed the defender and slipped the barrel over his head. The naked man tried to cover himself, but the three tormentors started switching the young unfortunate on the back and rear as he tried to escape. The crowd roared with laughter.

“I think I know how you can apologize now, Timmy,” Kit said.

The attackers brought up a thick log. The crowd began to chant the town’s name.

“Honheim! Honheim! Honheim!”

The attackers split into two groups. One group wrestled a log to the bonfire. The second group relit their weapons and mounted another charge. Shefar was again at the head, but this time the attack was only a distraction.

The men at the bonfire heaved against the log. It started rolling, afire. The log gained speed as the attackers used heavy poles to lever it along the cobblestones. Defenders scrambled in all directions as the log rumbled down on them. More than a few fell from the wooden parapets. One man, wider than he was tall, bowled into the crowd.

The melee at the base of the castle dived out of the way at the last second. The flaming log smashed into the base of the castle. Wood shivered, and sparks showered the crowd. With a collective shout, the crowd surged toward the flaming fortress. The barrel stand Kit and Timothy shared rocked with the human surge. Kit tottered and wind-milled her arms. She slurred something Timothy couldn’t understand. He grabbed her at the last moment, and she twisted and landed across his lap.

She flicked his forehead. “So you can be a man when you want. Don’t think this counts. You still owe me.”

Around them, people attacked the wooden caste. A deluge of flaming sticks and red coals pelted the burning structure. Several men and women spewed mead through their brands. The liquid fire slicked the castle walls better than the reed and tinder barrage. Red tendrils morning-gloried up the wood. Timothy squinted against the bright orange-red parapets.

The onlookers cheered and danced as the castle gave in to the fire. Clumps of people returned to the mead barrels with battered mugs. Timothy felt Kit sag against him.

What did I just watch?
Timothy thought. He shook his head. People sometimes had strange customs. “Ready to go back?” he asked Kit.

Kit nodded against his arm. “I am not that drunk. I am just cold.”

“Sure. Falling asleep with the entire town on fire over there. And you can barely hear me.”

“Humph. You were more fun when you would blush whenever you touched me,” Kit said.

He slipped from the stand and helped her to the cobblestones. A woman dressed to look like a tree waited with two mugs clutched in her hand, tapping her foot. Timothy offered a smile as he steadied Kit and moved out of the woman’s way.

“You are not forgiven.” Kit shrugged off his hand and staggered ahead of him, slipping around people. Timothy sighed and followed.

Men and woman danced and japed around them. Mugs slapped into each other. Mead and things Timothy would rather not consider slicked the street. Light from the fires bathed everything in autumnal glow. Children pushed through the jumble. More than once Timothy felt tiny fingers probe his pockets. He was glad he had forgotten to bring money. Off to the side, Shefar led a group of bee-costumed men and bare-chested attackers in a toast.

Timothy followed Kit’s white tuft through the crowd.

A man staggered into him. Ugly black sores stood out on wane cheeks. His thin hair revealed blotches peppering his scalp. Timothy recoiled.
That woman had the same blotches.
Timothy shivered.
I hope that isn’t catching.
He brushed past the man and froze.

The tail was gone.

He frowned and glanced around. The press of people blocked his view. He pushed in the direction he’d last seen Kit.

“Kit!” His voice disappeared into the din. He tried again, louder. A bear-costumed man stuck a finger in his ear and cursed.

Where did she go?

He had to find her. She knew the way back to Melanie’s inn. She could find it drunk, right?

He weaved through the merrymaking. There. He snatched a shoulder.

The figure turned. Brown eyes looked out from under a red dyed squirrel cap. The young woman squirmed and darted away. A fake tail without a white tuft flopped behind.

Timothy stood on the tips of his toes. He couldn’t see any hint of red.

If only Kit was taller.

He escaped the mob at the mouth of Alenut Street. He still saw no sign of Kit. Maybe if he waited she would find him. She could take care of herself, usually.

Timothy leaned against a building. Nearby, a drunk slept on the pavestones. The sliver moon provided little light. The fires were an orange glow over the buildings. The drunk whimpered and groaned in his sleep. A few people staggered home in clusters. Timothy’s heart thrummed. Should he wait or go looking again? What if someone discovered her tail was real? All it took was a tug to set her off. Joining the festival had been a terrible idea. No. Kit would be fine. She could take care of herself. It would be best to wait here.

A few moments passed as his mind raced. Thoughts of someone realizing she was a real fox needled him. He groaned, scrubbed his hair with a hand, and pushed away from the wall.

I need to find her.

He plunged back into the thinning crowd.

The shrill music clenched Tera’s ears. People danced around her. A man wearing a wolf pelt grabbed Tera’s hands and spun her around. The pelt opened, giving Tera a far too intimate look at the man. He let her go, sending her careening into a small group of women dressed in black habits. Tera slipped on something foul-smelling. Only the three pairs of hands kept her from falling into the muck.

“Thank you, Sisters.” Tera brushed her habit. “Tell me, why does the Church allow such…sinful behavior?”

A girlish giggle answered. “We don’t know, Sister. But what else is a confessional for?”

Tera recoiled. Gaudy paint caked the women’s faces. They even wore something on their eyelids that glittered. These were not fellow sisters! The youngest—barely a woman—grabbed Tera’s hand. “How did you get Glif to dance with you? He’s ignored me this entire time!”

The fool in wolf’s clothing twirled past, this time with a wizened old man dressed like a goat. The old man’s beard and face fit his fake horns too well.

“Oh, he is so—”

Tera stopped listening. She shook off the hands and trudged back into the swirling mass of people. The heat from the flaming castle suited her mood. Did they have no respect? Finally, she emerged from the crowd and breathed with relief. It was a wonder God didn’t smite the town!

“Why, Sister Tera, I never thought you would be one to carouse.” Brother Balwar leaned against a whitewashed wall.

“And what are you doing here?” Tera adjusted her habit.

“Trying to find you,” the young Jesuit said. “You are still looking for that girl, aren’t you?”

“I can’t let a demon roam free. Neither should you.”

Brother Balwar shook his head. “Sister, we caught our demon. You saw how that lamb protected them. Those two are under God’s protection.”

“That thing is a fox demon. I saw her with my own eyes. I will find her.”

The Jesuit sighed. “You are stubborn. Guillermo and I are leaving. It is a long way to Rome. Longer with a man like Tahd to watch, even with soldiers to help. Will you come with us? To Rome? I am sure the Holy Father would like to see you. He has taken a personal interest in the Valador case.”

Tera hesitated. She could go to Rome and meet the Holy Father himself! But she would be leaving these people and Aunt Mae’s Timothy to that creature.

“No. My duty is here.”

Brother Balwar grimaced. “Fine. I left you enough money to see you take a carriage back home. Speak with Father Dulcard. May God watch over you.” He pushed away from the wall and walked down the street.

Tera turned her back on the Jesuit and faced the crowd. That demon would be in there. Perhaps it was the cause of such lewd behavior? That made sense. It would be like a demon to make people sin like this.

A lout slammed into her.

“Sorry.” The man did not bother to look at her. He plunged into the press of sinners.

Tera stared after the man. “Timothy?”

She had no doubts now that the fox demon was still someplace here. The poor boy had the creature’s claws deep in him. She followed him.
I will do something for him. Then Aunt Mae will know the truth.
Her feet slipped on the cobblestones. She refused to think about what soaked her stockings. She glared at a man engulfing a woman’s face with his lips. Tera had a mind to ask them if they were married, but even when married that wasn’t done in public! She blushed when she saw what their hands were doing.

Where was Timothy? Tera’s cheeks heated at the sounds the couple beside her were making. Today would be perfect for the demon to hide out in the open.
I need to watch for both Timothy and the creature.
These fools would only see a costume. Tera knew how bold the demon could be. She touched the scar on her cheek. She glimpsed a flash of red and pushed toward it.

Tera slapped her hand on the demon’s shoulder. She knew how strong it was. This time there would be no surprises. “Thought you could get away—”

The red haired creature turned. The woman’s sagging face raised an eyebrow. Black and gray hair peeked out from the ill-fitting red wig.

Tera removed her hand from the woman’s shoulder. “Sorry. I thought you were something else.”

The woman muttered something and turned back to her mug.

“You hunt for a fox?”

Tera glanced around. Merry, mead-soaked faces surrounded her.

“I’ve seen it. It will break all its promises.” The familiar voice came from behind.

Tera turned.

Evelyn’s pristine black dress hung from her slight shoulders. Her brown hair shimmered. Tera guessed men found Evelyn attractive until they discovered her mental state. How did Timothy’s mother make it here? Evelyn’s hazel gaze bored into Tera. Despite herself, she looked away.

“What brings you to this town of sin, Sister? Breaking your vows are you? Mother Mae will have something to say about that. I have a promise to keep. Not mine, but I will still keep it. We will be together again. Sister, have you seen my dirty little boy? He is late for dinner.” Evelyn looked through the people around them. “He never could keep a promise, even being home for dinner.”

Tera blinked. Despite her words, Evelyn’s gaze appeared lucid.

“This is a dirty town. Promise breakers all. I bet she is breaking her promise with her husband.” Evelyn gestured at a man and a woman pawing each other. “He should be home with his children. I never broke mine. He left me. Death breaks all promises. Are you a promise breaker, Sister?”

Tera opened her mouth. Mad or not, Evelyn had no right to accuse a woman of the cloth. Evelyn trampled over Tera’s words.

“Of course you are. We all are. There are no promises we can keep on this side.” Evelyn plucked a hair from a man in a black coat. The man frowned over his shoulder, but Evelyn’s glare made the man turn away. “I’ve seen illness here, Sister. It won’t be long.” Evelyn fluttered a hand. “God judges.”

“Evelyn…” Tera had better things to do than listen to Evelyn’s rants, but she could not leave the woman alone. Who knew what she would do?

“Fire could clean it. Yes. Come, Sister. We will find your fox and my boy. Then we can all be together, forever. I know you search for the fox.” Evelyn grasped Tera’s wrist.

“You’ve seen the demon?” Tera asked and winced. The woman’s nails cut into Tera’s skin.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen her. Filthy fox tail and ears. Promise breaker corrupting my son.”

“So she is here!”

“She breaks promises with a fop in a flop hat. My poor boy! Bewitched by the devil with fur.” Evelyn grinned, and Tera felt a chill. “We have the same goal. You want the fox—better not be for something unclean, Sister.” Evelyn pulled Tera through the revelers.

“Never! The demon needs to be brought before the Church for her crimes.”

“Her crimes are no worse than yours or mine. Living is a crime.” Evelyn pushed aside an old woman with some type of black sores on her face. “You take the fox. I take my son.”

Tera had to jog to keep pace with the woman. Was she making a mistake?
Can I trust her?

Evelyn laughed. “We can trust no one, Sister. Not even ourselves. Let us hunt.”

Tera swallowed.
How did she know what I was thinking?

* * *

Still no sign of Kit.

Timothy’s legs ached. He felt heavy, and rising panic squeezed his stomach. Only the lack of commotion kept his anxiety at bay. Discovering Kit’s tail as the real thing would cause a commotion. Wouldn’t it? But then, neither Shefar or Trent had been able to tell it was real.

Early morning sunlight reached through the buildings. The charred skeleton of the castle radiated heat. Timothy yawned. People lay on the sides of the streets, mugs still held in sleeping hands. One man snored with a perfect boot print centered on his chest. Clumps of people supported each other as they staggered home. Here and there, people still danced to scattered, clashing music. A few boys swept and straightened the market stalls. They yawned into the backs of their hands.

Where could she be?

Timothy trudged down Alenut Street. Maybe Kit had returned while he searched. Honheim was a large town. It would be easy to miss her.

The thought did little to comfort him.

Timothy breathed the air of the inn. Baking bread and wood polish agreed with his nerves better than the acrid scents of the street. Melanie bent over her desk, writing in a ledger as usual. A couple of blurry-eyed girls cleaned tables or swept the floor. The empty space welcomed him after a night of trudging through crowds.

Timothy stifled another yawn.

“So the wayward husband returns.” Melanie studied Timothy. “I don’t see any signs of another woman, and you do not smell of drink.”

Timothy grimaced.

Melanie held up a hand. “No offense meant. I just thought something happened when I saw her come in with that scamp.”

“Wait. Kit is here?”

“Trent brought her hours ago. I had to all but take a skillet to Trent to make him leave.” Melanie met Timothy’s eyes. “You are welcome.”

Timothy sighed. “Trent never gives up, does he?”

“Not for as long as I’ve known him. He even tries with me on occasion. You’d think he’d learn after I blackened his eye a few times.” Melanie clapped her hands. “Clarise, let’s see if we can save young Timothy from his wife.”

Clarise scurried into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a pair of steaming honey rolls on a small plate. She returned to her feather duster but kept shooting Timothy looks.

He sighed.
I didn’t do anything to deserve those looks.

“Good luck, Timothy. I will charge you for anything she breaks.” Melanie winked. “Think on that before you say anything.”

Timothy trudged up the stairs.
Trent found Kit. Kit was drunk. Trent was a known womanizer.
No! Timothy would not let his mind go that way. Melanie ran Trent off. What had happened before they came to the inn?

Did Trent know her ears and tail were real?

Acid churned Timothy’s stomach. The scent of the honey cakes curled his nose. Timothy should never have let her go to the festival. He should have stayed with her. He paused at the door and took a deep breath. At least she was safe. She would understand how hard he had looked for her, right?

It was time to face the executioner.

“Look what I found!” Timothy opened the door and thrust the honey rolls in. Honey slid from the plate and down his hand. Melanie’s cook was generous with portions.

The single window framed Kit. Her tail’s fur stood in every direction. Her blouse was rumpled, and her ears slumped.

“When were you going to tell me?” she asked.

“About last night? I looked for you all night.”

Timothy laid the sweet rolls on the table. He held his arm out, and honey slithered down it.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what? I lost track of you and—”

She held up a crumpled piece of paper with two fingers.

Timothy’s hand felt the pocket of his coat.
The note!
His eyes fled to the threadbare farmer’s coat rumpled on his bed.
I forgot about the note!
When they’d visited Timothy’s home, he had discovered the truth of Kit’s birthplace. The records could have been wrong. He had prayed they were wrong. Not even the Inquisition could massacre an entire village.
I foolishly wrote down it down. Why didn’t I just tell her? Because I thought a note would be easier?

And she now held that note.

She gazed him with a single green eye. The watery depths stilled Timothy’s heart. Her gaze accused and berated him.

Betrayal.

“I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you. I…I couldn’t find the right time,” Timothy said. The words sounded empty.

“Did you? Did you really? You knew that I wanted to find my home. Two hundred tails collected. You actually wrote that. How could you?” Kit waved the note. “It would have been enough to just tell me everyone was killed. Why? Why would you write something so terrible?”

“It was what the account said. I…I thought you should know. I—”

“Was it fun, knowing this and listening to me wonder about home during those late nights? Oh, I guessed what might have happened,” Kit said. “But did you think I didn’t want to know until I got there? Did you think I would want to know that two hundred of my people had their tails cut off?” She quivered. “For trophies? Seeing that fat man’s single trophy and knowing my tail might have been next…do you know what that was like? Ugh. My head hurts.” She rubbed her forehead. “So was it fun, Timothy?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about…I didn’t know…I’m sorry.” He was an idiot. How could he not have considered that? Kit knew she was likely the last fox. She even told him she didn’t want to be alone.
Stupid.

Kit rounded on him, and her shoulders trembled. Her lips curled back in a fanged sneer. “Was. It. Fun? Was it fun for you to listen to me wonder about my home, knowing it was gone? And I confided in you. I trusted you. Did it make you feel like a man or something to protect a helpless little girl? You even left me last night! Frolicking with that big-chested squirrel?”

“No! I spent all night looking for you.”

“Did you?” She slashed the honey cakes with her gaze. “Sweet cakes for the little girl. How could you not tell me I was alone? That everyone was—”

“I tried—”

“Oh, you tried. That should be enough. The wise Timothy tried to tell me my family, my kind, are dead. Tails and ears all cut off.”

“How could I tell you something so terrible? I…the words…” Timothy’s shoulders slumped. She had every right to be angry.

“I should have chosen Trent. At least he is honest about what he cares about.” Despair, anger, and fear warred across Kit’s face.

Timothy squared his shoulders. “I…I care for you. I should have told you…I’m sorry.”

“More words.” Kit’s head sagged against the window frame. Sunlight wrapped golden fingers around her. The pain in her eyes chilled Timothy more than the morning air. Kit’s sudden laugh tore through Timothy. “You care for me? You are no different than the hunters who just want me for my tail. You humans are all alike. “

“Stop it, Kit.” Timothy’s terror edged his voice. “I am not that way, and you know it.”