Small Magics (26 page)

Ailbe wiped at the tears. “Is this his gift? To tear out a person’s magic?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “He can do it, I’m sure, but he also controls people with his voice. And he healed his knee by touching it, just like you did.” Thomas tried to sort it out. “Maybe he learned it, like Timothy learned to make the ball of light.”

“I suppose.” Ailbe looked thoughtful for a moment. “Why did he need to heal his knee?” “I broke it.” “Good.”

There was hatred in the word, and in her expression when she said it. Thomas turned away and looked to the east. The sun cleared the horizon, casting yellow light on the trees and yard and bringing the blood, now dried and brown, into stark relief. Thomas closed his eyes, felt the warm light on his face.

“Do you think the bishop will come today?” asked Ailbe.

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. He opened his eyes and squinted at the sun. “He’s not going to be happy, though.”

Ailbe nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll get Shamus up. He can head for the sheriff and tell him what happened.” She went to the door. “As soon as the sheriff sees the cut on Eileen’s belly, he’ll know you three were just defending yourselves.”

“The cut,” said Thomas, getting up himself. “How long will that take to heal?”

“About half as long as average, though it will still leave a scar.”

Her parents will never forgive me.
Thomas sighed and followed Ailbe inside.

Eileen was still asleep on the rug, wrapped in blankets. George, dozing beside her, blinked awake and looked up at Thomas and Ailbe. Thomas wondered if he himself looked anywhere near as rough as George did. He sat down on the floor beside the fire, while Ailbe went into the bedroom to wake Shamus.

“How are you doing?” Thomas asked his friend.

George took some time to reply. “All right,” he said, at last. “Better than Eileen is, that’s for certain.”

“She will recover,” Thomas said. “Ailbe told me.”

“Aye, she told me, too.” George looked down at his sister. “My father’s still going to kill…” He left the thought unfinished, and turned his eyes back to the fire. Thomas waited. At last, George said, “We should never have come.”

Thomas nodded. “I suppose not.”

“She never would have gotten hurt.” Thomas could feel the anger in George, could see the tremors in his hands. “It was stupid to come here.” said George. “I don’t even believe in magic.”

“I know.”

“I can’t see it. I’ve never seen it. And now…” he trailed off, started again. “It’s not worth killing someone for something you can’t even see.”

Thomas watched his friend’s large body start to shake. He put a hand on George’s shoulder. “She will be all right.”

George shrugged it off. “We should never have come.”

“You saved my life,” said Thomas. “If you two hadn’t been here, I would be dead. And so would Ailbe.”

“You don’t know that,” George said, still looking at the floor.

“I do,” said Thomas. “And so do you.”

Thomas waited. George kept his eyes on his sister. It was a long time before he finally mumbled, “I never wanted to kill anyone. Never.”

“No one ever does,” said Shamus, startling them both. He was standing in the bedroom door, pulling on his shirt. “At least not those with a conscience.”

“Have you?” asked George. “Killed anyone, I mean?”

“Aye.”

Thomas and George waited for something more, but the man only walked past them to the front door.

“Has he what?” asked Eileen, her voice soft and fuzzy, and instantly grabbing both their attentions.

“Eileen!” George bent down over his sister. “Are you all right?”

She shook her head. “It hurts.”

“I’ll get Ailbe.” George stood and headed for the kitchen. Thomas knelt down in his place.

“Eileen,” Thomas began, “I am so sorry—”

“Last night…” Eileen sounded like she was having trouble getting the words to come out. “Was either…”

She trailed off, but Thomas guessed the rest. “No. I went after him, but he got away.”

Eileen turned her head away, biting her lips and closing her eyes, squeezing the tears that slid out between the lids. For the third time that morning Thomas felt useless and helpless and numb.

“Let’s see you, then,” Ailbe said, coming from the kitchen with a steaming mug in her hand. She tapped Thomas on the shoulder with her empty hand. “You should wait in the kitchen, I think.”

Thomas did as he was told. George was sitting at the table, staring at his hands. He looked up when Thomas came in. “How is she?”

“I don’t know,” said Thomas. “Ailbe’s examining her.”

George nodded and went back to looking at his hands. Thomas sat across the table from him, feeling he should say something but once more having no idea what. He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands across his face, trying to drive away some of the exhaustion, and push some sense back into his head. When he opened them again, George was looking at him.

“Thomas?” George asked. “Could they hang us for last night?”

The thought gave Thomas a nasty jolt. If the bishop wanted to, he could certainly send the law after them. Of course, the bishop would have to admit that he sent the three men, and that would lead to questions Thomas was certain the bishop wouldn’t want to answer. “No,” Thomas said. “They can’t do that.”

“Do what?” asked Ailbe, crossing the kitchen and taking the kettle from the fire.

“Hang us,” repeated George.

Ailbe shook her head. “The sheriff will take one look at that girl’s cut and be on your side all the way. I know him and he doesn’t take kindly to the type that would put a dagger into a young girl.”

“How is she?” asked George.

“Healing,” said Ailbe. George nodded, and Ailbe put a hand on his shoulder. “It will take time, but she will be fine.”

George nodded. “How soon can she go home?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest, if you’re walking. Two days would be better.”

“All right.” George rose to his feet, casting his eyes about the room. “So, what can we do now?”

“Wait,” said Ailbe. “Go sit with your sister and keep her company. Thomas here can help me make breakfast.”

George nodded and headed for the next room. Thomas watched him go, saw the way his large body was hunched in on itself, wrapped around the pain the big man was feeling. He turned back and found Ailbe watching him with concern on her face.

“I’m all right,” Thomas said. “It’s George who’s taking it hard.”

“Aye,” Ailbe agreed. “That’s because George is letting himself feel it. You’ve hidden it away.”

Thomas had no real answer to that. He shrugged. “I guess.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.” Ailbe picked up a bowl of potatoes and a knife and handed them to Thomas. “Sure sign a man’s upset when he won’t put food into his body.”

Thomas shrugged and took the bowl. Ailbe pulled some salted bacon down from the rafter and began cutting it into slices. Thomas started to work on the potatoes. At length Ailbe said, “Shamus went for a soldier when he was a boy. Served in the king’s wars for ten years.”

“Really?”

“He never talks about it, never lets on he feels anything. The saying in town is that if you hit him in the face with an axe he’d not get excited.”

In his mind, Thomas saw himself kill the man again; saw Eileen scream and hit the ground. “Lucky him.”

“I’ve seen the nightmares he has. I wouldn’t wish them on anyone.” She turned her eye back to Thomas. “Don’t let it happen to you.”

Thomas, still numb inside, could only say, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now hurry up with those potatoes. I’ll want to fry them up before the sheriff arrives.”

Chapter 12

Thomas heard Shamus returning just as breakfast was being set on the table, and went to the porch to see. The sheriff was right behind Shamus. He was a stout man with an oft-broken nose, wearing the green and black of the king’s livery, and leading a large black horse. He tied the animal to the porch, stopped outside to survey the drying blood, then grunted and mounted the steps.

“I’m William Pherson,” he said. “Sheriff of the County. I take it you are Thomas?”

“Aye.”

The man grunted again and stepped inside. He spotted George first, and looked the big man up and down. “You must be George.” He turned to Eileen, who was wrapped in blankets, a large mug of tea in her hand. “Which leaves you to be Eileen, unless Shamus got all his descriptions completely wrong.”

“He got them right,” said Ailbe from the kitchen, putting a large plate of bacon on the table. “I take it you’ll be wanting some breakfast?”

“That would be wonderful,” the sheriff said. “But first I’d better see the two outside by the woodpile.” He turned back to George and Thomas. “If you two will come with me?”

It was phrased as a request, but was certainly an order. Thomas felt suddenly nervous, and reminded himself that they had done nothing wrong. He glanced at George, and from his friend’s expression, guessed he was feeling the same way. They followed the sheriff outside and around to the back of the building.

In the daylight, the skin of the corpses was a sickly white, the blood a dark reddish-brown stain on their skin and clothes. George turned away, taking deep breaths and working hard at not being sick. Thomas still felt nothing, and hated it. He wanted to feel something, anything, looking at the body of the man he killed. All he could find was a void and somewhere far behind it, a white, slow-burning anger.

The sheriff watched both their reactions with interest, then knelt beside the bodies. He took his time examining them. At length he asked, “How did the one’s head get smashed in?”

“I hit him,” said George, still not looking at the dead men.

“What did you use?”

George held out his hands. “I just hit him.”

The sheriff whistled, then pointed to the second man. “This one’s wrist is cut.”

“Aye,” Thomas stepped forward. “I did that to get away from him. I stabbed him when he came at me again.”

“With what?”

“My rapier.”

The sheriff nodded. “Upwards under his ribs and straight through the heart, I see. Where did you learn that?”

“The Royal Academy of Learning.”

“Good teachers you must have had,” said the sheriff. “And were these two killed before or after the girl was cut?”

“After.”

“Hmm,” the sheriff rose up brushing the dust from his knees. “Well, let me look at the girl next, and then we’ll sit down to breakfast. Come on.”

They went back inside. Eileen showed the sheriff the stitches that ran from just below her ribs to the side of her hip. He whistled again.

“Well, that is impressive.” He turned back to George and Thomas. “And this happened before you killed the other two?”

“Yes, sir,” they chorused.

“I see. And the one who did this?”

“Got away,” said George. “Thomas wanted to go after him, but someone stopped him at the edge of the woods.”

“A swordsman,” Thomas said, keeping the man’s name to himself. “He nearly skewered me.”

“Did you see his face?” asked the sheriff.

The sneer on Randolf’s face flashed through Thomas’s mind. “Aye.”

“Would you recognize him again?”

“Aye,” said Thomas, “though I doubt it will help.”

The sheriff looked askance at Thomas. “And why’s that?”

“I’m the only one who saw him.”

“So it will be your word against his.” the sheriff nodded to himself and grunted one more time, then turned to Shamus. “Well, everything they’ve told me matches your story, Shamus. And judging from that one’s reactions—” he cocked a thumb at George—“I’m pretty sure he’s no killer by trade. The other, though…” the sheriff took a long time watching Thomas for some reaction. When none came, he said, “You’re fortunate. We don’t normally have killings here, so I tend to take everyone involved into the gaol when one happens and sort it out after that. But with these two vouching for you,” he gave a nod to Shamus and Ailbe, “and from the mess on the porch I’m tending to believe you myself.” He shook his head. “Not right, bandits attacking folks in the middle of the night.” He turned his attention back to Thomas. “Though from what Shamus said, you think these ones were more than just bandits.”

Thomas risked a look at Shamus, wondering exactly what he had said. The woodsman’s expression showed nothing. Thomas turned back to the sheriff. “Aye.”

“Well, then, you’d better get me your version of the story while we’re eating.” the sheriff turned to Ailbe. “I take it breakfast is ready?”

Ailbe led them into the kitchen and served up a large meal of bacon and potatoes fried in the bacon grease, with strong mugs of tea and fresh-baked biscuits. The sheriff and Shamus dug into their breakfast with a will. No one else did. Eileen was restricted to a beef broth and some bread and George only nibbled at the bacon and fried potato slices set before him. Ailbe, claiming not to be a breakfast person, drank only tea. Thomas didn’t eat anything. He had no appetite, and the sheriff’s questions kept him busy for most of the meal anyway.

Thomas had spent most of the time before breakfast figuring out how much to tell the man. When Bluster had questioned them about Timothy’s death, Thomas had kept silent about the bishop’s involvement because he had no proof. Now, though, proof was lying dead behind the house, and Thomas had no intention of letting the bishop get away unscathed. Thomas knew he couldn’t mention magic, of course, or what the bishop had done to his father or tried to do to himself. But that was no reason not to tell him about Timothy’s fear of ‘his Grace’ and allow him to draw his own conclusions.

The sheriff grunted when Thomas finished, then turned to Ailbe and began questioning her about how Thomas and his friends came to be staying with her. She told him, also leaving out any mention of magic.

“A shame about your brother,” said the sheriff, after Ailbe finished. “He was a good man.”

“Thank you.”

“And you say he was murdered,” he said to Thomas.

“Aye.”

“Humph.” the sheriff frowned, took another spoonful of potatoes, chewed and swallowed. “And you think these three that attacked you are the same ones who killed Timothy?”

“Aye.”