Tomas chuckled. “Let’s go knock down some walls, should we?”
They straightened their uniforms, and Tomas gathered his staff and pouch of tranquilizers. The day was looking to be hot and muggy, a late last gasp of summer. It would either make everyone lethargic or make them edgy and prone to fighting. Better they get this over with early, then.
Not two strides out the door, Dak came up to the committee house, blocking their way. His expression was set, tight lines of tension around his mouth. At some point in the last decade, he must have decided he didn’t mind getting involved.
“Hola,” she said lightly.
“So what happened with Kirk last night?” he said, his casual tone at odds with his stance. He glanced at Tomas but saved the bulk of his attention for Enid. Like he thought he had a better chance of intimidating her. Tomas obligingly stepped back, crossing his arms, and looked on, interested. Waiting.
“What happened how?”
“Everyone says you attacked Kirk—”
“Kirk attacked us. We settled him.”
“But you must have done something to set him off.”
She furrowed her brow. “Does he get set off often? Does he have a temper, then?”
“He’s a kid. You know how they get. I’m just trying to clear up all the rumors flying around.”
“Ah,” she said. “Here for the gossip.”
“Do you think he had something to do with it?”
“Not sure yet,” she said, studying him. Why was he here? Like, not just here talking to her now, but in the town at all? Why had he settled down, and why here? She glanced at Tomas, and yes, he had a hand by his pouch, ready to reach for a patch if Dak decided to get squirrelly. She didn’t expect him to—he would try to charm them. “Actually, I wanted to ask you . . . Ariana said you could confirm that she was at her household the morning Sero died.”
His expression froze. “Did she.”
“But you said you were . . . where was it, Porto? So where were you?”
“Maybe I got back from Porto the day before. It was right around then. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Don’t remember if you were at home when news came in that a man had died?” When he didn’t say anything, she moved on. “Tell me again—you ever talk to Sero? Ever have a reason to go down to his house?”
“No, none. I never went there.” His hard gaze never left hers.
She didn’t believe him. He should have been laughing at her, at what she was suggesting. How hard could she push him, before he just ran? Not that hard, she decided. “Ah. All right, then. Thanks. If you want to catch up on more town gossip, why don’t you come with us? We’re about to go to Bounty to have a word with Philos.”
She walked past him, Tomas following, and Dak scurried after a moment later.
“What about?” he demanded. “What’s Philos done? You think he had something to do with what happened to Sero? Is there anyone in town you’re not harassing?”
“Do you know Philos bribed me with a banner?”
Tomas murmured, “Enid, calm.”
But Dak’s open-mouthed shock told her—he didn’t know. “A banner. Really,” he said flatly, rubbing a hand across his hair. He had a few silver threads among the brown. Her dashing bard was going gray. “I thought—I thought he was angry because he resented the intrusion. That he wanted the committee to resolve the problem on their own. A town ought to be able to fix its own problems.” He sighed. “Does Ariana know about the bribe?”
“I’m sure she will as soon as you tell her.”
“Enid . . .” He didn’t like investigators on principle, she knew that. If two strangers had come here on this investigation, would he have fled like he had back at Fintown? Would he have been trying to wheedle information like this?
“Yes, Dak, a town ought to take care of its own problems. But when someone on the committee is the problem, towns need us.”
“Ariana will want to know what’s going on,” he said, and left them, trotting back to Newhome.
“I imagine she will,” Enid murmured.
Tomas asked, “You okay?”
“You know the worst part? I can’t remember what I ever saw in him. Why I ever wanted to follow him to the end of the world.”
“It’s because he hasn’t sung at you this time around,” Tomas said.
Yeah, there was that, she supposed.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////
Tomas set the pace, which seemed slower than his usual. A calm trek rather than an authoritative march, then. Enid hadn’t thought him so worn out, and she wondered if she should say something. After—when this was over, she’d talk to him. By the time they reached Bounty, word had spread and an audience gathered. A few folk came from other households when they saw two investigators walking past with a sense of purpose. Dak arrived shortly after them, with Ariana alongside. Miran was there, shawl wrapped around her shoulders even in the heat, as if it shielded her. The gathering didn’t want to come close enough to get involved, but they wanted—needed—to see what was happening. Enid wasn’t sure what gossip they had heard. Dak should have been as clued in to rumors as anyone, and he hadn’t known about the potential quota violations.
She wished they didn’t have a crowd, but she couldn’t do much about getting rid of it. Only thing for it was to behave well. And to be right.
First thing they had to brace for: Philos, storming out of the Bounty common room as soon as Enid and Tomas entered the yard. Since they expected it, they were ready for him.
“Morning, Philos,” Enid said, which did as she hoped and diverted him from whatever he’d been about to shout.
He looked old. He’d aged just over the course of the last couple of days, anxiety curling his hands tighter, lost sleep hollowing his face. Enid might have felt sorry for him, if not for the malice glaring in his eyes.
“What is this? What are you doing here?”
“You offered a bribe to an investigator,” Enid said. The murmurs started among those gathered. “That’s only one problem. There wouldn’t have been a bribe if you weren’t hiding something.”
“You can’t do this,” he said in a low voice, sounding uncertain. “This is our place. This is a violation. I’m on the committee—if anyone should be making accusations it should be me, and you have overstepped yourself!”
“You’re not the only one on Pasadan’s committee,” Enid said. “We can get the rest of them here. Would that help? Having witnesses? Ariana’s already here; it’ll just take a moment to fetch Lee.”
“I . . . I . . .”
In fact, someone must have already gone to get Lee, because he trailed into Bounty’s courtyard along with a few more observers. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Lee muttered to those in the back, as if he’d stumbled on the scene of an accident.
Philos gaped at them all. The old man stood like he could block them, even though they could just go around. Last thing they wanted was a confrontation that would end with Philos tranquilized on the ground. The old man might not survive it. Let him get frustrated; she and Tomas had all the time in the world.
“In addition to offering a bribe,” Enid said, for the benefit of the observers, “we believe Philos has violated quotas for the Bounty household and has been hoarding grain for trade. We’re here to find the evidence.”
“No,” Philos said, weakly. “It’s not like that. We weren’t violating anything—it’s just . . . we needed it. To get our surpluses up. Yes, we had to go into some land outside our quota, but not much. But we needed it, if we were going to get a new banner.”
“You just got a banner a couple years ago!” Lee protested.
Enid suspected that Bounty had petitioned for a raise in quotas, and the rest of the committee, including Lee, had refused. They had enough. They didn’t need more, despite Philos’s arguments.
Ariana spoke to Enid but glared at Philos. “I suspected. No, I knew. I just didn’t have evidence.”
Lee
turned on her. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I did! I tried to tell you, but you didn’t listen, didn’t want to hear that anyone was doing anything bad; you wanted to pretend everything was perfect—”
Enid put a hand on her arm to calm her. Nothing more she could say, because yes, ideally, Ariana or Lee should have said something. Asked questions. Managed it themselves. But Philos was a bully.
All that was left was the search. Tomas leaned in and pointed. “Those two outbuildings look like they have cellars. That one’s hid pretty well with those honeysuckles—I’d start there.”
She turned to Philos. “I have to ask—did Sero know? Did he threaten to report you? Did you confront him about it, maybe in his shed?”
Desperately, he shook his head. His hands fluttered nervously. “No, no. I had nothing to do with that accident. This has nothing to do with that, nothing.”
Oddly, she believed him. But if he had nothing to do with it, then she was no closer to discovering whose footprints those were running away from Sero’s body.
One problem at a time.
“Well,” she said, turning to Tomas. “Shall we?”
“Sooner the better,” he said.
They hunted around the outbuilding with all the honeysuckle brambled around it; it didn’t take long. The vines hid where the foundation was raised and a cellar had been dug underneath. Part of the vines grew up a trellis that could be shifted to reveal the doorway. This was no accidental surplus, no chance mismanagement of resources. This was willfully taking more than they needed and hiding it from the whole town.
Enid and Tomas were no longer the villains here.
A couple of other folk of Bounty stood with Philos. He leaned on them, rubbing his forehead. His hands trembled. His whole world was coming down, and she and Tomas would have to sort out who in the household, and in the town, knew and who didn’t. How to mete out the punishments when all was done.
They pried open the cellar door and went down a rickety staircase to a dirt floor. They had to duck under a low ceiling. This was halfway between a cellar and crawlspace. Enid had her flashlight, fully charged, and scanned it around the room.
Bags. Bags and bags of grain, leaning against the walls and stacked against one another. Dozens. The household could use them to bribe, get deals from other towns and households, make trades. Make themselves more prosperous and secure. Wealth. This was wealth. Oilcloth on the floor protected the bags from moisture. Wire mousetraps in the corners. Likely a whole mess of cats patrolling the household, too. All of it carefully maintained.
Enid tore open the sewn top of one of the bags to confirm the barley inside. Counted and recorded the number in her notes.
Philos and his household had been working hard. But they didn’t need this. Well, Philos must have thought they did, quotas or no.
She and Tomas took hold of one of the bags—twenty pounds, she guessed—and hauled it up the steps to display it to the community. To show what Philos had been doing with the town’s resources.
They dropped it at the man’s feet and stepped back. Gave everyone plenty of time to look it over. To make those connections, to see what the bag meant. The whole place went silent, except for chickens clucking around them in the yard.
“It . . . it’s not that much,” Philos said. “We needed it.”
Enid jabbed a finger at him. “If everyone here needed this much, the land around Pasadan would be tapped out in a decade. You know that, right? You understand—”
“We weren’t hurting anything—”
“Gah!” She turned away, unable to look at him anymore. “Stop talking, would you? Just stop! This is why you didn’t want us here from the first! It wasn’t about Sero at all. This is what you’ve been so worried about! Does the rest of the town know? Were you doing this for everyone or just for yourself? And what did you think was going to happen when you were found out? Did you think you’d never be found out?”
“Enid! Enid, stop!” Ariana shouted, the desperate edge so cutting that Enid actually spun to look.
Tomas had doubled over and fallen to kneeling. Face flushed red, he clutched his left arm and seemed to be trying to speak, trying to spit out words while gasping for a breath that wouldn’t come. Bystanders had already backed away from her outburst; now, they watched her partner as if he were the center of some performance.
In a moment she was at his side, holding him up. He grabbed her; his whole body was shaking. His eyes were wide, like he was drowning on dry land. Blue, his skin was turning blue, and his left side clenched up in pain. He kept trying to speak. He angled himself at her ear; his lips worked, but nothing emerged from them. His fingers gripped vise-like on her arm. He was so heavy.
Enid looked up. “Tull. Someone get Tull—bring him now!” Tull, the medic. He had to be around here somewhere. Miran ran off, shawl half flying behind her.
Enid laid him flat, lifted his legs, cushioned his head under a blanket that had suddenly appeared, that someone had given her. She didn’t know who. Tomas’s eyes were glassy; he wasn’t breathing. So she breathed for him, her mouth over his, blowing a deep breath into his lungs. Pumping his heart for him. Another long breath. Tull arrived and took over the CPR for her. Tomas’s body lay clenched in pain, but there was no movement.
She knew before Tull sat back and shook his head that Tomas was gone. Enid held Tomas’s hand and wept.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////
No one bothered her for a long time. They left her there, slumped in the grass, holding his hand in both of hers as it lost warmth. She knew she would have to do something soon. Sitting there, she turned that thought back and forth in her mind. Yes, she would have to do something. Make a decision, then another. Move forward. But considering that thought seemed like a great deal of effort all by itself, so she didn’t do anything else.
A hand touched her shoulder. She sensed Dak. Didn’t even have to turn around, and she recognized the shape and presence of him out of the corner of her eye. The weight of his hand anchored her as he knelt.
“Enid, love. We should move him. Get him out of the sun. Can we do that? Is that all right?” He spoke low. The words seemed distant, but his voice was a comfort. She used to love his voice.
She nodded and finally looked up. Two men were there with a stretcher—the same one from Ariana’s cellar, the one that had carried Sero. This horrified Enid. She wanted to scream. But yes, Dak was right. They should move him.
Most everyone else had gone. Ariana stood by. So did Miran—she’d been crying, her hands clasped together. She didn’t even know him, Enid thought. Why should she cry? Her own eyes felt like wrung-out rags.
The men laid the stretcher down; she helped them lift Tomas to it, and he seemed even heavier. The weight of him settling. They walked away with him. She watched them go and couldn’t follow. Dak stood on one side of her; Ariana came to the other and put her arm around her shoulders, and Enid hardly felt it.
She must have spoken at some point. Given some kind of instruction. She couldn’t remember, and she kept thinking she should be better than this. If it had been anyone but Tomas who had died in front of her, she’d be better than this.
Yes, she did remember what she’d said, because they ended up at Tull’s small clinic, not at the cellar at Newhome. The others had wanted to take him there, store him in the chill until Enid decided what to do. But no, they weren’t finished here. She had questions.
The clinic was clean, neat. A single room, diffuse light came in through a wide window. Cabinets lined one wall, a couple of chairs stood against another, and a table occupied the middle of the floor. Like any clinic in any town. When they had Tomas’s body resting on the exam table, she sent them all away. All except Tull. He remained near the door, his arms crossed, his frown deep. The room was quiet, the heat of summer pressing down, humidity making breathing difficult. They should open it, let some air in. But no, not until they were done here.
The
thought had occurred to her: this might have been murder.
Poison, she thought. Something that would kill his heart dead. A dart, a patch, a liquid slipped into his tea. At Haven, the medics might be able to tell what exactly had killed him. They had blood tests for poisons, infections. It had come so quickly and he didn’t have a mark on him, so it must be poison. It seemed such a reasonable possibility.
But no. Why poison him but not her? They’d eaten the same food since arriving in Pasadan, drunk out of all the same pitchers. She wasn’t anything like ill, except for the hole in the middle of her heart, a black space that turned into a knife when she looked at him. His dead body. His terrible still form.
“Can you examine him?” Enid asked evenly. “Look and maybe see what killed him?”
Tull answered, “I told you: if I had to guess—this has all the signs of a heart attack. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to guess; I want you to look. Could it have been anything else?”
The man sighed, then peeled back Tomas’s brown tunic, moved aside a pendant he’d worn on a thin cord. Enid looked over the medic’s shoulder. Were there any patches on Tomas’s skin, like the tranquilizers? Any needle marks? Any odd infected cuts? She watched Tull, making sure he was really looking, not brushing off the job because he thought she was crazy.
“What about that flushing, there?” Tomas’s skin across his neck, part of his chest was red. It didn’t look normal.
“It’s pretty common to see that with heart attacks,” Tull said tiredly.
“There isn’t a poison or something could have caused a symptom like that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really have experience with poisons—”
Impatiently, she said, “Then are there any other signs? Just to confirm it wasn’t something else?”
“Well, yes. But based on how you said he was acting—it was a heart attack. Maybe a stroke or some kind of brain injury. These things happen. If you took him back to Haven, the clinic there is much better equipped—”