The stream opened into a cove, framed by pines and stout picturesque trees with round yellow leaves. William leaned to get a better look. Pretty.
A small dock protruded into the water, a natural extension of the dirt path that led up a hill. To the left a heavy wooden gate barred what was probably another stream. He smelled rolpies. His ear caught the distant grunting squeals beyond the gate. The Edgers must’ve kept them penned up like cows.
A man stepped out onto the dock and looked at them. Black hair, fit, tall, about thirty. If they were in the Weird, William would’ve sworn he was looking at a blueblood. The man held himself very straight, taking up more space than his lean body needed and radiating enough icy, stuck-up elegance to give Declan’s relatives a run for their money. William growled in his mind and pulled Declan out of the recesses of his memory. If this guy was a blueblood, he’d have to concentrate not to give himself away.
“That’s Richard. My cousin,” Cerise said.
A small mud-slathered creature sat by Richard’s feet. He was lecturing it. William couldn’t quite catch the words but it looked like a serious chewing out. William focused on the little beast. A kid. Looked like a girl, sitting with her knees clasped to her chest, long hair a mess of mud and leaves.
Cerise drew a deep breath. He glanced at her. She was looking at the little girl. Her black eyebrows knitted together. Her mouth quivered once, wanting to droop at the corners. He glimpsed sadness in her eyes. Then she hid it and pulled the smile on like a mask.
Richard’s words floated down to them. “. . . absolutely not appropriate, especially hitting him in the head with a rock ...”
The little girl saw them. She shoved past Richard and dove into the water. Richard stopped in mid-word.
“Oh, Lark,” Cerise whispered.
The little girl swam through the water, limbs flashing. Cerise slowed the rolpie. The kid dove and scrambled onto the boat, wet and dripping mud. She lunged at Cerise and clutched at her, burying her face in Cerise’s stomach. Cerise put her arms around the child and looked like she was about to cry. Her smile broke. She bit her lip.
“Don’t leave,” the girl whispered, her arms locked around Cerise.
“I won’t,” Cerise said softly. “I’m home now. It will be okay. You’re safe.”
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
The kid looked like a stray cat, half-starved and skittish. She clasped on to Cerise, as if she were her mother, and she smelled of fear.
William reached over, took the reins from Cerise’s hands, and slapped them on the water. The rolpie pulled, and he guided the boat to the dock. The boat bumped against the support beams, shuddering. Richard leaned over, and William handed him the mooring line.
“Hello,” Cerise’s cousin said.
“Hi.”
“Lark, you have to let go now,” Cerise murmured gently.
The kid didn’t move.
“I can’t carry you to the house. You’re too big. And if I did, the other kids would make fun of you. You have to be strong now. You must let go and stand on your own feet. Here, hold my hand.”
Lark pulled away. Cerise took her hand. “Shoulders back. Look at the house. You own this house and this land. Walk like you mean it.”
Lark straightened her spine.
“That’s it. Show no weakness.” Cerise gripped her hand, and they stepped onto the dock in unison.
William picked up their bags and followed. Richard strode next to him on long legs. He walked with a light step and good balance. A sword fighter, William decided.
“My name is Richard Mar. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Like someone had plucked the man out of the Weird and dropped him into the Edge, with all his manners intact. Except bluebloods didn’t wear black jeans.
William raised his chin a slight fraction, channeling Declan. “William Sandine.”
“Lord Sandine?” Richard asked.
Go figure. He must be doing better than he thought with his disguise. “Occasionally. When it suits me.”
“I hate to pry, but how did you and Cerise meet?”
“Something tells me you love to pry.”
Richard permitted himself a small spare smile.
Cerise turned around. “We got stranded together coming in from the Broken. He’s here to hunt the Hand.”
Richard’s expression remained polite but impassive. “Oh?”
“He saved Urow,” she said.
No change. “What happened?”
“The Hand shot him with a copper harpoon.”
A flicker of fury shot through Richard’s eyes. William filed it away. The man had a temper.
“I see,” Richard said. “So you’re our guest and ally, then, Lord Sandine?”
“Just William will do, and yes.”
“Welcome to the Rathole. A word of caution, William. If you betray us, we will murder you.”
Ha! “I’ll take it under advisement.”
“A couple of days in our company and you may view it as the superior option.” Richard regarded him with his dark eyes and turned to Cerise. “The papers?”
“I have them.”
An adolescent boy came riding down the road, leading three horses.
Cerise wrinkled her nose. “What are the horses for? We’re just going to the house to wash.”
“You don’t have the time,” Richard said.
“I’m covered in mud and blood.”
“It will have to wait, cousin. Dobe moved the court date.”
Cerise blinked a couple of times. “How much time do we have?”
Richard glanced at his wrist. He wore a G-Shock, a durable plastic watch. William had bought one for himself in the Broken. The watch didn’t look too good, but it was shockproof and waterproof and it was precise. For all of his blueblood airs, Richard was practical, and Mars made frequent trips to the Broken.
“Fifty-two minutes,” Richard said.
Cerise raised her head to the sky and swore.
WILLIAM had seen some piece-of-shit towns in his lifetime, but Angel Roost took the cake. It consisted of a long muddy street, flanked by about a dozen houses and terminating in what Cerise kindly termed “a square,” a clearing about the size of a hockey field. On one side of the clearing sat a two-story structure with the sign HOUSE OF WORSHIP. On the other side rose a long rectangular box of a building, put together with giant cypress logs and graced with an even bigger sign that read HOUSE OF COURT. Its barn-style doors stood wide open and a steady stream of people made their way inside.
“This is the town?” William murmured to Cerise.
“The county seat,” she said.
He blinked.
“We decided we didn’t want Sicktree telling us what to do, so we formed our own county. Our own judge, militia, and everything.”
William pretended to look around.
“What are you looking for?” Cerise asked.
“The one horse that all of you share.”
She snickered like a kid. William preened. She thought he was funny.
Richard was frowning.
“He’s implying this is a one-horse town,” Cerise told him.
Richard raised his eyes to the sky briefly.
“Are you appealing to your grandparents as well?” William asked.
Richard sighed. “To my dead father, actually. He sees it fit to put me through all sorts of foolishness lately.”
They dismounted before the courthouse, tied their horses to the rail, and joined the crowd filtering into the building. Dozens of scents swirled in the wind, assaulting William’s nose. His ears caught bits and pieces of broken conversations. People edged too close to him, trying to make it through the doors.
A nervous giddiness squirmed through him. Crowds were dangerous and exciting, and usually he made it a point to stay away from them.
Keep a lid on it,
he told himself. He had to get through this court thing, and then he’d be home free.
“We’re a bit provincial. Nothing ever happens here,” Richard said. “A court hearing is a big event.” He smiled.
Cerise smiled back.
“Did I miss a joke?” William asked.
“We’re going into battle smiling,” Richard said.
“To show that we aren’t worried,” Cerise added. “The Mire is watching and here reputation is everything.”
William leaned to her. She smelled like mud, but he caught a mere whiff of her real scent underneath and it made him want her. “Are you worried?”
“If I didn’t have to smile, I’d be pulling my hair out with both hands,” she said softly.
“Don’t. You have pretty hair, and it will take a long time to grow back.”
Her eyes sparkled, and she bit her lip, obviously trying not to laugh.
Inside the air proved colder than on the street. A fresh pine scent floated on the draft. Several pine saplings grew from barrels set in the corners. Opaque lamps hung from the ceiling on long chains. As they made their way through the crowded aisle, the lights came on in yellow electric glory.
William looked at Cerise.
“We have a power plant,” she said. “It runs on peat.”
This had to be some sort of human joke he didn’t get.
She looked at his face and grinned. “Seriously. Peat burns really well once you dry it. We heat the house with it.”
That had to be the craziest thing he’d heard. At some point they must’ve looked around and said,
“Hey, what do we have a shitload of?”
“Mud! It’s cold and wet. I know, let’s burn it!”
“Well, it ain’t good for nothing else.”
What the hell? He supposed if fish could have legs, then mud could burn. Spider or no Spider, if their cats started flying, he would be out of here like a rocket.
Cerise took a seat in the front row, behind a table. Richard stopped by the row directly behind her and offered him a seat with a short bow. “Please.”
William sat. The other side of the courtroom had an identical table. The accused’s side, he guessed. Past the two tables, a raised platform supported the judge’s desk and chair. Two small lecterns, one for the plaintiff and the other for the defendant, faced the judge. The arrangement was familiar enough. He’d gotten intimately accustomed with the way courts were laid out at his court martial.
His memory served up another courtroom, a much larger sterile chamber he’d viewed through the bars of his cage. They had locked him up like an animal at the court martial. Even his advocate took care to stand outside of his reach. William recalled being pissed off about it at the time. Looking back, it might have been for the best. He’d been bitter and so full of pain, he didn’t care whom he hurt.
He caught Cerise looking at him and pulled himself back to the present.
A gray-haired woman, wizened like a dry apricot, slipped into a chair to William’s left and smiled at him. Her small black eyes sat like two pieces of shiny coal on her wrinkled face. Barely over four feet tall, she had to be pushing a hundred at least—some Edgers lived as long as people in the Weird.
Richard leaned forward an inch. “Grandmother Az, this is William. He’s a friend of Cerise.”
William bowed his head. Older people had to be treated with respect. “Honored, my lady.”
Grandmother Az raised a tiny hand. Her fingers grazed his hair. A spark of magic shot through William. He recoiled.
“Such a polite puppy you are,” Grandmother Az murmured softly and petted his arm. “You can sit by me anytime.”
She’d made him. Alarm shot through William. He opened his mouth.
Cerise turned in her chair. “Hi, Grandma.”
“There you are, sweetie.” Grandmother Az reached over and petted Cerise’s hand. “Your friend is a very nice boy.”
Cerise smiled. “I’m not sure about that ...” She surveyed the building. “Half the county showed up to see us lose.”
“I was just telling William that our court hearings are our entertainment,” Richard said.
“It’s not that bad.” Grandmother Az snorted. “You should see the funerals. All those old geezers, glad they aren’t dead themselves, gloating over the poor deceased. When I die, I want you to burn me.”
Cerise rolled her eyes. “Here we go.”
“Why burn?” William asked.
“So they can make a big bonfire and get drunk,” the old woman said. “Hard to sit there moping with a big fire going.”
A tall blonde entered the room, wearing a yellow sash that marked her as an advocate. Two men followed her, carrying papers. She was lean and long-legged, with a graceful neck and nice ankles, and William took a minute to watch her come down the aisle. She looked high-strung and difficult. Still, good legs.
Mmm, smelled of mimosa, too. Expensive scent. Cerise smelled better, when clean.