The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (25 page)

“
Why, sirrr?” Radan asked.
“I would think you’d be most eager to get back. Especially
considering what happened this morning with the
colonel.”

Thorne’s head snapped up. “What do you know
about this morning with the colonel?”

Radan frowned. “What everyone knows,
sirrr—the chant of General? I’m sure they heard it down in Idumea!
If not, what a juicy bit of news
you’ll
be able to
deliver.”

Thorne shoulder’s relaxed slightly. “Oh. Oh
that. Yes. They won’t be too happy to hear about that, I assure
you.” His shoulder twitched. “Along with a few other things,” he
mumbled to himself.

“
Such as?”

“
None of your business!”
Thorne snapped. “Slag, Radan—what do you want from me,
anyway?”

The lieutenant rocked back in surprise. “I
just want to
help
, sirrr. It’s you and me holding this fort
together. Everyone knows that.”

Thorne drummed his fingers and looked out
across the soldiers talking, laughing, and
not
interacting
with him. They were afraid and unsure of what he meant to them,
which meant he was becoming the perfect officer.

Until today. He’d noticed Shin changing some
weeks ago. He was far more alert, no longer napped, but was walking
and talking among his men, and even laughing with them.

And then,
today
. All of which was
completely unexpected.

First was the message from his father that he
anticipated hearing news about Lemuel’s engagement to the daughter
of a certain colonel. Then there was the show of solidarity for
Shin at the amphitheater, followed by the
discussion
in the
command office . . .

Apparently some officers do believe their
daughters.

Everything Lemuel had been doing was
unraveling, and he’d have to report all of that to his father.

Edge was a far safer place than Idumea right
now.

“
No one appreciates what we
do,” Thorne brooded. “But I’ll find out what we do
next.”

There was nothing that he dreaded more than
that.

Chapter 10
~
“Tell me everything you know about
Moorland.”

T
wo men sat in the
dark office of an unlit building.

“
Do you realize what this
MEANS?” Mal shouted.

“
Nicko, I think you may be
overreact—”

“
OVERREACTING? To thousands
crying for General Shin? The chant’s being taken up all over the
world! Keeping him confined to Edge hasn’t slowed support for
him—it’s getting stronger!”

The good doctor held up his hand in a vain
attempt to calm his companion whose veins bulged in six places. It
was a good idea that Brisack brought his heart medications, because
Mal’s would be bursting out of his chest in about five minutes.
“Now, now, I think you’re reading far too much into this—”

“
How can you be so
relaxed?” Mal bellowed. “Don’t you see the pattern? What happened
the
last
time the citizens became enthralled with a man they
thought would deliver them to some different end?”

Brisack smiled cautiously. “They cleared the
way for you to be installed, Nicko.”

“
Precisely, Doctor! People
are no better than sheep—they’ll follow anything that moves,
despite the care given them for the past twenty years. They’re too
stupid to realize what they dumbly follow. Well I’ll not have it!
He will NOT steal my flock! I’ll not sit by while
King
Perrin
builds himself a throne in Edge!”

“
Flock of dumb sheep,” said
Brisack thoughtfully. “Intriguing comparison, albeit inappropriate.
I think you’re confusing sheep with ducklings. But I can’t help but
wonder—
why
are they shifting their devotion?”

“
Because he answered their
inane little letters!” Mal snapped.

“
He doesn’t have a Letter
Skimmer service? Personalized attention?” Occasionally Brisack felt
the need to practice his sarcasm.

Mal wasn’t impressed. “I’ve got proof,” he
said, standing up. He made his way over to a desk and picked up a
small piece of paper. “When I first heard that Shin was responding
to regular people’s mail, I had one of the reception area recorders
write him a letter. A couple of days ago, he received this.”

Brisack held the letter to catch the faint
light coming from the stables. “Clever, Nicko. Information
gathering from the very source. This doesn’t look like an adult’s
handwriting.”

“
It’s not,” Mal fumed. “It
was written by his son! Horrible penmanship, too, considering his
mother is a teacher.”

Brisack scoffed. “Penmanship has nothing to
do with intelligence, and everything to do with conformity. The
more complicit the hand, the more timid the mind. That’s why much
of the younger generation writes identically. Let’s see . . .
‘Dear Merk: Because my Father is overwhelmed with letters, he’s
dictating responses to me and my family’
—Well, can’t excuse the
atrocious grammar right there, especially for a boy of nearly
fifteen.
‘My father thanks you for your concern for our family
and wishes you well. He also offers this advice: You live in
Idumea? Get out!
Ha-ha.’
”

Brisack pursed his lips in an effort to
suppress his guffaw, but part of it leaked out anyway.

“
Yes. Ha-ha,” Mal said
flatly. “That’s why we don’t employ teenagers as letter
skimmers.”

“
It’s . . . it’s . . .”
Brisack shrugged, his face still contorting, “certainly
authentic
.
Seems he has quite a bit to say.
‘Just
kidding, Merk. My father didn’t say to write that, but I’m certain
he agrees. See the signature of his below? He put that there before
I finished the letter. If he ever finds out what I’m writing, he
won’t make that mistake again. I’m just now filling up extra space.
Anyway, thanks for the letter! Perrin Shin. I’m working on
imitating his signature. How does this look? Perrin Shin. Yeah, it
still needs work before I can attempt to requisition anything from
the garrison. Do you want anything? I can try to copy his signature
to requisition you a nice horse so you escape from Idumea. Let me
know. Peto Shin.’
”

The good doctor rubbed his mouth vigorously
with his hand, trying to eliminate the laugh.

“
Go ahead,” Mal grumbled.
“All the recorders laughed before I confiscated it. They thought
the boy was both cocky and charming. No wonder everyone writes to
his father. They want to see what he’ll let his bratty son get away
with next.”

“
He could deplete the
garrison, requisition it all away!” Brisack couldn’t help but add
with a chuckle. “Now I wished I’d spent a few moments speaking with
the boy at The Dinner last year. Didn’t realize he was so . . .
independent.”

“
All of them are
independent,” Mal seethed. “And that, my good doctor, is why
they’re so dangerous! What about your project in the north? Is it
ready? Because if it’s not, then we’re going back to my original
plan of eliminating Mr. Independent!”

Brisack’s chuckle died. “It’s nearly ready.
We should’ve recruited some men with minds a bit brighter than
midnight, but if I go up there myself, I’m confident that I can
refine the mixture in a matter of days. Don’t worry—all of this is
still in our control.”

“
You still believe that?
It’s completely
out
of control!”

“
No, no, Nicko. This is
what politics is about, right? We help the people discover the
threat to their security, then we provide them with a solution.
Granted, in the past we
created
the threat that sent them
scurrying to us for help, but I’m still convinced we can turn this
to our advantage. Another threat has merely revealed itself all on
its own. Now,” Brisack continued with a smile that tried to suggest
confidence, “it’s a little early in the season for fishing, but
then again, I suppose it’s
always
a good day to go fishing,
and I haven’t yet taken Shin up on his offer to check the rivers in
the north—”

“
Brisack!”

He leaned over to Chairman Mal. “Relax,
Nicko. When I’m finished no one will be chanting General Shin—or
even
thinking
King Perrin—ever again.”

---

It was Sewzi Briter who first noticed the
colonel approaching the house after dinner.

Her husband noticed next, because his wife
was making a panicked gurgling noise. Cambozola rushed to her at
the kitchen sink, then realized that it wasn’t a dried pea she was
gagging on but her terror of the colonel who she spied in the gap
between her yellow curtains.

Cambozola patted his wife. “He’s been a lot
calmer lately. At the Remembrance Ceremony he was quite . . .
impressive.”

“
Yes,” his wife whimpered,
eyeing the sword strapped to the colonel’s side. “I remember.
What’s he doing?”

Cambozola tilted his head to better see the
colonel in the gap, who had paused a few feet before their door.
“Well, if I had to guess, I would say he’s . . . practicing
smiling? Who practices smiling? Oh, there’s a different kind. And
another one. How odd. What kind of man has different smiles? Oh, I
do
believe he’s settled on one. And now he’s got it pretty
well fixed—”

His wife leaned away from the window. “We
shouldn’t be watching him like this!”

“
Why not?” Cambozola
grinned. “He’s good entertainment.”

There was a loud knocking at the door.

Sewzi clenched her teeth.

“
Remember, Sewzi, he’s
Jaytsy’s father. He can’t be all bad. And he just figured out how
to smile!”

Her husband’s reassurances didn’t help, and
Sewzi anxiously twisted the dish rag in her hands.

Cambozola steeled himself and swung open the
door. “Sir! Good to see you. Something I can help you with?”

“
Actually, yes,” Colonel
Shin said, still with his smile that tried to be friendly yet
contrite. He aimed it straight at Sewzi.

She pursed her lips and nodded once at him,
the best acknowledgement she could muster.

Shin turned to Cambozola. “Briter, I’m
looking for some help. May I come in?” he asked, almost
nervously.

“
Of course! Of course!”
Cambozola said, holding out his arm to the kitchen table. “We were
just about to have some pie.”

“
Oh, I didn’t mean to
interrupt,” Shin said, sounding genuinely apologetic as he stepped
into the house. The kitchen shrunk in proportion to his stature,
and Sewzi fought the urge to scuttle back into a corner to be out
of his way. “Especially pie. The best conversations happen around
pie. Pie’s sacred.”

Sewzi looked into his dark eyes—just like
Jaytsy’s—and something twinkled back at her.

Feeling a bit safer, Sewzi found her voice.
“I think my husband was trying to offer you some, sir. If you’d
like to join us?”

Shin’s smile changed yet again, becoming more
gentle. “As I said, pie’s sacred, and I’ve done nothing to deserve
pie. I made wrong assumptions about you when you first arrived, and
my treatment of you this past year hasn’t exactly been pie-worthy.
For that, I’m very sorry.”

Sewzi couldn’t help but smile in
response.

Her husband chuckled softly. “Ah, but you
have, Colonel. At the Remembrance Ceremony, the third name you read
was my mother’s. Yenali Briter. No one here knew her, or her love
of goats, or of knitting, or of knitting goat hair.
Or
her
ability to make a most wonderful raspberry pie, for which you’ll
have to wait for a few moons. But you, Colonel, were the first to
speak her name in Edge. And that, sir, is pie-worthy.”

To the Briters’ surprise, the colonel’s eyes
became shiny. “I just hope we didn’t miss anyone. I sent out
inquiries and asked around about your mother. I will remember the
name Yenali Briter as if she were my own family. And I also wish to
thank you.”

Cambozola grinned magnanimously. “My
goodness,” he said to his wife, “this evening is just filling with
surprises—”

Sewzi tried to subtly smack his arm to shut
him up, which, because the kitchen was small, was a rather obvious
gesture.

But the colonel just continued to smile, and
Sewzi thought she heard a low chuckle rumble up from some
depth.

“
I want to thank you,” he
said, “for your care of my daughter the past few seasons. She’s
loved being here, and your farm was a welcomed sanctuary when she
couldn’t find any at home.”

Sewzi was still terrified of him—and she
suspected she always would be—but the sincerity in his eyes and the
growing emotion in his voice made her almost want to hug the man.
Almost.

“
Sir,” she said instead, “I
love your daughter. She’s an excellent young woman, and her father
definitely deserves a piece of pie.”

Colonel Shin grinned genuinely, and for the
moment Sewzi understood what Mrs. Shin saw in him. He nodded and
sat down at the table.

The Briters exchanged stunned expressions,
and Cambozola sat down next to the colonel as Sewzi retrieved
another plate.

“
So,” Cambozola said
grandly, as if entertaining Chairman Mal himself, “how do you think
I can help you, Colonel?”

The colonel’s gaze sharpened and he leaned on
the table. “Mr. Briter, tell me
everything
you remember
about Moorland.

---

Lemuel left the black coach and strode
smartly up the wide stone stairs of the High General’s mansion. His
grandparents had wanted him there so they could have the honor of
hosting him for his visit back to Idumea.