The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (9 page)

Offra went back to work.

---

Perrin knew what was going on. In the
village. At home. In the fort. In his tower. Among his men.

He just had no power to prevent any of it.
Like the land tremor that struck, he could do nothing to stop it.
All he could do was clench every muscle and wait to ride it
out.

Because he had no power.

He was helpless.

He barely was.

---

The next morning a messenger arrived at the
tower, and Thorne took the folded parchment from him.

“
The colonel is
indisposed,” he informed the small man in red. “As second in
command, I can take care of this. I see it’s in Chairman Mal’s
handwriting.
You
may not have realized that. But I know his
writing, since I’ve have dinner with him many times—”

“
It
also
bears the
official stamp of the Administrators and Chairman Mal on it.” The
messenger tapped a finger on the oval stamp and sneered at the
captain before he headed down the tower stairs.

“
Well of course every
document has the official mark of the Administrators,” Thorne
murmured as he broke open the wax seal. He scowled as he read the
message, realizing that this wasn’t a problem that he caused, but
one that he was required to help fix.

Lieutenant Radan, who increasingly popped up
when the captain least expected it, came up the stairs.
“Sirrr—”

Thorne had noticed how Radan dragged out that
word longer than necessary, as if trying to prove just how much
devotion he had. Instead he sounded like a slurring snake.
Nevertheless, Lemuel had been hoping for someone just like him.

“—
I noticed the
Administrators’ messenger leave. Did he bring us anything
interesting?”

Lemuel didn’t like Radan, whose elongated
nose and dark brown spiky hair resembled a gawking rat, but the man
was more eager to make a name for himself than any of the other
soldiers.

Lemuel waved the parchment. “Announcements
are coming tomorrow, and the fort is to present them at the
amphitheater in the evening. The Administrator of Taxation has
decreed what Edge has to repay for all of the food they took. Or
rather, that Shin took,” he added in slight annoyance.

“
How bad is it?” Radan
folded his arms.

“
The amounts seem high.
Payment ‘with interest’ he’s calling it. Need to send back more
than was received.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s up to us to present
this in a way that Edgers won’t be upset.”

Radan puffed up his average chest, likely
trying to appear as defined as Lemuel. “Well sirrr, that sounds
exactly like a job for someone as capable as you.”

Lemuel recognized sniveling talk-ups when he
met them. Radan was slightly subordinate, likely hoping to leapfrog
over his superiors into a higher position. Lemuel would use Radan
as well as the lieutenant intended to use the captain.

“
Thank you, Radan,” Thorne
said with a slim smile. “I appreciate your support. We can use this
opportunity to demonstrate to the village what quality of new
officers have come to Edge.”

“
What will we say,
sirrr?”

Thorne noticed how Radan had slipped himself
into that spot on the platform, to be by the captain’s side in full
view of the village. It was the posturing game, learned at Command
School. There were no official courses taught in it, but the only
way to get somewhere was to force yourself there, shoving others
out of the way.

Sure, Lemuel thought. Let him. Should things
go wrong, I’ll need someone to take the blame.

“
We need to run this by the
colonel, first,” Thorne reminded.

“
Of course, sirrr,” Radan
back-stepped. “Naturally, we need the commander’s opinion on
everything—”

But Thorne was already gently knocking on the
colonel’s door. He heard a grunting sound, and something shuffling
on a desk before a muddled, “Come in?” reached his ears.

Asleep again, Lemuel thought with irritation.
How can he command when he’s always napping? Good thing I’m here .
. .

He opened the door. “Colonel, we’ve received
word from Idumea about the repayment structure.”

Shin, bleary-eyed, said, “What are you going
on about?”

Thorne took a step closer to the desk,
holding out the parchment.

Shin didn’t take it, but continued to rub his
cheeks which had the effect of pulling down his eyelids and making
his eyes appear even more bloodshot.

Thorne cleared his throat, hoping that might
help wake up the colonel. “Administrator Iris has sent a list of
what Edge needs to return in Harvest to make up for the amounts you
brought back with your caravan.”

“
Grain, right?”

“
Sir, Iris is willing to
accept a number of goods—he’s sending a list—in proportion to the
weight of what you took. Grain, but also fruits, vegetables, even
beef, pork, and mutton on the hoof.”

Shin now rubbed his temples, and Thorne
noticed the commander was in need of a haircut. “All right. What’s
to be done?”

Lemuel smiled internally. “
We
present
the list tomorrow night, then create a plan for the village to
fulfill the amounts. Iris was under the impression that last season
you already had a plan?”

Shin merely grunted. “Maybe. Have to check.”
He gestured lazily to a messy stack of notes on a shelf.

No plan would be forthcoming, Thorne noted.
But it was an excellent opportunity for an up-and-coming captain.
He leaned carefully on to the desk. “Sir, I’d appreciate the
opportunity to demonstrate my abilities and knowledge by
appropriating this duty—”

“
Captain,” Shin
interrupted, waving his hand as if coming off a bad batch of mead,
“less garrison-speak, more making-sense-speak. We’re miles away
from Idumea. Quit talking like them.”

Lemuel stood up, a bit put out. They taught
an entire class in how to speak army, and he’d scored higher than
anyone else.

“
Sir, let me be in charge
of the taxation amounts,” he got straight to the point. “Gathering
it, sending it—”

“
With Zenos,” Shin said,
leaning back in his chair and hazily focusing on some distant
point. “He knows things. Ask his advice.”

Lemuel was about to say he didn’t need
Zenos’s advice, but sensing the colonel didn’t want to talk
anymore, he merely nodded. “Thank you, sir,” and shut the door
behind him.

Radan’s nose was twitching in anticipation.
“So it’s all ours?”

Thorne nodded once. “Yes, it’s all
mine
. You may
assist
.” If anything went wrong, he’d
need a lackey.

Radan was practically salivating. “I thought
I heard Shin mention something about Zenos?”

Thorne shook his head. “Amphitheater work is
for officers. The enlisted men are for cleaning up after us.”

---

After dinner Perrin sat dully on the sofa,
staring at nothing. But in his head floated bits and pieces of
something that exploded, and occasionally he tried to puzzle them
back together, unsuccessfully.

Because there were the nights where sleep
came so deep and heavy that Perrin felt a glimmer of hope again.
The gory images would be interrupted by a recurring dream of a
young face looking up at him, leaning against his knee, while many
others sat behind him, listening. He’s telling Perrin a story that
makes him laugh.

That was the only time he ever laughed now.
Those were the mornings he could talk to his family, and almost see
clearly enough to realize that the captain was subtly undermining,
that the soldiers were wary of both the captain and the colonel,
and that old Beneff was about as useful as a third earlobe.

And then there were
other
nights, when
the dreams would come too intensely for that little face to stop it
all. Instead, he’d wake up to see the terrified expressions of his
wife and children, and Shem.

It was always the day after those nights that
Rector Yung stood at his front door, holding his battered hat in
his hands, and smiling with tentative confidence that this time
Perrin would let him in.

Like tonight.

There was knocking at the door, and Perrin
knew the pattern: slightly hesitant yet completely optimistic.

Reluctantly, he stood up and opened the door
for the tiny man. He knew the rector wanted to come in, but
wouldn’t let him in. He couldn’t.

Something about Yung frightened him, as if
the Creator himself stood at the door, wanting a reason for
Perrin’s erratic behavior, wanting to know why he had no faith in
Him.

Or maybe, Perrin was worried that Rector Yung
was his last resort to dig out of the pit, but he wouldn’t have a
solution. And if the rector couldn’t help, then there truly was no
more hope—

“
Colonel Shin! So good to
see you again. May I have five minutes—”

It may have seemed illogical to slam the door
in Yung’s face, but in the churning rationality of Perrin’s mind,
it was the only reasonable thing to do.

He ignored Mahrree’s questioning look as she
came out of the kitchen to see who was at the door. Instead he
plopped down again on the sofa and stared into a corner.

He was trapped in that barn in Edge, without
wings or a prayer.

---

The sergeant in charge of stables stopped
abruptly on his way to the barns after midday meal. It wasn’t every
day that each of his one hundred horses were outside the stables,
instead of
in
them.

“
What’s going on out here?”
he demanded of the lines of sheepish privates holding multiple
reins of horses.

“
Rearrangements,” Captain
Thorne’s voice startled him. “These creatures were placed in there
willy-nilly—”

“
Based on temperament!” the
sergeant snapped.

“
Now it’s based on color,
size, and gender.”

“
Why?!”

“
Because it’s
better.”

“
But Karna—”

“
Karna’s no longer here,
Staff Sergeant. Oh, and I changed our feed supplier.”

The staff sergeant spluttered until he could
spit out, “But sir, Karna and Shin worked out something with that
old widower. He supplies us to help take care of his ill
daughter.”

“
Has anyone
seen
this ill daughter? That’s what I thought. We do things my way now.
And I’m not Karna.”

As the captain strode away, the sergeant
mumbled, “I see that.”

---

“
Ah, Cook,” Captain Thorne
said as he peered into the big pot. “Stew, is it? And I see I’m
here in just in time.”

The cook eyed him warily, not used to seeing
an officer in his kitchen. “Actually, it won’t be ready for several
more hours—”

“
Yes, I know. I mean that
I’m here in time to order you to add mushrooms.”

“
Mushrooms! That’s
completely wrong—”

“
Mushrooms are necessary,
Cook. They spring from the ground, sturdy and pliant, and eating
them will ensure the soldiers are too.”

“
Actually, sir, mushrooms
are rather delicate—Hey! You can’t put those in there—”

“
I just did, Cook. I want
to see mushrooms at every dinner.”

“
Colonel Shin hates
mushrooms!”

“
And how often does he eat
dinner here? That’s what I thought.”

---

Every afternoon Perrin sat at the command
desk dully going through needless paperwork. He didn’t know how
long he’d been staring at the pages when he heard a knock at the
door. “Come in.”

The door quietly creaked open.

“
Master Sergeant. What can
I do for you?”

Shem held up a dark blue bag. “Mail. You look
a bit rested after your nap, so . . . ready to go through it?”

Perrin sighed and sat back in his chair.
“Will you take the Idumean rubbish today?”

Shem smiled. “Of course. Let’s see what’s
been sent our way.” He set down the bag and pulled out a large
bound set of papers. “Smells like manure, so it must be from
Idumea. What have you got?” he asked as Perrin pull out several
folded parchments.

Perrin frowned. “I don’t know. Seems to be .
. . six of them, addressed to me.”

“
Open one.”

Perrin swallowed and hesitated.

“
Perrin,” Shem said
quietly. He rarely used his first name in the tower, except for
times like this. “I feel confident they are safe. If you want, I’ll
open them first—”

“
No,” the colonel cut him
off with a rigid laugh. “Little bits of paper can’t do anything.
Well now,” he said, breaking the plain seal, “what have we here?”
He read quietly, aware that his friend was watching him.

“
What is it?”

Perrin’s mouth went dry. “I’m not sure how to
categorize it.”

“
Read it to me.”

“
It says, ‘
Colonel Shin.
You probably don’t remember me, but my father owns the Stables at
Pools. I was very sorry to hear about the High General and Mrs.
Shin. Your father came here frequently to choose horses, and was
always very kind to me. He told me that he expected great things of
me, and I’ve always taken that to heart. I was so sad to hear about
their passing, and I feel really bad for you. I just wanted you to
know that. I will miss them, and I hope you’ll be all right.
Signed, Roak.
’”