“I was a tower sentry, once. You learn some basic combat, the kind of training those brats wouldn’t get.”
“Well,” she said, settling into his embrace, her golden hair slipping over his chest. “That certainly explains how you can handle a blade so well.”
“Among other things.”
“Lech.” She laughed, nudging him in the ribs. “You make a great hero. All you need is a white cuirass.”
“And custom gauntlets,” he said, wriggling his twisted fingers.
She grabbed his crippled hand and kissed it. He closed his eyes, drinking in the warmth and attention his body had all but forgotten over the years. He squeezed her hand. Dale knew a scam when he saw it, and he was clearly seeing one now, in the most beautiful face he had ever seen. The flicker of lamplight danced in her dark eyes.
Oh yeah
, he thought.
Way too good to be true.
That didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to make the most of it. It wasn’t like those bandits were waiting for him outside the tent. What the hell would they even steal? He was penniless, ugly, and crippled.
It was almost adorable just how staged the entire thing was.
Now they lay together in the bunk that she had paid for with her own money.
What sort of girl arrives in Lassimir of all places, looking beautiful and loaded with coin?
He shoved the thought aside just as he had ignored every other question that sprouted like dandelions in the back of his brain. He wasn’t exactly in a thinking mood.
“How does a girl like you get by the lookouts,” he said, stroking her hair.
“I was scared,” she said in a small voice. “They listened to my plea. It wasn’t hard. And it wasn’t like I pose any sort of threat. You think I bribed them?”
“No,” he said, shushing her. “No, not at all. It’s just that you do stand out.”
She clung to him as he inhaled the sweetness of her hair.
“Maybe that’s why I found you,” she said. “We both stand out.”
He went still. “Yeah, I do make an impression,” said Dale, waving the broken limb.
“Oh.” she said. “No. No not like that. You stand out… I mean… I just knew there was something about you. You seemed like the only person in this city I could trust. And I was terrified.”
He relaxed a little.
The world became still and soft for an endless, perfect moment.
She’s half my age
, he thought.
Christ, maybe I am a lech
.
“Well, I suppose I do have a certain stoic quality,” he joked, admiring his other hand casually.
“You do.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
Honey, you don’t know me from the idiots you paid to chase you.
“You said you used to be a sentry?” she asked. “It shows. That must have been scary.”
“
Naw
,” he said, stretching his arms above his head. “It’s actually pretty boring.”
“Is that why you don’t do it anymore?”
In response, Dale again flashed his crooked arm.
She went “Oh” in a small voice.
“It’s okay,” said Dale. “I know it’s easy to forget about when I make up for it in personality and charm.”
“Did you ever have to shoot anyone?” she asked, missing the sarcasm completely.
“I did. Once.”
“What happened?”
“We had a ship approach that wouldn’t signal back, a small single person raft, overloaded with people, way too many. I flashed the lamp at them twice… three is the limit. After three you open fire, so that’s what I did. The rules are fairly simple.”
As it turned out, they were refugees from Arist. There were so many bodies… parts of bodies. That part was worth omitting, he decided.
He also didn’t tell her about the discovery later that evening, how he had repaired the broken signal lamp before anyone noticed.
“Cannons do a lot of damage,” he said, staring at nothing.
She kissed him. This time he almost believed she meant it.
They left the tent and found themselves on the trail leading to The Hungry Skunk. They talked about the stars, the trees—apparently there weren’t a variety of trees in Bollingbrook—Dale pointed out the various species that he knew.
It felt good. He felt brave and smart. She made him feel all the ways he hadn’t felt in a lifetime. He had a few coins in his pocket. At the very least, he could buy her a drink.
*
Skyla happened to be looking at the door when Dale and the girl came into the pub. The girl locked eyes with her, and Skyla felt a sharp stab of fear shoot down her neck.
The girl was from Bollingbrook. Her name was Sarah Wilcox. Skyla remembered her from church, the day that woman died. The girl gave only the slightest hint of recognition, a faint light flashing across her face for only an instant. Then the girl sat down at the bar next to Dale. She laughed, clinging to Dale as if the two had just eloped.
Marley’s voice broke Skyla out of her trance.
“I need you to clean up in the corner,” he said, muttering. “Someone over-drank… sorry.”
She saluted and went to grab the bucket. It must have been hours and a dozen conversations later, but the next time Skyla glanced at the bar, the two of them were gone.
When she told Marley, he shrugged it off as he often did with her concerns.
“I’m sure it’s just your imagination,” he said, latching the front door for the night. “Besides, you said that you were running from something. Who isn’t when they come here?”
“I know,” she said, looking at nothing in particular. “It’s just that… well I knew her. I mean she went to my church. Her family wasn’t bad off, if you know what I mean.”
Skyla rubbed an invisible coin between her thumb and finger.
“Yeah, but you were pretty poor,” Marley said. “I’m sure what they had, might have looked like a lot of money…”
She shrugged. “Some of her family was Holy Guard. They don’t take the poor.”
“Bah,” Marley waved his hand. “You can talk to her the next time she comes by on Dale’s arm. I’m sure she’s got some skeleton in the closet you don’t know about.”
Of that, Skyla had no doubt.
Chapter 16
“Father?” It was Julian. “There is a man who says he has a confession.”
John looked at his watch. “Tell him I’ll be out shortly,” he said. “He can wait in the booth for me. I won’t be long.”
“Father… is everything alright?”
The look on Julian’s face brought him out of his sulking. He cleared his throat. “Yes... I’m fine. It’s been a trying week. I’ll be right there.”
Julian nodded and vanished out the door. John turned and looked back at the figure hanging from a cross on his wall.
I feel like a ticket vendor to Heaven,
he thought.
The wilted figure on the cross said nothing. He only stared.
The chapel was empty except for a prospector’s backpack, complete with tin cups and rope. The barrel of a gun poked just out the top of the flap. John frowned.
It’s going to be one of those confessions
, he thought.
He could hear the man shifting uncomfortably inside the booth. John stepped into his tiny room and closed the door behind him. He pulled a small handle on the connecting wall and a wood panel slid back revealing the abstract shape of a man.
He said nothing. John cleared his throat.
“I understand you have a confession, my son.”
“Are you a priest?” the man asked, gruff and impatient.
“I am,” he said and waited.
The man was silent, his foot shuffled on the floorboards.
“Normally,” Father Thomas said. “You would start with a prayer and tell me how long it has been since your last confession.”
The man cleared his throat. “I’ve… never been to confession, Father.”
“Go ahead, my son,” he said. “What is your sin?”
Again the man was silent.
I’m glad I had breakfast already
, thought John.
This is going to be all morning.
“Father,” the man began. “I am not here to confess a sin, but… I believe I may have been responsible for a death, even if I have not committed the murder myself. I am a stranger to this city… I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“I see,” said John. He leaned against the wooden wall.
“Is it true that anything said here is confidential?”
“Within reason, yes,” Father Thomas said.
There was more nervous shuffling from the other booth. The man let out a sigh.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” said Father Thomas.
“I live on the outskirts of The Wilds, Father, North of Lassimir by about ten miles. Until a few weeks ago I never had a visitor…”
The man began to spin his tale of a young girl, in a Bollingbrook school uniform who came into his house. He told the story of how he had let her stay one night but then sent her out into the wilderness without so much as a meal. As the story unfolded, John began to feel his pulse quicken. Warmth flooded his cheeks and he had to clench a fist to keep from pounding at the wall.
It had to have been Skyla. She had found a place to stay, and you just cast her off like a bad penny
.
The story drifted into the strange, as the man recounted the nightmares, the shadows in his dreams, the insomnia. Horror began to creep into the conversation at the discovery of a young girl’s corpse in a pocket of runoff water outside the city walls.
The man fell silent for a moment and John took the opportunity to speak.
“This girl,” John asked. “Do you remember her name?”
When he heard Skyla’s name, John slammed the wooden slat shut and tumbled, gasping out of the booth door. He stood bent over with his hands on his hips, taking slow controlled breaths.
“Father?” A muffled voice came from behind the other man’s door.
“One moment… I’m sorry.” Regaining his composure, John crawled back into the claustrophobic cubicle and opened the slat again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was rude of me. I needed air. You say her name was Skyla.”
“Yes, that’s right,” the man said, his voice wavering.
“You think you might have found her?“ He rubbed damp palms on the cushion of the bench.
“Look,” the man said, “I… I just wanted to know if she lived in Bollingbrook or not. Maybe she returned here. I simply wanted to confirm whether it could have been her… for my own conscience. I’m sure your authorities would want to know.” He stood, opening the door. “I’ll leave you now. Thank you for your time.”
John flung open his door and stumbled out to meet him. The man was taller than he, barrel-chested with a thick black beard and dark, wary eyes.
“Wait,” John blurted out. “Please, don’t go.”