Chapter 5
Iwaited in the market’s shadows until Peter was long gone and the sun was beginning to set, then began tracking him through the woods.
His footsteps were easy to follow; it wasn’t a well-traveled trail.
I stayed quiet, gently setting each foot down heel to toe and avoiding any sticks on the path, blessing the fact that it was summer.
If it had been autumn, I’d have to contend with the crunching leaves underfoot and less foliage to hide behind.
After almost an hour of walking, Peter’s footsteps vanished. I studied the ground before seeing a few snapped twigs among the brambles to my right, along with a green thread snagged on a tree several paces beyond the trail.
I grinned, tugged my dark cloak’s cowl up to hide my blonde hair, and draped the scrap of fabric over my face that I’d sewn onto the hood so only my eyes were visible in the growing darkness. Now it was going to get fun.
Tracking in the dark was much more difficult than during the day, but I was less likely to be spotted this way. Every few paces, I’d pause, listening and watching for any sort of hint that I was closer, but it was the scent that gave away where Peter was.
The heavenly aroma of some sort of roasting meat reached my nostrils.
Whatever Peter was cooking had to be good.
I tried to ignore how my mouth watered as I crept toward the smell.
Soon, a thin beam of light could be seen from between the trees and I crouched down, moving so slowly and quietly that several birds fluttered down to land near me, unaware or uncaring that I was there.
The ramshackle house that emerged from the darkness was barely holding itself together. The roof had more patches than it did original shingles, and the grimy windows were cracked, with dilapidated shutters hanging from the sills, swinging sadly on the breeze.
Voices floated out of a cracked window. One was Peter’s, playful and boisterous, and the other was gruff and deep. Threadbare curtains hung on the inside of most windows, and when a large figure wrapped in furs passed by one of them, his silhouette momentarily blocked out the light.
That had to be Roderick Vane.
I carefully adjusted into a more comfortable sitting position, one that I could keep for many hours if needed. The last thing I wanted was for my legs to go numb or develop a cramp.
The voices were too far away and muffled for me to pick up on the entire conversation, but I caught enough to know that my suspicions must’ve been correct. Peter had teamed up with Roderick.
I stared at the windows, memorizing how frequently Peter paced the room, which was much more often than Roderick. After several hours, the voices died down, lights were snuffed out, and the derelict building became quiet and still.
I smiled to myself.
All I needed to do was wait for Roderick and Peter to leave, sneak in and grab information about where my sister was being kept, then sneak back out again.
Simple.
I retreated almost all the way back to the main trail, then wrapped up in my cloak and wedged myself into a hollow log. It was just a waiting game now, and I excelled at waiting.
The following morning, I awoke early and snuck back over to the cottage, keeping low to the ground and to the shadows.
Peter also seemed to be an early riser; I saw him leave the cottage to draw water from the well then return some time later, hands wrapped in long strips of fabric, and he practiced some punches on a sack filled with sawdust hanging from a tree.
Several times throughout his practice, he looked around, as if he could sense he was being watched but couldn’t find the culprit, and he eventually went back inside.
Come on, I thought to myself. Leave already.
I couldn’t very well walk up to the front door and knock, pretending to be lost. If I could just get a few hours alone in the cottage, I was sure I’d be able to track down everything I needed.
But the morning dragged on and on, and though I saw shadowy figures moving around inside, none came out.
I blew out a stream of air and shifted slightly to ease some of the stiffness in my calves and thighs, then continued to wait, hunger panging in my stomach. I should’ve brought some dried meat or bread or fruit. It wasn’t late enough in the season to find wild berries yet.
It was late afternoon before Peter finally emerged, and sure enough, he was trailed by Roderick.
I narrowed my eyes at the larger man. So that was the one who’d bought and sold my sister.
A sudden impulse to jump out and attack him surged through me, but I wrestled it down.
I couldn’t kill him, no matter how much I wanted to.
If his records were lost or destroyed, I’d need him alive in order to extract information.
But even though I knew I mustn’t, I couldn’t help my jaw from clenching and glaring as Roderick and Peter, unaware they were being watched, strode past me and headed toward the main road.
Once they were out of sight, I looked back at the door and ground my teeth together.
I had to wait just awhile longer, until I was confident they wouldn’t come back for some time.
Minutes dragged by while the sun continued to push its rays through the tree canopy overhead so I became overly warm still wrapped in my dark cloak, and my stomach gave a growl of protest.
When I finally felt like it was safe to do so, I stood, stretched, and walked toward the house, not troubling to keep my steps quiet. Peter and Roderick would be well out of earshot by now.
I tried the handle and discovered that the door wasn’t even locked.
This was much too easy. Quietly chuckling to myself, I pushed it open and strode inside.
Judging by how derelict the outside had been, I’d expected the inside to be similar, but though it looked worn, it also had a cozy, homey feel to it.
There was a rocking chair with a basket of knitting supplies by the fireplace, a small cookstove, and a table laid with a vase of wilting flowers and three bowls on the table, all with remnants of grits from breakfast lining the edges.
Three bowls?
I tilted my head. There must be another accomplice. It made sense; with how long Roderick had been operating and how recently Peter would have joined, Roderick must’ve had at least one other person under his command.
My stomach gave another snarl and I grabbed one of the apples from the table and bit into it.
It didn’t quite have the crisp texture I was hoping for and tasted a little mealy inside, but it did at least help quiet my stomach.
If only there had been some of whatever meat they’d roasted the day before. That would’ve been more satisfactory.
I threw the apple core into one of the bowls and squatted next to the rocking chair, picking up the half-knitted scarf, which was a faded pink color.
Maybe it was Roderick’s wife or daughter who lived here.
She might be keeping house while Roderick went about whatever underhanded business he had.
My heart squeezed. What if it was one of the female slaves he’d bought?
It might have even been my own sister. Was the woman here right now, needing to be rescued?
“Hello?” I called to the empty house at large, waiting to hear a plea for help, but there was no answer.
If I’d been keeping people prisoner, I’d have kept them tied up and gagged anytime I left to make sure they couldn’t escape or be heard.
“I’m here to help you,” I called out again, doing a quick sweep of the cottage to look for anyone.
There were a couple of beds shoved into the rooms off the living area, a few mismatched pieces of furniture scattered around in no particular order, and every closet was filled with a random assortment of weapons, bottles, and some clothing. But there wasn’t a single other person.
Slightly disappointed but still hopeful, I turned my attention to every nook and cranny, hunting diligently for any sort of file or ledger, anything that would help me locate my sister.
After digging through every closet, I stomped on every floorboard, hoping to hear the hollow noise of a hidden trapdoor.
I knocked on every inch of the walls, listening for a telltale sign of a false panel.
I scoured the house top to bottom, including the old attic, desperate to find anything to aid my search, but came up with nothing.
Lying on a table was a paper that merely read, Dust, Blood, Live.
“Whatever that means,” I muttered under my breath.
Frustrated, I flung myself into a small chair in the corner but leapt up again immediately as it gave an ominous crack.
This couldn’t be Roderick’s safehouse. He wasn’t going to keep important documents in an unlocked building that a child would easily be able to break into.
I chewed on my tongue, thinking hard. If I were Roderick, I’d likely have a situation like the Employer did with Ambrose, keeping my records in a safehouse with a constant guard to oversee and protect them.
The only way to get close to the records would be to get close to Roderick.
I sighed, picked at my cuticles, and bit my nails to make them look less feminine.
I wouldn’t be able to follow Roderick for weeks or months on end without his knowing. This wouldn’t be the simple information extraction mission I’d hoped for. I’d have to go undercover once again. I scratched at the back of my head.
It looked like I’d have to take Peter up on his offer after all. And if I wanted to persuade Peter to let me work with him and Roderick, I needed to bring Peter what he wanted.
Now I just had to find that pixie.