5. Kit
Kit
D espite my intention to make it to bed that night, I woke the next morning with my face pressed so hard into the couch cushions that they left an imprint on my cheek.
It took a monumental effort to push myself upright.
When I did, the empty whiskey bottle that had been propped against my leg clunked to the floor and rolled under the coffee table.
The thought of bending over to retrieve it made my head hurt, so I left it to settle into its new home while I fought my way to standing.
Clearly, the cheese toast had not been sufficient to stave off a hangover.
The horrors detailed in clinical detachment on the pages of the half-dozen open journals in front of me hadn’t helped either, sparking vivid nightmares that robbed me of much-needed sleep.
As I staggered to the kitchen for water to relieve my cotton mouth, I felt like the alcohol was still working its way out of my system.
It took two full glasses before I could think about breakfast without my stomach churning. Thanks to my shortened shopping trip the day before, I didn’t have much in the pantry, so I scrambled a few eggs and then washed them down with two cups of coffee.
That perked me up enough to start my day in earnest. A peek out the front window found Penny still asleep on the front porch while rain pelted down from dark, angry clouds. Lightning flashed intermittently, chased by deep growls of thunder.
It seemed fitting that the weather was as foul as my mood.
I made it to my bedroom at least eight hours after I’d planned to, where I changed into clean clothes. It would be a wet walk to the forge, but at least the heat there would dry me off.
I was headed for the front hall again when a niggling feeling of guilt tugged at me. If my unwanted guest hadn’t the coin for a room, it was unlikely he had coin for food, either. With a groan, I returned to the kitchen and dug out an apple and the rest of the cheese in its waxed paper wrapping.
“Pushover,” I grumbled to myself, stalking to the front door and opening it as quietly as I could. I set the food beside the lightly snoring Penny and, my guilt soothed, stepped out into the rain.
I spent the morning putting the finishing touches on my knife—a skinning blade that would be useful for more than menacing Penny—between work on paying projects.
There was no one else about. Everyone but me was smart enough to stay in out of the weather, but that suited me just fine; I appreciated the peace, and I always got more work done without interruptions.
The rain continued until midday when the sun broke through the clouds and brought clear skies.
As the afternoon wore on, the market grew livelier, though no one stopped to talk.
I worked until the sun started its descent in the west, ending my day with all outstanding orders complete and ready for delivery the next morning.
With any luck, Penny would be gone by then, back home where he belonged, and I could enjoy a few days off before the next plow blade needed sharpening or I worked up the nerve to venture back to the Bone Men’s hidden settlement. Whichever came first.
I returned to find my porch empty. The fur was folded neatly against the side of the house with the pillow on top.
I brought them inside with me, dropping them on the couch in the den and pointedly avoiding the contents of the coffee table as I passed.
I intended to spend my evening paging through the journals again, but not without at least a pleasant haze of alcohol.
Memories of finishing off my last bottle of whiskey the night before resurfaced, and I blew out a long breath.
If I’d thought of it while I was in town, I could have swung by the pub on my way and picked up another.
But I’d been too distracted wondering if I’d be subjected to another impassioned plea from Penny when I got home to think about anything else.
“Godsdamned Penny,” I muttered and headed back to town.
The pub was bustling when I pushed my way inside, which was all the more reason for me to get my alcohol and go right back home. Too many people in such close quarters made my skin itch.
Winding my way up to the bar, I stopped beside a man with his head laying on the counter and caught the keeper’s attention.
“A bottle to go,” I said, and he turned back to the shelves at the far end of the bar with a nod.
“ You don’t have to go,” came a familiar, though muffled, voice.
The man slumped on the stool next to me turned his head so that his cheek rested on the bar top.
It was Penny, his blond hair a rat’s nest and green eyes struggling to focus on my face.
“ I have to go. I’m out of luck and out of money.
” He sniffed. “But it’s okay. I fail a lot.
Didn’t expect this to go much better than it did. ”
The barkeep plunked my whiskey bottle down, and I handed him a few coins. He shook his head at Penny before crossing to the other end of the bar.
The image of the young man practically poured across the counter, limp and half-asleep, brought a hint of a smile across my lips. “So, you didn’t have money for a room, but you had enough for alcohol?”
Penny huffed a sigh. “I’m drowning my sorrows in the last of my coin.” His eyelids drooped. “Merrick’s right; I only make bad decisions.”
I should have left, but he cut such a pathetic figure that I couldn’t bring myself to walk away. I settled on the stool beside his and wondered about my own decision-making skills.
“Why are you still here?” I asked. “It’s been almost a week. Don’t you have work to do? Surely there are other demands on your time than following people around asking intrusive questions.”
He pushed himself upright, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. “Nope. No work. As my brother is so fond of pointing out, I’m a burden on my family.”
My brows pinched as I studied him. “A burden?” I echoed. “How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-five?”
His boyish features were dotted with freckles, and his eyes were ringed by long, soft lashes. Outside of an occupation or better reason to return home, surely there was at least a girl left behind and missing him.
Penny held up two fingers. “Freshly twenty-two. ”
I uncorked my whiskey and took a long swig. “Well, your brother sounds like an ass.”
Penny turned a thin smile in my direction. “You remind me of him, actually. Reticent. Cranky. Eager to be rid of me.” The smile fell away as he fumbled for his drink. “But don’t judge Merrick too harshly. He has certain… ideals. He’s a very driven man.”
“I know the type,” I said, catching the brief glance he shot me before he gulped from his ale stein. “And you? What sort of man are you ?”
As he stared into the nearly empty mug, something like pain crossed his face. “The kind with more air in his head than sense.”
“Did your brother tell you that, too?”
“Often.”
I sighed and propped an arm on the bar. The last thing I wanted was to feel sorry for the man who had turned up and dragged my old ghosts out into the daylight.
I wanted to go back to the indifference with which I’d first approached him, but I saw too much of myself in him.
We were both desperate to live up to the expectations of someone who would never be satisfied no matter how close we got.
Unable to fit into the molds made for us.
Doubting every action because we were told so often that everything we did was wrong.
“And I remind you of him?” I asked despite knowing I wouldn’t like the answer.
Penny smiled again, a sad sort of thing. “A bit.”
“Flattering.”I took another drink of my whiskey, trying also to swallow my self-deprecating thoughts. “If you’ve no job and your family supports you, what do they do?”
His face scrunched. “They don’t support me. We all support each other in a way. We own a farm.” He hiccupped, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Actually, I own the farm. Father left it to me when he died.”
“And there’s nothing you could be doing there that’s a better use of your time than pestering me?”
His stool wobbled precariously as he shook his head. “Harvest is over. There’s nothing to be done until spring.”
I reached for his mug. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
He snatched it away, stumbled onto his feet, and swung around, colliding with the butcher passing by. Both of their drinks sloshed across the floor. Penny peered up at the taller man who had beer foam clinging to his shaggy mustache and bushy brows drawn over dark eyes.
Oblivious to the other man’s furious glare and rising fist, Penny stammered the beginning of an apology.
I leaped off my own stool, grabbing Penny’s shoulder and pulling him out of the way before the butcher could swing at him. The younger man stumbled against me, and I tucked him under my arm. Some of the anger melted from the butcher’s face when his attention turned to me.
“Sorry about him, Ben,” I said quickly. “Kid can’t hold his alcohol. He didn’t mean any harm.” Fishing a few coppers from my pocket, I held them out. “Let me buy you a new drink.”
The butcher glanced between Penny and me, ignoring my offer. “Yanno he’s been trawlin’ around town askin’ about you all week? Pickin’ around for rumors.”
I sighed. “I’m aware. We’ve had a few… conversations.”
Ben’s brows drew down again. “Kid’s gonna bring trouble, talkin’ like he has been. Runnin’ his mouth about the boogeymen.”
“Don’t worry.” Penny sidled against me with his head poking out from under my arm. “I’m going home. He won’t help me. ”
I tried for a patient smile, but it may have been a grimace. I jingled the coppers again. “For your drink.”
Ben waved the money off and, with a last wary look at Penny, turned back to the bar.
“You’ll get yourself killed before you ever find the Bone Men at this rate,” I muttered, grabbing my whiskey and Penny’s bag from beside his stool and ushering the surprisingly pliant young man to a table in the corner away from listening ears.
I pushed him down into a chair, then dropped into the seat beside him.
When he didn’t look up, I dipped my head to meet his gaze. His eyes squeezed shut as he swayed in his seat.
“Hey,” I prompted, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “You with me?”
When his eyes finally opened, they were swimming with unshed tears.
Luckily, he was too drunk to notice the instant guilt that washed over me. In all our interactions, I’d widely ignored what had prompted Penny to seek me out.
How long ago had he lost his father? Had he said? I certainly hadn’t bothered to ask.
My father’s death had been a boon, affording me a chance to finally emerge from his shadow.
But Penny wasn’t me.
I was well-versed in having matters of the Bone Men interrupt the process of grief.
I hardly remembered my mother’s death, but they’d taken any chance at mourning and replaced it with a disdain for the dead that took me years to shed.
I’d meant what I told Penny the day before: I ran as far as I could to escape it all.
But the distance had left me cold, and now I barely recognized myself.
This wasn’t the first time that my reputation had brought problems to Forstford.
Almost three years before, a veritable mob descended on the market calling for my head.
I’d expected the townsfolk to hand me over and wash their hands of me.
Instead, they closed ranks around the forge and kept the invaders at bay while Ben whisked me away to his shop.
When I asked him why he helped me, he shrugged it off and said the town couldn’t lose their blacksmith on such short notice.
He never pressed for details about why they were after me, though I was sure he heard the chatter around town in their wake.
Still, he walked me home in the evenings and was there on my front porch in the mornings to escort me to town for weeks after until he was sure no one would come back to try again.
There hadn’t been any others since, but if a simple farm boy could track me from rumors after all this time, what was to stop someone else?
Who knew how many people had overheard him while he gathered information and plotted his trip here, and how much more dangerous they might be?
I didn’t want to bring Forstford any more trouble than I already had. Their goodwill could only go so far.
Penny’s words from the market rattled around in my head. “ Perhaps doing right by my father will earn you some much-needed absolution. ”
But there was no getting back those bones. They’d be cleaned and shuttled off to storage to await their use in building Eeus’s Vessel long before Penny could reach them. There would be no body to reclaim. It was a fool’s errand. When I opened my mouth to say as much, a thought struck me.
Maybe we couldn’t retrieve those specific bones, but Penny could be my way back into the Bone Men’s ranks to ensure no one else went through what he had.
Bringing in a recruit would buy favor with the cultists and soften the sting of my thirteen-year absence.
And if that recruit had a farm to offer in service to the cult—not that they would get the chance to know where to find said farm—all the better.
By the time Penny realized it was a lost cause, I would already have my foot in the door.
He could leave and go back home, and it would be no great loss for either of us.
I would never let him go through the Oaths, anyway.
Corking my whiskey, I ducked under Penny’s arm and hefted us both to our feet.
There was a good chance I would regret this in the morning.
“Come on, you need sleep,” I said as his head tipped onto my shoulder. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell you what it’ll take for us to become Bone Men.”