Chapter 17 #2
“Surely you must know something. You had that medallion?—”
“I do not know,” he repeated, his tone stern.
He was lying and trying to hide his lies behind bluster. It wouldn’t work. Nina was persistent and had wrenched confessions from tougher ne’er-do-wells than Anthony Pearson.
They continued on for a few minutes in silence.
“It’s curious, though,” Nina said, breaking the peace. “Every soul in town recognized your condition and yet you claim it is a mystery.”
“I cannot share information I do not possess.”
“But you are from here. Surely you heard rumors or local stories.”
“Superstitious nonsense? No. I do not brook with that.” Anthony kept his eyes forward, the bounce gone from his step.
“Is it nonsense? You are literally a walking fish man.”
“Yes, a fish man with a long walk ahead of him. Are you always this chatty?”
“When I’m curious about a topic, yes. Why aren’t you curious about—” Another wave in his general direction.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You won’t drop the topic, will you?”
“Unlikely, unless you give me something more interesting to chat about,” she replied.
“Is this what you do to prisoners? Harangue them until they confess?”
“Harangue is a strong word. We chat, like we’re doing now.”
His shoulders slumped at her words, realizing that she would continue until satisfied, and she grinned.
“My family… Saltwick is decorated with carvings and such of the finfolk. They’re hideous.”
“Weren’t you ever curious about the carvings?
” Nina asked, because she was immensely curious.
Her own curiosity about the relics and grimoires in Wychwood shaped so much of herself that she simply could not imagine not delving deeper for answers.
How tedious it must be to exist in the world and find nothing intriguing, nothing to spark the desire to know more.
“No. They frightened me as a child,” he said. Then added, “They still do, if I’m being honest.”
“Yet you wore that medallion.”
“Habit.” He touched the pocket that contained the medallion.
“I’ve worn it my entire life. I didn’t feel…
correct without it. And before you can accuse me of withholding lore, my governess thought it superstitious nonsense.
The servants were forbidden from discussing it but I overheard bits. Finfolk are greedy. They like gold.”
“You like gold.”
“Everyone likes gold,” he replied quickly. “They lure victims with music to a watery death. Crash ships on the rocks. Is that specific enough?”
“That last bit about ships. One of the grimoires mentioned that.” Grimoires she left at Wychwood and could not reference.
Just as well. They’d be at the bottom of the Wilde River now.
Still, she relished the familiar excitement of uncovering useful information.
“Your family never mentioned anything like that?”
“No, my family never mentioned it,” he said. Then, in a kinder tone, “My family is not like yours. We do not enjoy each other’s company. Saltwick is a large house with many rooms, perfect for avoidance.”
“Large enough that a guest could ransack the library without disruption?”
He huffed, as if amused. “The staff may have something to say about that. You might have better luck in the village. The locals would never speak to a lad from the big house but you can be persuasive. You are giving me that look again.”
“I assure you, there is no look. You are speaking, I am nodding my head to indicate that I am listening. It is common courtesy.” She nodded her head to demonstrate.
“It is pity. That look is pity . I will not have it.”
This would be a long walk indeed.
* * *
“The environment is uncanny,” Nina said. It was lush and green, even this early in the spring. The prairie had a brief flush of green from melting winter, which quickly faded to a muted green and then eventually into browns and golds in the summer and autumn.
“You sound as if you have never left the West Lands.”
“I haven’t.”
Anthony stopped in his tracks. “That cannot be.”
“The farthest east I’ve been is Founding.” Nina plucked a leaf as she passed by. The fuzzy texture was unlike anything on the prairie. She rubbed it between her fingers. “My cousin Mira’s been all over. Jonah’s been down south for a few years. He doesn’t enjoy the cold, so he’ll likely stay.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows when she plucked another leaf. “That could be poisonous.”
“I doubt it.”
“Oh, you’re a botanical expert now? Based on your extensive travels?”
“Don’t be such a condescending ratbag,” she replied in a sweet voice.
“I may not have traveled extensively, but my family paid for a very expensive education, which, shockingly, included history. This part of the continent was terraformed but incomplete. The native flora and fauna had been scrubbed away but the first surge happened before an Earth environment could be established.”
“Yes, a barren expanse they called it.”
“Meaning that every plant here is a choice. The majority are Earth species, but the grass is native to Nexus.” A few clumps of variegated purple grass survived the winter. “Why would someone go to the trouble of planting poison in a barren expanse? An expanse that you wanted to settle?”
“You are oversimplifying.”
“Perhaps, but habitable land was at a premium. It would have been criminal to plant anything unsuitable.”
“Impeccable logic but people are, as you so charmingly put it, ratbags. There is always a neighbor to be poisoned.”
Nina laughed. Anthony wasn’t making a joke, but it struck her as amusing. Perhaps it was the ease with which he spoke. The long walk made them trusted companions. “Have you traveled extensively? Visited all the corners of Nexus?”
“Not all the corners. School was near Founding. After that, I saw little reason to return to Saltwick. I was young and signed up with the NPF. They shipped me off to Fort Sweetwater.”
“How young is young? Did you lie about your age to the recruiter?”
Anthony tossed her a sharp look. “Don’t be absurd. I was a legal adult.”
“Eighteen, then,” she said, answering her question. “Which means I was only six when you came to Sweetwater. Did you ever make the acquaintance of my family?”
“Why would I make the acquaintance of a child?”
She shrugged her shoulders. She hadn’t asked if he met her , only her family. “Society can be small in Sweetwater. Plenty of hostesses fill their tables with handsome soldiers.”
“No. Basic training does not afford one time for leisure or society diners. I completed my training and was stationed at Fort Rossetti in the South Isles. I returned to Sweetwater only a few months before the events with Jollett.”
Nina tensed, expecting the reminder of her cousin’s death to sting. It did, but not as badly as she feared. The pain would persist, but so would she.
“I hope you are aware that I do not blame you for Lucas’ death,” she said, glancing at him.
“Your aunt does.” He kept his eyes forward, as if marching in formation.
“You may find this a shocking revelation, but we are two different people.”
His lips twitched. “Shocking indeed.”
“I do blame you for misleading me about Jollett’s fate,” she said. He opened his mouth, as if to protest or offer another excuse. “Save your breath, Major. The wound is too new to consider forgiveness, and I may kill you yet. I came close this morning.”
“Indeed.”
She smiled. He smiled. It was the oddest moment of camaraderie.
The road broke free of the trees. They stood on a hill that sloped gently to the shore.
Steep hills, still clinging to gray in the early spring, protected a harbor.
A small village clustered where the land met the sea.
To the side of the harbor, a gray building perched on the cliffside like a hawk in its nest. Its stone melted into the steely gray of the sky.
“Saltwick,” Anthony said in a tone of relief. Invigorated, his speed increased, as if rushing homeward.
“I’m looking forward to a long soak in a hot bath,” she said, hurrying behind Anthony. She struggled to match his pace into the village. Her back ached and the awkward pressure of the downward slope inspired her knees to make new crunchy noises. “Followed by a poultice and a wrap for my knees.”
Anthony made no reply. He walked with purpose, heading toward the harbor and stopping for nothing. Not the tempting aromas from the bakery or the tavern. She’d like a cold drink for her thirst and a hot one to warm her, although she was working up a sweat now.
The village had appeared a bit dismal from a distance. Proximity did not improve the situation. The buildings that had once been grand were now worn, colorless, and in disrepair. The streets were more mud and holes than pavement. The salty air felt heavy and smelled of wet, rotting things.
People on the street watched Anthony with skepticism and vanished when he neared.
Doors and shutters closed, like a tide rolling through the village.
The market square emptied, merchants leaving their stalls and their wares.
A man pushing a cart of fish saw them, turned on his heel and left the cart in the middle of the street.
“Pearson. Pearson,” she said, catching his sleeve and tugging. “Something is strange here.”
“It’s me. They fear me,” he said coolly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“But why?” Even as she asked, she knew the answer. They knew his kind.
“Saltwick is this way. If we are lucky, we can make the ascent before the fog rolls in.”
Luck was on their side. They made their way up through the village and up a narrow lane to the top of the cliff before a thick fog rolled in off the water.
Nina was struck by the sheer irrationality of the road construction, to go down to the harbor and up again when surely it made more sense to go around.
Mainly, she was struck by the isolation.
The fog removed all visible signs of the village below and was far too treacherous for travel.
They were alone and trapped, at least until the fog lifted.
A gate materialized in the fog. The iron was rusted and the hinges barely clung to stone posts.
Metal screeched as Anthony pushed the gates open. Too heavy to stay open, the gates swung closed. Nina grabbed one before it could hit her.
She gasped at the tingle. Not a strong shock of Nexus energy, but definitely something.
“These are relics,” she said.
Anthony paused to look. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I can feel the energy in them. It’s faint but there.”
“My family does not have that kind of money. Not for a long time. And what purpose would it serve to have relic-powered gates? There are better ways to keep monsters out.”
But a better way to keep the monsters in?
The lights from the house burned a sulfurous yellow against the fading light. The building was stern and beaten by the weather. Gray on gray, worn and cold. The roof sagged in places.
As they got closer, more details came into view.
The path was a dirt track where perhaps there had once been gravel. Weeds had overtaken the lawn. Cracked glass haunted the windows. Bricks crumbled. One good storm and the entire building would collapse.
If this were her home, she’d leave and join the NPF too.
“This place never changes,” Anthony said.
How tragic.
Gas lamps on either side of the portico flickered, offering little illumination. Shadow fell over the door, transforming it into a great maw threatening to consume them.
A tarnished and weary looking finfolk’s face served as a door knocking. Its mouth stretched open in a silent wail—or perhaps song—and a tongue descended as the knocker.
“Not the least bit curious? You are a tragedy, Pearson,” she said.
“I have other qualities,” he replied with confidence.
The door opened as he reached for the knocker.
A man emerged, holding a single candle.
His dark hair was shot through with iron gray, and an eyepatch covered his left eye.
The candle’s flame flickered in the air, casting a wavering shadow over his face.
Despite this, the resemblance with Anthony was obvious.
They shared the same classic good looks with a cold, disinterested expression.
The man regarded them for a long moment before pronouncing, “You should not have come.”