The Wild Dead Page 9

  “Her folk’ll never come down the river looking for her,” Teeg said. “They’ll never talk to us.”

  Enid looked up to the clear sky, up the river and its muddy, recently flooded banks, and sighed. “We’ll see.”

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  Enid crossed the bridge and took the west side. Teeg took the east, and the two of them paralleled each other, traveling up the San Joe. Still swollen from the storm, water lapped over the banks, which were mucky and hard going. Across the water, Teeg used his staff to pick through debris and mud, leaning on it for balance, unsticking his feet when the muck held on too tight. She could have used a walking stick herself, but did her best, looking ahead for footholds and grassy patches.

  A rudimentary path wended its way along this side of the river. Or, if not a path per se, there at least were multiple sets of footprints marking the easiest way to go, proof that others had slogged through this route. Enid guessed there was another on the other side, where Juni and the others would come down the hill with their bundles of reeds.

  When the water settled they likely fished here as well. The sun beat down; bugs swarmed. A low, constant chirping rose up, faded, then rose again, an undertone to the sound of water—frogs.

  She parted waterlogged grasses and drooping willows, searching the edges of the water. Thought briefly about wading in farther, then decided against it. The current was fast, the water chilled, dark with silt. The likelihood that she’d find anything lodged out in the middle of the stream was slim.

  She didn’t find much of anything washed up on the banks, unfortunately. Finding a bloody machete would be too much to ask for. And even if she had, it wouldn’t point to who’d killed Ella—a bloody machete rarely had the owner’s name inscribed on the handle. If it were that easy, anyone could be an investigator.

  A mile or so up the river, up the steep banks to the west, Enid could just make out the cliff where Semperfi’s ruined house teetered, balanced on its forest of flimsy supports. From this vantage, it looked even worse, the steep angle of the eroding cliffside appearing even more severe. The structure seemed to tremble, and she could almost see the mud slipping downward. Maybe Erik would feel better if she brought him here to show him this view.

  Around the next bend in the creek’s path, along an eroded channel, Enid found a stretch of cut rushes. Willows and cattails, mowed down to stumps. The cut patch went a ways up the slope—the work of a morning, for the folk from Bonavista who must have come up here to harvest. This was where they’d collected the bundles they’d been carrying when Enid and Teeg had arrived yesterday.

  Exposed to air and sun and rotting, the spongy ground stank. A blackbird squawked and flapped up and away. For all its unpleasantness, the Estuary was vibrant with life. This mowed patch would grow back even thicker next season. Ruins might litter the coast, but life went on somehow.

  Across the river, Teeg whistled to get Enid’s attention, then cupped his hand around his mouth. “Nothing here! You?”

  “Nothing!”

  “Do we keep going?”

  Ahead, the channel narrowed, the sides growing steeper. Another hundred yards, climbing farther into the hills, the path dried out and trees took over from cattails and brush. They were running out of a track to follow.

  But the reeds were freshly cut; clearly people still came up this way.

  “Just a little farther!” she answered. She wanted to get all the way to the trees, to where the wild started.

  The households followed the path up the ridge, paralleling the river below. Except for the ruined house, Enid couldn’t see any buildings, but she could guess how far along she was, where she’d end up if she could get to the top from here. The farther upriver she went, the more the river narrowed, and the higher it climbed, until it spilled out of the hills and forest above. While it wasn’t visible from this spot, Last House would be west of here, just over the edge of the river channel. Just a little climbing would get her there.

  She didn’t expect to hear voices.

  They spoke low and urgently, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she recognized the voices of the folk at Last House. Enid held her breath. Neeve said something, too softly for Enid to understand.

  Mart answered gruffly. “No, you need to stay clear of those investigators, you hear me?”

  And then they were gone, moving away from the ridge, up the path to their home.

  Ella’s death had really affected the folk of Last House. Was never easy, seeing violence like that inflicted on someone you knew—someone you’d made plans with . . . whose whole future was suddenly cut off.

  Enid continued her trek up the river, along the last little bit before the way became impassable.

  And that’s when she saw it: a shadow stepping back, rustling a stand of uncut reeds. She almost turned away, thinking it was a deer or raccoon or some other critter. But she squinted, took a few steps closer . . . and a face looked back at her.

  Young, maybe early twenties. Male, with the shadow of a dark beard started. Plain clothing.

  She couldn’t see more details than that, because the figure raced off.

  Enid took a couple of running steps, her instincts telling her to go after him. She tried, charging ahead. And immediately got tangled up in the overgrown scrub. Since she might as well try to get out of the mess by moving ahead instead of back, she kept going. Managed to keep her eyes on the guy, who was getting farther ahead. He’d be hidden among the trees in moments. Enid shoved through a willow stand, came out the other side ready to run—and slipped in the mud. Came down hard on her knee and caught her breath.

  When she looked again, he’d disappeared into the forest. He knew the territory, she didn’t.

  But this was new: she and Teeg were being watched. Someone outside the settlement had an interest in the goings-on here.

  And likely he’d be back.

  She joined Teeg back at the bridge, not limping too badly. She’d have a bruise, but hadn’t broken anything.

  Teeg asked, “What did you see up there? You were running.”

  “Not sure,” she answered. “But keep your eyes open. I think we may have some interested parties about.”

  “Someone looking for Ella, you think?”

  Enid shook her head; she didn’t know. If folk from the hills were looking for Ella—why didn’t they just come and ask? Because they didn’t trust the Coast Road. That simple. Had Ella really been about to migrate to the Coast Road, become part of Last House? That was Neeve’s story. What would Ella say, if she could say anything? What would her people say?

  Something about it all didn’t feel right.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////

  They returned to the outbuilding at Bonavista. Underneath, a figure knelt by the body, a shape that wasn’t meant to be there. At first Enid thought it was the man she’d seen hiding in the trees upriver, and this was her chance to talk. But coming closer she recognized the hunched form, the ash-gray hair pulled back over her shoulder.

  Neeve.

  Enid tapped Teeg’s arm and urged him on. They came up to the work house, crouched to look under it. They weren’t particularly trying to keep quiet, but the woman didn’t seem to sense their approach. She had a bowl and cloth, and had pulled back the tarp wrapping the body. She was washing it. Pulling debris from the hair and clothes, wiping mud from the hands and face.

  “Neeve,” Enid said. “Can we help you with something?”

  Enid might have expected her to jump, to show some surprise at being caught like this—some indication that she felt guilty for being here. But the woman only glanced over her shoulder, a perfunctory movement. She expected to be found, and she didn’t care.

  “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stop thinking of her.”

  Giving a signal to Teeg to stay back, Enid joined Neeve, sitting beside her, not close enough to touch, but able to study her face. Her expression was still, and gave nothing back
to Enid.

  Her washing of the body hadn’t accomplished much. Ella’s clothing was still caked with dry mud, her hair still tangled. But her hands were folded neatly on her chest now, and Neeve had stitched her tunic shut, covering the wound. She set the cloth and bowl aside, folded her hands in her lap.

  “Strange. Cleaning bodies, I mean. We always do it before we set them on the pyre. It’s not like they need it. It just seems . . . like the last nice thing we can do for them. When it’s too late for anything else.”

  “What was she like?” Enid asked.

  Neeve shrugged. “I couldn’t say. They’d bring down hides and salvage out of the hills, and we’d trade them for clothing, knives—”

  “Knives?” Enid asked.

  “Yes . . . oh. You don’t think . . . I never worried about it, they seem nice enough. And everybody needs a knife for cutting. They don’t have forges. Our knives are better.”

  As she said, everyone needed knives. It didn’t mean anything.

  “Did she ever say anything about anyone hurting her?” The person who killed her had gotten close, likely had been someone she knew. Someone who had hurt her before? Was that why she wanted to come to the Coast Road? “You ever see any odd bruises or cuts that you couldn’t explain?”

  “Oh no, nothing like that.”

  “She made eye contact when she spoke?”

  “Yes—” Neeve stopped and hugged herself, realizing that she was being interrogated. “When I offered to make clothes for her, her eyes lit up. That was a while back, I guess. They’d been coming to trade for a few years. I knew her, at least a little. I thought I did. They, the ones of them who came to see us, never struck me as violent.” She rubbed a tired hand across her eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t help. I wish I could.”

  “If you think of anything else that might help, please let me know,” Enid said. Neeve took the implicit command and, giving the body one last look, folded the canvas back over the face. Then she crawled out from under the house and began the long walk home.

  Chapter Nine • the estuary

  ///////////////////////////////////////

  An Impossible Search

  Teeg watched Neeve go, shading his eyes from the sun. “Outsider folk will never talk to us—if we could even find them. And assuming we did, and they agreed to talk to us, and we found who did this . . . they don’t follow our rules. They don’t care.” He said this offhand, matter of fact. Like he presumed he knew exactly what the wild folk thought.

  “You ever talk to an outsider?” Enid asked casually.

  He huffed. “No.”

  “I have. Until we talk to them, we don’t know.”

  Ella had been a healthy, cared-for woman. Someone somewhere—some form of family—loved her and would want to know what happened. Might even now be searching for her.

  Teeg paused. “What—that one of them did the deed or that they even care that she was killed?”

  Enid glared. Of course they cared. Someone among her people cared. And if not them, then Neeve cared. “We don’t know that they won’t talk to us. They might want to know what happened just as much as we do. Maybe we just need to walk a couple of days upriver and tell them.”

  He shook his head. “We’ll never get that far.”

  She refrained from telling him what a terrible attitude that was for an investigator. You couldn’t give up before you’d even started. You couldn’t assume you would never find out the truth. Instead, she offered a wry smile. “You might be surprised how far we can get. How far you ever traveled? How much of the Coast Road have you seen?”

  They moved up the steps into the work house, into the shade of the roof’s overhang. Enid offered Teeg a canteen of water, and after he drank, she finished it off.

  “A lot of it, I think,” he said conversationally. “Down south to the ocean. This is as far north as I’ve been. I know a lot of investigators say they want to travel the whole road, north to south, but I don’t know of anyone who’s done it. Do you?”

  “Tomas did it,” she said, smiling at the memory of her mentor. “He did a lot of it before he was an investigator. He just liked traveling.” She was always telling stories about Tomas, passing along what he’d taught her. Seemed like everything useful she knew, she’d gotten from him.

  “I wish I could have met him,” Teeg said. “What about you—how far have you traveled?”

  “Been all the way south to Desolata,” she said. It was a brag, and she was secretly pleased that Teeg went open-mouthed with surprise. Desolata was the southernmost household listed in Coast Road records, salt harvesters living at the edge of the desert. It never rained there, and they’d never earned a banner. But somehow people stayed.

  “Really?” Teeg breathed. “What was that like?”

  She considered. It had been a dozen years since she’d seen the place, but she’d read up on occasional reports from travelers and traders. “It was interesting. Interesting people. Worth visiting. But I wouldn’t want to live there. It’s flat, far as the eye can see. No trees. No anything. I like being in the middle of things too much. As far as north goes, I haven’t been to Sierra yet, but I’d like to someday.” That was the northernmost household, nested in the mountains to the northeast. A handful of days’ travel from Morada, but on a different branch of the crossroads than the one they’d taken to the Estuary. Enid assumed she’d get there someday.

  “That’s a lot of miles to cover.”

  “Yes, but that’s part of the adventure.” The day was already half over, and she didn’t feel she had much to show for it. A name, Ella. At least it was something. “I think we should do some sparring. Maybe this evening when it’s not so hot out.”

  “You really think we’ll need it?” He glanced at his staff, where he’d propped it on the stairs when they sat down.

  “I think someone, somewhere nearby, violently killed a woman with a weapon. Don’t know that things will get any more dangerous than that, but we should be ready.”

  “This turned grim. I didn’t expect this to turn so grim,” he said.

  “No one ever does.” Enid leaned back against the work-house wall and closed her eyes. Just for a moment. If she could just not think about it all for a moment, maybe a revelation would come to her. The sooner they solved this, the sooner she could go home.

  And if they never solved it?

  “Hey, look,” Teeg said, touching her shoulder.

  Juni was coming over from the main cottage. She had a pitcher and basket. A pretense of bringing food. Trading for gossip, more like.

  “Hola,” she said, smiling. “Wondered if you might like a bite to eat. They’re just sandwich rolls.”

  “Thanks,” Enid said. “Sounds lovely.” They took the offered rolls, the mugs of water. Smiled blandly at her. Enid ate because she knew she ought to, because Olive wouldn’t put up with her not eating. A slight breeze made being outdoors marginally bearable.

  “Was that Neeve I saw walking out a minute ago?”

  “It was.”

  “What did she want?” Juni failed to sound casually curious. Her interest in Neeve was pointed.

  “I think she didn’t like that the body was here alone.”

  “I’ll never understand her,” Juni said bitterly. “What does she care, what happens? Not like she ever cared about anyone before.”

  It seemed a harsh assessment. Enid suspected that Neeve cared a lot. Just not about the same things.

  Juni wasn’t finished. “You’d better watch her. Make sure she didn’t steal anything from the girl. You sure she wasn’t down here taking something—”

  Enid sighed. “Juni, please—”

  “Is that Kellan out there?” Teeg said suddenly. He was looking out to the mud flats, far past the bridge. Gulls called and wheeled. Not as many as yesterday, when a dead body drew them in. The tide was out now, and had left behind a patchwork of shining pools.

  A figure was moving in the distance, splashing in ankle-deep water. Stopping and star
ting, it crouched over the mud, then trotted on a few steps, erratic, seemingly distressed. Enid recognized the loose tunic, the big floppy hat of the scavenger from Last House.

  “What’s he doing?” Juni asked. They were all standing now, hands at their brows, looking out.

  Enid set down her cup and half-eaten bread and pounded down the steps. Kellan was digging out there, and it seemed to be the spot where he’d found the body.

  He was searching for something.

  “Teeg, come on.” Enid set off, jogging first, then running as much as she could without slipping on the muck. Teeg followed, grabbing his staff.

  It seemed to take a long time before Enid was close enough to call out, “Kellan!”

  The man didn’t look up. He might not have even heard her.

  “Kellan!” Even when she was close enough to knock him over with a stone, he didn’t acknowledge Enid’s presence. Teeg trotted up alongside her, ready to swing the staff, but she held out a hand to stall him.

  “What are you doing?” she asked again, and still Kellan didn’t answer.

  He kicked a couple of lumps of mud out of the way, then fell to his knees and dug with his bare hands. After digging a few scoops out of one spot, he moved to another. There was nothing careful or systematic about what he was doing. He moved back and forth across this patch wildly, his eyes wide, hands shaking.

  Enid had been right; this was where the body had been found. Any signs of it, any depression it might have left behind, had been washed away by a cycle of tides. In fact, if Kellan hadn’t found the body yesterday, it likely would have disappeared forever. And she and Teeg would be on their way home, instead of standing ankle-deep in muck. She tried not to wish for such a thing. If she could have a wish granted, it would be that the young woman hadn’t died at all.

  Kellan muttered, his words rushed, sharp, running together. “She had it, then she didn’t. It wasn’t with her, so she must have dropped it. Unless she lost it, unless she gave it away—”