Crossing Over - Anna Kendall [90]
“Who was with the lady? ” My stomach tightened.
“Her serving man. To take her to her cousin’s manor, beyond the mountains.”
Maggie was careful to not look at me. Before I could react, the woman said, “Old he seemed, for such travel. Spry enough, but old.” She, who never was nor ever had a servant, shook her head over the ways of ladies, gentlemen, and their train.
Old. Who was he? And what “cousin’s manor”—I had never heard of Cecilia having a relative in the Unclaimed Lands, nor that “cousin” having a manor. Although most of these mountain people had never been more than a few miles from their homes, so that “beyond the mountains” might be only their words for every place different, farther away, unknown to them.
Over the next days, at houses even poorer, in mountain dells even higher, I learned more. Cecilia and her servant had stayed one night. The lady looked tired and worn, her servant very old. No, said the next family to give us shelter, he was not her servant, he was her cousin, taking her to his farm. No, said the next, there be no “manors” in these mountains—was I a fool? Nor were there any “ladies.” The woman, dressed in a plain wool gown, and her uncle were going home, farther toward the border. As he said this, the man’s gaze would not meet my eyes.
“What border?”
But the man turned away and stared into the fire, scowling fiercely.
The last dwelling, the poorest yet, was far along the track from its nearest neighbor. In fact, the track seemed to end here. There was only a rough hut set in a mountain hollow, beside a high, thin, cold waterfall. A silent family, parents and four ragged children, crowded into a single drafty room. No one would answer my questions at all. When I repeated them, the man told me to hold my tongue. Maggie and I slept that night in the goat shed.
In the morning, a child brought us two small loaves of bread. In the Unclaimed Lands, hospitality was practically law, and even unwelcome, too-inquisitive guests must be fed. The bread was hard and sour, the child ragged and barefoot. Some sort of fungus grew on one of his calloused feet, between the toes and over them. It smelled bad. I caught hold of his bony wrist.
“I have something for you.”
“Unhand Jee!”
“Jee, I have something nice for you.” With my free hand I drew from my pocket a carved willow whistle. I had made it one night at a campfire by a small creek, where willows grew. I blew on it softly, and a single sweet note sounded.
Jee stared. It was clear he had never seen such a thing. He wanted it, badly. I said, “You can have it if you answer my questions. What is the border?”
For a long moment I thought he wouldn’t answer. His little face twisted horribly, he reached down to scratch at the fungus on his foot, but his gaze stayed on the whistle. Greed triumphed over fear. He croaked, “To the cursed land.”
Soulvine. “Where is the border?”
“Be due east.”
“How far?”
“A day’s walk.”
“A day’s walk.”
“And the lady . . . I mean, woman ...”
“Hemfree be taking Cecilia home.”
A gasp from the prone figure on the straw; Maggie was awake and had heard. In my astonishment, I let go of Jee’s wrist. He snatched the whistle from my hand.
“Hemfree be taking Cecilia home.” The child knew their names, knew who they were. How many others of the householders had also known, and withheld the information from the outlanders, the strangers from The Queendom? Who was Hemfree? And “home”—
“They maun travel hard,” the boy said. “Soldiers be coming after them.”
Queen Caroline’s soldiers. She had sent men to find Cecilia, who had ruined all of the queen’s plans. Was that why Hemfree had brought Cecilia so close to Soulvine Moor—because pursuers were close on their trail? How close?
I seized Jee’s arm. “How do you know that soldiers are after the lady?”
“I see them. From a tree.”
Maggie looked from the boy to me. She