The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [14]
He knew his brother was watching him, standing just out of the lamplight. Here it was. Time to pull off the ruse—tell everyone Rosette was dead and not merely exiled, and make it convincing. It wouldn’t be hard with all the emotion churning in his belly. He ignored his brother for as long as he could. Somehow, telling Liam that Kalindi was gone…he stopped himself…that Rosette was gone, would make it more real, and he didn’t want that, not yet.
‘No luck?’ Liam asked, moving into the light.
He looked nothing like his brother, who was tall, fairhaired and lanky. Of course, he wasn’t a blood brother, though they’d grown up together, close as litter mates.
Jarrod stopped, the blade deep in a split log. ‘How’s that?’
‘You hunt all day and come back with nothing. I’d call that no luck.’
Jarrod lifted the axe, log and all, over his head and crashed it down onto the block, splitting the piece in two. ‘I got sidetracked.’
Liam crossed his arms, his lip curling. ‘You mean Kalindi.’
Jarrod avoided his eyes. ‘No-one here’s been to town?’
‘Why? Something happen?’
Jarrod began to formulate an answer. The news would certainly upset Liam, perhaps as much as it had him. ‘There’s been…’
The sound of hooves on the lane diverted his attention. The dogs took off, yapping a new welcome, all three tearing past them like racehorses from the gate.
‘Father’s home,’ Jarrod said, putting the axe down and collecting the scattered wood. He stacked it in the wheelbarrow and headed to the barn. ‘I’ll see to his horse.’
Liam grabbed his shoulder, stopping him short. ‘Has something happened to Kalindi?’
Jarrod pulled free. ‘Ask Father. He’ll know more than me.’
Liam called after him, but he kept walking, hands deep in his pockets, eyes on the ground.
Rosette quickened her pace, looking down each side street as she passed it. Flureon seemed less familiar than she remembered, and less friendly than when she’d come here on shopping expeditions with her mother. Her eyes welled up at the thought and she bit her lip, willing the emotions back down. The way to the docks must be near and she needed to find them quickly. Gripping her backpack, she hurried along, turning her shoulders sideways to avoid bumping into the crowd of oncoming traffic.
She had been travelling all day and felt grimy, tired and hungry. She’d eaten the last of Jarrod’s bread by noon and she didn’t want to stop at a bakery for more. There was no time to find the markets if she wanted to get to the docks before sunset. The clippers would sail with the evening tide, and that was already rising. Besides, it wouldn’t be smart to wander the streets after dark. A chill gripped her. There was also no telling where the Corsanon assassins had fled to, or who they knew.
Rosette caught the eye of a middle-aged woman with two children in tow and stopped in front of her. ‘Can you point the way to the harbour?’
The woman dodged around her, gathering the children together and hurrying away.
Rosette made a sour face before moving on. ‘What? I have leprosy?’ she called back.
She asked another woman who was walking past, but she pressed on as if she hadn’t heard. Such a friendly town…
The last person she approached was an older man with steel-grey hair and a sea-weathered face. He carried a sack of flour over his shoulder and was coming straight for her as if she were invisible.
‘Sir,’ she held out her hand to stop him from knocking her over, ‘can you tell me where the docks are?’
‘Docks?’ He stopped for a moment, taking a drag of his cigar.
‘You know. Where the boats are kept?’
‘Aye, dooks, missy.’ He extended his arm, pointing the cigar as if taking aim. ‘Down two blocks there’s a lane to your right. Go that way and you can’t miss ’em. Follow y’ nose.’
She thanked him, taking the directions and trying not to look