gets these notions from time to time. Have you practiced that handkerchief trick you were having trouble with?”
“I ai—haven’t had time,” Kim said. “I can’t do it at all on the move, and we only just got here.”
“Then practice it now, before the light goes,” Mairelon said, handing her a handkerchief.
Kim rolled her eyes and spread the handkerchief out on her lap. She flexed her cold fingers several times, trying to limber them up a little, then began carefully folding and rolling the linen square as Mairelon had taught her. She was only half finished when Mairelon’s head turned and she heard him murmur, “Now, I wonder who that is?”
Kim looked up. Through the screen of trees she saw a coach-and-four making its slow, soggy way up the lane; the heads of two postillions were clearly visible above the coach’s roof. Kim blinked in surprise. What was a bang-up turnout like that doing on a quiet farm lane? And where was it heading?
“Exactly what I would like to know,” Mairelon said, and Kim realized that she had spoken aloud. Kim glanced at him and saw that he was frowning slightly. “And we’re not going to find out sitting here.”
Without waiting for Kim to respond, Mairelon pushed himself away from the wagon, pulled his shapeless, still-damp hat farther down on his head, and started briskly off into the trees in the same direction that the coach was traveling. Kim blinked, then dropped the handkerchief and scrambled after him.
The coach passed them a few minutes later. Screened by the small trees and untrimmed scrub along the edge of the woods, Mairelon and Kim studied it. Kim could hear loud female laughter from the carriage windows, but the curtains were drawn and she could not see who was inside. The driver and postillions were wrapped in driving cloaks against the damp, and their faces were impassive.
“Blast!” Mairelon said softly as the carriage lurched on by. “Can you keep up with it, Kim?”
“I don’t know about that coach, but I can keep up with you right enough,” Kim answered. “But shouldn’t we go back and tell Hunch where we’re goin’?”
“If we do that, we’ll lose it,” Mairelon said, ducking under a low-hanging branch. “You’re right, though; Hunch should know. Why don’t you—”
“I ain’t goin’ back now,” Kim interrupted in as firm a tone as she could manage while trying to follow Mairelon’s erratic path among the trees.
“All right,” Mairelon said to her surprise. “But when Hunch finds out—look, they’re turning off!”
The coach was indeed easing its way off of the lane and into the woods. From where Kim stood, it looked almost as if the coach were trying to force its way through the trees, but when she and Mairelonreached the spot a moment later, they found another lane leading into the woods.
“That driver is good,” Mairelon commented, eyeing the trail. “This is hardly more than a deer path.”
“You goin’ to stand there jawing or get on after that coach?” Kim asked pointedly. “It’s gettin’ dark.”
“So it is,” Mairelon said. “Come along.”
The trail wound through the trees almost as erratically as Mairelon had, and the curves hid the coach from sight. Fortunately the imprint of the wheels in the soft ground was easy to follow, and they made better time now that they did not have to worry about being seen. Even so, walking became more difficult as the light faded. Kim was about to suggest that they turn back before they lost their way completely when Mairelon stopped.
“Look there!” he said in a low voice, pointing.
Kim, who had been concentrating on following the coach tracks through the deepening gloom, looked up. Light danced among the trees. “Some cull’s lit a fire on the hill, looks like.”
“It does indeed,” Mairelon said. “And I’ll lay you odds that’s where our coach is headed.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Kim said, though without a great deal of conviction.
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
John O'Riley
Brenda Sinclair
Christopher George
Stephen Lloyd Jones
Karl Iagnemma
Celya Bowers
Jill Gregory
Aria Cunningham