from the corridor of small chambers
below the ladder, he stole into the shadows, remembering now how Dax
had momentarily disappeared when retrieving his precious figurine.
The
boy was in what had been the mill foreman's office, lying under a
hanging lantern on a bench that extended the length of one wall,
gazing intently at the little wizard in his hand. From just beyond
the entry Hadrian studied the chamber, trying to discern where the
boy kept his treasure hidden. There was a wooden bucket with a sack
in it. A work station was built into the opposite wall, consisting of
a narrow desk with a single small drawer. Above it were planks with
rows of nails where once had been pinned orders and invoices. One
plank was slightly ajar.
"That
day up on the ridge," Hadrian said abruptly, standing in the
doorway to block any attempted retreat, "Kenton said he'd seen
you the night before, spoke about looking for something you had. What
was it?"
Dax,
holding the wizard to his chin as if for protection, watched him
warily, not offering a reply.
"I
am trying to help, Dax. What do you do for the jackals?"
"We
do fine without help."
Hadrian
realized how little he knew about the boy. He was not quite a child,
nor yet an adult. Now he recalled the boy speaking of orphans. "What
happened to your parents?"
"Crossed
over, years ago," Dax answered in a flat voice. "My uncle
says he don't have time for delinquents whenever he sees me."
"What
did Kenton do the night before?"
"Cornered
us in one of the stables. Took two of the older ones for a salvage
crew, hauling rails over the mountains for a couple months."
"Older?"
"Eleven,
maybe twelve. Says he will keep taking one of us every week."
"But
surely their parents—"
"Orphans
too. Live at the school, like I do when it gets too cold to sleep
here. Kenton fixes things with the teachers when he wants us."
Hadrian
could barely contain his emotion. The police corps seemed to be
spreading its tentacles further every week. "He threatened you
but doesn't take you. Which means he took the others as salvage
slaves to put pressure on you. What do you have that he wants?"
As he spoke Hadrian stepped away from the door, to give the boy a
chance to escape. Dax did not move, except for the tiniest flicker of
his eyes toward the desk.
Hadrian
was an instant faster than the boy and already had his hand on the
loosened board when Dax grabbed his arm to stop him. Hadrian pulled
the board out, reached inside, and extracted a rolled-up piece of
paper.
Dax
seemed to coil, as if to leap at him. But Hadrian shoved him forcibly
onto the bench and unrolled the paper on the desk.
It
was a hand-drawn map. Its central feature was a long, arcing curve
facing east below a meandering line with little waves above it. There
were no other features except the image of a snarled, dead tree to
the west of the curve and small circles placed equidistant along the
arc, all with dates below them. Ten circles, seven of which had X's
inscribed in them.
Hadrian
looked to Dax for an explanation but the boy just stared woodenly at
his wizard. He pointed to the waves. "The lake," he
observed, then put his finger on the withered tree. "The haunted
oak above the ravine." He pointed to the space above the arc,
just below the lake. "The fishery plant would be here. Is this
what you do for the jackals, keep secrets for them?"
Dax
said nothing.
The
first dates under the circles were from three years earlier. The
realization began as a pinching in his throat, then fell upon him
like an anvil. He dropped unsteadily onto the bench beside the boy.
"Suicides,"
he said slowly. "The children." He recognized several of
the dates, had helped recover more than one body after responding to
the screams of parents out searching for a tardy son or daughter. In
recent years the ridge had turned into a favorite location for child
suicides. A groan escaped his throat. "Why would you record the
suicides? Why would Kenton care?"
He
moved his finger
below the ladder, he stole into the shadows, remembering now how Dax
had momentarily disappeared when retrieving his precious figurine.
The
boy was in what had been the mill foreman's office, lying under a
hanging lantern on a bench that extended the length of one wall,
gazing intently at the little wizard in his hand. From just beyond
the entry Hadrian studied the chamber, trying to discern where the
boy kept his treasure hidden. There was a wooden bucket with a sack
in it. A work station was built into the opposite wall, consisting of
a narrow desk with a single small drawer. Above it were planks with
rows of nails where once had been pinned orders and invoices. One
plank was slightly ajar.
"That
day up on the ridge," Hadrian said abruptly, standing in the
doorway to block any attempted retreat, "Kenton said he'd seen
you the night before, spoke about looking for something you had. What
was it?"
Dax,
holding the wizard to his chin as if for protection, watched him
warily, not offering a reply.
"I
am trying to help, Dax. What do you do for the jackals?"
"We
do fine without help."
Hadrian
realized how little he knew about the boy. He was not quite a child,
nor yet an adult. Now he recalled the boy speaking of orphans. "What
happened to your parents?"
"Crossed
over, years ago," Dax answered in a flat voice. "My uncle
says he don't have time for delinquents whenever he sees me."
"What
did Kenton do the night before?"
"Cornered
us in one of the stables. Took two of the older ones for a salvage
crew, hauling rails over the mountains for a couple months."
"Older?"
"Eleven,
maybe twelve. Says he will keep taking one of us every week."
"But
surely their parents—"
"Orphans
too. Live at the school, like I do when it gets too cold to sleep
here. Kenton fixes things with the teachers when he wants us."
Hadrian
could barely contain his emotion. The police corps seemed to be
spreading its tentacles further every week. "He threatened you
but doesn't take you. Which means he took the others as salvage
slaves to put pressure on you. What do you have that he wants?"
As he spoke Hadrian stepped away from the door, to give the boy a
chance to escape. Dax did not move, except for the tiniest flicker of
his eyes toward the desk.
Hadrian
was an instant faster than the boy and already had his hand on the
loosened board when Dax grabbed his arm to stop him. Hadrian pulled
the board out, reached inside, and extracted a rolled-up piece of
paper.
Dax
seemed to coil, as if to leap at him. But Hadrian shoved him forcibly
onto the bench and unrolled the paper on the desk.
It
was a hand-drawn map. Its central feature was a long, arcing curve
facing east below a meandering line with little waves above it. There
were no other features except the image of a snarled, dead tree to
the west of the curve and small circles placed equidistant along the
arc, all with dates below them. Ten circles, seven of which had X's
inscribed in them.
Hadrian
looked to Dax for an explanation but the boy just stared woodenly at
his wizard. He pointed to the waves. "The lake," he
observed, then put his finger on the withered tree. "The haunted
oak above the ravine." He pointed to the space above the arc,
just below the lake. "The fishery plant would be here. Is this
what you do for the jackals, keep secrets for them?"
Dax
said nothing.
The
first dates under the circles were from three years earlier. The
realization began as a pinching in his throat, then fell upon him
like an anvil. He dropped unsteadily onto the bench beside the boy.
"Suicides,"
he said slowly. "The children." He recognized several of
the dates, had helped recover more than one body after responding to
the screams of parents out searching for a tardy son or daughter. In
recent years the ridge had turned into a favorite location for child
suicides. A groan escaped his throat. "Why would you record the
suicides? Why would Kenton care?"
He
moved his finger
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