toward the fire. Everyone in town had emerged to see the blaze, but they stopped well short of it. The only people in the open space between the crowd and the building were Gary Bunson and his two deputies, Pete and Russell. They looked confused, terrified and useless.
As we burst through the crowd, Pete lowered his toothpick spear, so old and dry it might shatter if someone sneezed in the vicinity. “Stay back!” he cried, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“Good grief, Pete, it’s me,” I said. Russell scampered over to back up his friend, the tips of their fragile lances trembling as they pointed them at us. Luckily Gary also saw us and waved them off before they embarrassed themselves.
“At ease, morons,” Gary snapped. He was sweaty and smoke stained. “Liz, there’s nothing left of your place, either, I’m afraid.”
“Is Hank okay?” Liz asked breathlessly. The wind shifted and engulfed us in smoke.
“Beats the hell out of me. I haven’t seen him, and if he’s smart he’ll stay hid ’til he can get out of Neceda in one piece. The whole town could go up if that fire starts roof-hopping, all because he got careless.” He looked at me, taking in the scratches visible on my arms and face. “What happened to you?”
“I was dancing with your ex-wife,” I said.
“Which one?” he shot back.
Somewhere inside the stable a horse screeched in terror. A great cloud of sparks surged out on the wind, and we all ducked and covered our heads. People in the crowd behind us screamed. I patted out a small flare on Liz’s sleeve. “What about Peg and the kids?” Liz demanded.
“Over there somewhere,” Gary said, waving toward the other side of the fire. “All of them, except Hank.” He looked away, fully aware of the implications. “Nobody’s seen him since this started.”
I looked at the stable. Wood and hay; it would go up fast and quick, and anyone trapped inside wouldn’t last long. It might be too late already. “We have to see if he’s in there,” I said.
“ We? ” Gary repeated sharply. “Uh-uh, my job is to keep the peace and I’m doing that just fine right here.”
“He’s your friend , Gary,” Liz said.
“So’s my ass.”
I was about to say something regarding Gary’s likely parentage when movement caught my eye. Between two of the buildings across the way, at the mouth of Ditch Street, stood a man with white hair, wearing an enormous pair of gloves. I was so surprised that I stared, momentarily forgetting the crisis.
He was a small, thin man with the kind of hatchet-like face that lent itself to stern disapproval. That made the pain visible in it, even from this distance, somehow more affecting. His snowy mane swept back from a pronounced widow’s peak and fell to his shoulders, and he wore the simple tunic and trousers most local people favored. The heavy gloves looked more like some giant child’s mittens than something an adult would wear in public.
Shapes suddenly appeared out of the darkness behind him, loping down Ditch Street toward us. The firelight revealed them to be short, thick-bodied men wearing those red head scarves. I had not seen them emerge from the Lizard’s Kiss building; they just appeared as if from out of the ground and stopped well short of the intersection, clustered together like a press-gang.
The white-haired man paid them no mind. He watched the fire with more trepidation than most, and of course I immediately wondered if he might be the arsonist behind it; not for a moment did I agree with Gary that Hank had gotten careless enough to burn down his own barn. Hank was a fourth-generation blacksmith and farrier; he wouldn’t make such a dumb mistake.
Without taking my eyes off the old man, I nudged Liz. “See that old guy over there?”
She looked and said, “Where?”
“On the street outside the alley by the cobbler’s shop.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“That’s our mysterious visitor from the hospital. Go grab him. Gary and I
As we burst through the crowd, Pete lowered his toothpick spear, so old and dry it might shatter if someone sneezed in the vicinity. “Stay back!” he cried, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
“Good grief, Pete, it’s me,” I said. Russell scampered over to back up his friend, the tips of their fragile lances trembling as they pointed them at us. Luckily Gary also saw us and waved them off before they embarrassed themselves.
“At ease, morons,” Gary snapped. He was sweaty and smoke stained. “Liz, there’s nothing left of your place, either, I’m afraid.”
“Is Hank okay?” Liz asked breathlessly. The wind shifted and engulfed us in smoke.
“Beats the hell out of me. I haven’t seen him, and if he’s smart he’ll stay hid ’til he can get out of Neceda in one piece. The whole town could go up if that fire starts roof-hopping, all because he got careless.” He looked at me, taking in the scratches visible on my arms and face. “What happened to you?”
“I was dancing with your ex-wife,” I said.
“Which one?” he shot back.
Somewhere inside the stable a horse screeched in terror. A great cloud of sparks surged out on the wind, and we all ducked and covered our heads. People in the crowd behind us screamed. I patted out a small flare on Liz’s sleeve. “What about Peg and the kids?” Liz demanded.
“Over there somewhere,” Gary said, waving toward the other side of the fire. “All of them, except Hank.” He looked away, fully aware of the implications. “Nobody’s seen him since this started.”
I looked at the stable. Wood and hay; it would go up fast and quick, and anyone trapped inside wouldn’t last long. It might be too late already. “We have to see if he’s in there,” I said.
“ We? ” Gary repeated sharply. “Uh-uh, my job is to keep the peace and I’m doing that just fine right here.”
“He’s your friend , Gary,” Liz said.
“So’s my ass.”
I was about to say something regarding Gary’s likely parentage when movement caught my eye. Between two of the buildings across the way, at the mouth of Ditch Street, stood a man with white hair, wearing an enormous pair of gloves. I was so surprised that I stared, momentarily forgetting the crisis.
He was a small, thin man with the kind of hatchet-like face that lent itself to stern disapproval. That made the pain visible in it, even from this distance, somehow more affecting. His snowy mane swept back from a pronounced widow’s peak and fell to his shoulders, and he wore the simple tunic and trousers most local people favored. The heavy gloves looked more like some giant child’s mittens than something an adult would wear in public.
Shapes suddenly appeared out of the darkness behind him, loping down Ditch Street toward us. The firelight revealed them to be short, thick-bodied men wearing those red head scarves. I had not seen them emerge from the Lizard’s Kiss building; they just appeared as if from out of the ground and stopped well short of the intersection, clustered together like a press-gang.
The white-haired man paid them no mind. He watched the fire with more trepidation than most, and of course I immediately wondered if he might be the arsonist behind it; not for a moment did I agree with Gary that Hank had gotten careless enough to burn down his own barn. Hank was a fourth-generation blacksmith and farrier; he wouldn’t make such a dumb mistake.
Without taking my eyes off the old man, I nudged Liz. “See that old guy over there?”
She looked and said, “Where?”
“On the street outside the alley by the cobbler’s shop.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“That’s our mysterious visitor from the hospital. Go grab him. Gary and I
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