The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

“We’re still gathering information,” Enid said. “It’s best we don’t discuss it until then. In fact, we should probably take dinner out to the work house.” She collected the bowls Juni had poured for them, helped herself to a pair of spoons. Investigators didn’t much socialize while in uniform. One of the hardest parts of their training was learning not to apologize for it. Teeg opened the door for her.

“Smells good,” he said. “We know you didn’t expect to feed a couple of extra mouths. It’s appreciated.”

Juni’s shoulders dropped—she’d wanted to hear it all. “You can stay—it can’t hurt anything, can it? Just talking?”

Enid summoned her kindest smile. “It’s more the principle of the thing. Thanks very much. We’ll leave you folk to it.”

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Bonavista’s work shed was much less cozy than the main cottage. No decoration to speak of, no curtains on the windows, not even a chair for sitting. A work table was set against one wall, and a couple of metal wash basins were shoved in a corner, next to a water pump connected to the cistern outside. They probably did washing here, maybe food prep and preservation. A set of shelves held baskets in various stages of production, waiting to be finished or carried off to market. The place smelled sweetly of dried reeds, tickling the nose. There was a single solar light glaring from a corner. She and Teeg added candles and sat on the floor to eat. The chowder, full of onions and cream, was cooling quickly, but still had enough warmth to melt her limbs and fill her stomach.

They ate in thoughtful silence. Enid’s mind kept going to the body lying just a few feet under them. They didn’t even have a name for her.

“Busy day,” Teeg said. Maybe unable to contain himself any longer. “All cases go like this?”

“Oh no,” Enid said, chuckling. “You don’t usually get a case that lands on you before you’ve even been called out to look at it.”

“So if we hadn’t been here . . .”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking of that.”

Spoons scraped against wooden bowls.

“The old case,” Teeg said. “Neeve cutting out her implant. Were you around for that one?”

How old did he think she was? “No. Before my time.” Her old partner, Tomas—he’d have been around then. He might have heard something. Not that she could ask him. The grief stabbed at her suddenly. It ebbed and flowed like that. Here and now, though, she wondered what he would have done with this, how he would have approached the body, trying to investigate an impossible case. What perspective he’d have offered that would have made it all clear. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.

She was likely doing this all wrong. But she didn’t know what else to do. She bowed her head and bit her lip a moment, took a deep breath until the moment of loss and vertigo passed. Teeg never noticed.

“Case like that—it never really goes away, does it?” he said. “Did you see the looks on their faces when we walked into Last House?”

She had—like they’d seen monsters. Like they really thought the investigation might be continuing after so many years, that Neeve would still face consequences for that long-ago infraction. And wasn’t that the reputation investigators wanted? That you could never, ever forget what you’d done?

That no one could.

“She seems so quiet. What could she have been thinking, when she did it?” Teeg asked.

Neeve likely asked herself the same thing. It had been so long ago. What could that younger version of her have been thinking? “I don’t know. Lots of reasons. They never think they’ll get caught until they do.”

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The night never really cooled off, and the bedrolls they’d brought with them turned out to be mostly useless. Gave them some padding on the floor, at least. Enid had a restless night, was never able to get comfortable. It wasn’t the stark conditions; it was thinking about home . . . and worrying. She didn’t like having her attention divided.

Morning came with the call of gulls and buzzing of insects.

She’d fallen asleep and woke back up so many times during the night, that when dawn arrived, light coming in through the shed’s uncovered windows, she watched it until her bladder forced her to get up, put on her boots, and visit the latrine. The air turned sticky as the sun warmed it. This early, the haze that hung over the whole of the Estuary felt particularly thick and wet. The air couldn’t possibly hold more water without rain falling.

Enid searched the sky out of habit, looking for black walls of clouds on the horizon, the hints of storms building at sea, getting ready to pound the land. They were still in the season for it. She had never before in her life wished for a storm, but that house falling down of its own accord, or being pushed over by an indifferent bit of weather, could resolve a lot of problems and hurt feelings here.

What would happen if Serenity, her own home, collapsed, and no one could help her and the others shore it up? She felt a pang at that. They’d worked so hard on it, building the physical core of their small household. But she’d be more hurt if anything happened to the people. Sam, Berol, Olive. The baby. She’d give up a house in a heartbeat to keep them safe. They could always build something new, as long as they were all together.

A noise caught her attention, a steady pounding, drifting across the Estuary. Because of the distance, it sounded vague and indistinct, but it wasn’t natural. It tweaked Enid’s instincts.

“What’s that?” Teeg asked.

“Don’t know. I’ll go check it out,” she said.

“I’ll join you.” He checked his belt pouch, where he kept the tranquilizer patches tucked away. Picked up his staff from where it leaned by the steps.