Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

But people did know. Somehow, they always did.

She frowned. “You seem to be telling me he deserved to die the way he did.”

Arbor sat back as if she had slapped him. In the next breath he looked down, shoulders hunched. Proof of shame. Because he knew better; they all did.

She imagined that Arbor was not the only one who would say that Sero was bannerless. That this had somehow happened because of it. Because being bannerless meant a person lacked protection. Lacked a home and safety. As if the child ought to be made to suffer for the parents’ infraction, all through his life.

Enid would say to them: The whole community couldn’t see fit to offer him protection, then? Is that what you’re saying? Did he not earn his keep for building all your pretty fences?

They’d all get that hunched-in, shamefaced look that Arbor had now.

She stood from the table, grateful not to have to thank him for a glass of lemonade. “If you think of anything, if you hear anything, come find me or my partner, Tomas. All right?”

He hadn’t met her gaze but once or twice during their whole talk; now he looked straight at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Yes.”

Enid next spoke with the town’s lone medic, Tull. Used to dealing with procedure and questions, he was the only one not instantly put on guard by the uniform. He kept a small clinic near the committee house. In so many respects, this was such a nice town—so many places didn’t try to recruit or maintain a medic. Pasadan had so much, and yet here they were, in the middle of an investigation.

Tull and Enid stood outside the clinic’s front door, taking advantage of the cooler air outside. His testimony didn’t hold any surprises.

“It was a mess,” Tull said, shaking his head in memory of the scene. “He was dead when I got there. But even if I’d got to him quick, I couldn’t have helped. Not with a head injury like that.”

“He didn’t have any other injuries or health problems that might explain what happened?”

Tull shook his head. “No, no. Not that I know of.”

“Was anyone with you when you examined the body?”

“The whole committee. The two guys I had with the stretcher—one of ’em’s my assistant I’m training up.”

“Anything strange about how the committee members acted around the body?”

“Just the way they argued. I mean, of course they argue, that’s what a committee does, right?” He chuckled. “But sometimes people get funny around death. More stressed than usual. Ariana was in tears. Wanted an investigation right off. Philos argued against, said they could take care of it.”

“I get the feeling Philos and Ariana don’t get along,” Enid prompted.

He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Philos isn’t used to being questioned. Ariana asks a lot of questions, you know? But I don’t think anyone has complaints about them or their work, if that’s what you mean.”

Enid nodded. “I’m just trying to understand what happened. Part of the job of coming into a town like this.”

Tull asked, “Do you really think something’s wrong? Obviously it was an accident, right?”

“What do you think?” Enid asked. “Accident or not?”

“You mean, did someone push him?”

See? Enid told herself. It wasn’t just she who thought it. “There’s blood on the outer wall and a set of footprints running around the back of the shed. Any idea who they belonged to?”

“No,” he said, astonished. His gaze turned inward, thoughtful. He breathed again, “No.”

“If you think of anything, let me know, yeah?”

“Of course, of course.”

This was a man looking at his community in a whole new light. Mysterious bloody handprints had a way of doing that.

After her talk with Tull, Enid met back up with Tomas. He hadn’t had much luck with his interviews, either. Just more of the same: Sero had been a loner; no one talked to him; no one had any idea who might have seen him last. Or who might have run around the back of that shed. And did they know that he was bannerless? Most everyone had taken care to point out that he was bannerless. All very rote.

At least they felt they could authorize the cremation of Sero’s body that afternoon. Whether they might learn more from it later didn’t matter—it wouldn’t last long enough. Tomas oversaw the arrangements—one of the households already had the pyre set up in a clearing about a hundred yards away from the center of town; they were just waiting for the word. Sero didn’t have a household, but this one stepped forward to take care of the job because of the goodwill they’d earn with the committee for doing so. Or maybe they really were doing it to be nice. One could be optimistic. Probably it was a little of both. If the committee had to name a household to do the job, it would reflect badly on the whole town.