Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

“Hola,” Enid called.

“Oh!” The woman looked up, first startled, then fearful—her hands clutched tightly, crushing a bundle of chives—then she quickly calmed herself. “Hi. Can I help you?”

“Just wondering if I could speak to Miran. Is she here?”

“I think she’s busy—one of the dogs got into some brambles; she’s cleaning him up. But it should only take her a minute. I’ll go get her—”

“Before you go, can I ask you a couple of questions?”

The woman had that round-eyed startled look again. The one so many people got with investigators.

“Yeah, of course.”

“What’s your name?”

“Fern. I’m Fern.”

“You head of household here?”

“One of ’em, yeah. We’re pretty informal here.” She flashed a smile. She seemed to just remember the chives in her hand and went to drop them in a basket on the ground.

The woman reminded Enid of Olive—smiling, considerate, unable to pass a puppy or goat on the road without stopping to coo over it. At least, how Olive used to be before the miscarriage.

“Can you tell me about Sero?” Enid asked. “Did you talk to him much?”

“Oh, no, not really. But . . . well. I worried about him. It’s just not right, him out there all by himself. Maybe no one else worried, but I did. Doesn’t look good for the town, you know, having one person cut off like that. Like an outcast. It’s just so sad what happened, and maybe it wouldn’t have if he’d had someone. You know?”

Fern must have been in her early fifties, with a worn, pale face and a long graying braid resting over her shoulder. Matronly. Enid wondered if she’d ever had a baby.

“But you never spoke to Sero?”

“I sent Miran there with food. To thank him for all his good work. I thought, well, if we reached out to him enough, he’ll come to us—ask to be part of Sirius. We had the space for it.”

Enid grew frustrated. “You thought he could be part of your household, but you never went to talk to him yourself.” She stated it, just to be clear.

“Well, I never really had time. And Miran did, quite often, I think. I didn’t want to force him with too many of us going at him. Scare him off, you know? Like how some dogs are.”

Yes. Because Sero was exactly like a dog. “Can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against him? Maybe didn’t think much of him living like an outcast?” Enid wondered, if Fern had been of a different disposition, might she have thought of a different solution for the “problem” of a loner than setting out food for him like he was a stray?

The woman’s eyes clouded for a moment, as if she caught a hint of Enid’s implication but just missed grasping it entirely. “Enough of a grudge to hurt him? Oh, no. No. I can’t even i

magine.” Her hand went to her heart, a guarding gesture. Purely symbolic. Olive would have left Sero alone, as the man seemed to have wished. Enid was sure of it.

“Thank you, Fern. Maybe you could call Miran for me now?”

Fern disappeared into the kitchen, and Miran rushed out a moment later.

“What? What is it?” She saw Enid and pulled up short, stricken.

“Miran. Could you come with me? My partner and I would like to speak with you somewhere a little more private.”

“But I haven’t done anything.” Her voice was tight.

“Yes, I know. It’s just we’ve got our office set up in the committee house. You don’t have to go, but it would be really helpful if you came and spoke with us.”

Enid always gave people an out. Always told them they didn’t have to go with her. But somehow, they always did.

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