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The rough, scuffed prints outside the shed, near where someone had put a bloody hand on the wall while fleeing, matched Dak’s footprints. It wasn’t definitive proof—plenty of men in town had his height and build, and probably even wore similar sturdy boots. But it gave her some leverage.
She still didn’t know why. She didn’t have the story of it clear, yet. Why Dak would even confront Sero, much less harm him? She couldn’t imagine him harming anyone—but that was her own bias, wasn’t it?
And she still hadn’t decided if she wanted to go through this alone, without a second investigator to help. Maybe she ought to send for help. Maybe she ought to leave it to someone else. The heat, the crying, had given her a headache. Her mind didn’t seem to be working right, so she went back to the committee room, curled up in a chair, and tried to think of what to do next.
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The sun had started to set when a knock came at the door, and Enid stretched, realizing she needed to go to the bathroom and she could do with a shower; her whole body felt knotted.
“Come in,” she said.
It was Miran, who crept in cautiously, holding a basket that smelled of roasted something or other.
“I brought you some dinner. Fern said you should eat something.”
Enid didn’t want to eat, but she had to acknowledge the hollowness in her belly. She hadn’t had anything since breakfast. Breakfast with Tomas. She should eat something, he would have told her. Enid invited her in, and she set the basket on the table and started putting out a dinner of mutton stew.
“Does Fern ever deliver her own messages?”
Miran smiled thinly at the basket. There were also rolls and salted green beans. “She doesn’t like leaving the household much. Makes her nervous.”
“Well. It’s good she has you, then.”
“I suppose.” She finished laying out the meal, including a mug of lemonade, and Enid felt tears starting again, which she wiped away. “You need anything else?”
“Maybe company? You mind staying?” It was a lot to ask, but Miran didn’t hesitate to pull out another chair and settle in.
“I’m really sorry,” she said. “We’re all really sorry. I know he was an investigator and all. But he seemed nice.”
“He was. We grew up in the same household. Knew him my whole life.” He’d always been there to pick her up when she fell. Now here she was ruining an investigation, and what was she going to do?
“Is it hard what you do? Being an investigator. Going into places where you’re a stranger and no one likes you. I don’t think I could do it.”
“Yeah. It’s very hard sometimes. But it’s important work. Like digging latrines or butchering chickens. Someone’s got to do it, yeah?”
“I suppose.” Her hands were clenched in her lap, her brow furrowed with anxiety. She was worried about something. Enid set down her fork.
“Miran. Did anyone know what Philos and Bounty were doing? Did Kirk know?” He had to have his household’s help. They were implicated.
She shrugged, which could have meant anything. “Folk don’t much like arguing with Philos. He’d say to leave a thing alone . . . and most of us would, since he always seems like he knows what he’s doing
. We mostly didn’t ask.” Tears sprang in her eyes; she was so sensitive. “I should have known what was happening. That something was wrong.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Enid reassured her. “Not unless you saw something specific.”
Shaking her head, she said, “It wasn’t anything I saw. It was . . . it was Kirk. He was so sure that Bounty would get a banner soon. Positive. Talked like it had already happened. He was so proud, and he said . . . he said he wanted me to have it, that he wanted it to be ours, mine and his, that we should have a baby together as soon as they got that banner. And I, and I—I wasn’t sure. He wanted me to come live at Bounty, but Fern needs me so much, I couldn’t leave her. So I told him I wasn’t sure. I’m only eighteen; I don’t know that I want a banner right now. I—I don’t think I’ve earned it, right? I’m not ready to be a mother, not yet. I know everyone’s supposed to want a banner and a baby, and I’m sure I will someday. But I’ve got to earn it, and he kept on, and on—”
“And you told him no,” Enid said.
She hugged herself, one hand rubbing the back of the other arm. An unconscious gesture, touching the anomaly of the implant under the skin. Get a banner, have the implant removed. That thing you never thought about until you had to.
“I tried to, but he wouldn’t listen, he wouldn’t accept. Like he couldn’t believe I’d say no. I think . . . maybe he thought I was hiding something. That . . . that . . .”
And there it was, laid out like a newly made road.
“That you wanted to share a banner with someone else.”