Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

A middle-aged man in a blue tunic and well-loved straw hat supervised the pyre, a simple mound of dry wood and kindling. He stood waiting with a torch and lantern. A bucket of water sat nearby.

“Any words?” he asked Enid and Tomas, who stood by, watching. Sero’s body, wrapped in an old length of sheeting for a shroud, seemed small. Just another part of the fuel.

Enid shook her head. “Just . . . thank you. For this.”

The man nodded, lit the torch from the small lantern flame, and set the pile burning in a half-dozen spots. A great crackling fire roared up in moments, pressing out heat. Enid and Tomas stayed to watch for a time, until the top layer or so turned to gray ash and the whole thing started to sink.

The man would stay and tend the fire, see the whole pyre burned through. But he was the only one. Ought to be friends and family and children here in the clearing, well-wishers surrounding the fire. Ought to be here drinking, singing songs, telling stories about the departed, crying out their grief. But Sero didn’t have anyone. Not even the committee members came; Enid had expected Ariana at the very least. Instead, the only witnesses to the pyre were a couple of investigators—strangers—and a man sitting on a stump, who watched the flames and poked at the logs because he seemed to like fire on principle. It felt wrong and made Enid sad. But the chance to fix it would have been years in the past. Decades. Assuming there was even anything to fix. If Sero had been contented alone, why should anyone complain now?

At the edge of the town, a couple of figures stood. Two people, a man and woman. Younger, in their early twenties maybe. She couldn’t make out much more of them with the sun at this angle. But Enid spotted them in time to see the woman storm off and the man bow his head and follow. Not quite observers, but something.

Those two. She would talk to those two next.

The wind changed; the smoke drifted, and the smell of burning wood couldn’t entirely mask the stink of the burning body. Enid touched the attendant’s shoulder and thanked him again, then said to Tomas, “Time to get to work.”

“Yeah. Saw those two watching?”

“I did.”

Pasadan wasn’t that big. Shouldn’t be hard to find anyone. Of course, the two figures had vanished. Fled. But she was patient. They’d turn up.

“Something to hide, then?” Tomas asked. “Or is it just the uniform?”

“I always assume it’s the uniform first. You’ve worn it so long, you take it for granted, the way a whole village freezes up when one of us comes along.”

“But the effect is so very useful,” he said, grinning. Indeed, she’d seen cases where a guilty party would throw themselves at an investigator, unburdening their souls of every slight they could think of, just at the sight of the uniform and the implication t

hat their mistakes would inevitably be discovered so they should immediately confess and beg for mercy. Muddied the water, sometimes. So Enid assumed anxiety when folk avoided her.

On the other hand, someone had fled from that work shed. Someone in this town must know something.

They reached the first dirt lane in the town. Tomas gestured right; the man was out of sight, but the young woman was marching steadily to a house a ways down.

“Why don’t you go ahead?” Tomas said. “The both of us will just spook her. I can find the other one.”

“Right,” she agreed, and continued on, while Tomas went the other way.

When the young woman arrived at the house, she circled around back. Enid followed to see her take up a basket and begin pulling linens off a clothesline. She might have been trying to look like she’d been there for some time. A pale kerchief tied back her black hair, and she wore a yellow skirt and tunic and laced-up sandals; her face was round, still babyish though her body was full grown and curvy.

“Hola,” Enid called as she came around the corner, giving the woman plenty of warning. Her quarry turned sharply but didn’t look surprised. Basket against her hip, shirt dangling from a hand, the woman froze. Enid said, “Please, don’t stop. I just have a couple of questions; we can talk while you work.”

The woman looked like she didn’t entirely believe Enid. When she reached for the next piece of laundry, she moved at about half speed and didn’t glance away from the investigator.

“What’s your name?”

“Miran. Of Sirius household.” A towel dropped into the basket, and she reached for the next as if afraid of startling it.

“I’m Enid. I saw you watching Sero’s pyre.”

Miran ducked her gaze, nodded. “I was curious. I’d heard it was finally being taken care of.”

“Did you know Sero very well?”

She shrugged as well as she could with a basket on one hip. “No. But no one did. He kept to himself. He was . . . odd.”

“So I’ve gathered. Do you remember the last time you saw him?”

“No. Can’t say I do. I mean . . . I’m sure he was around. He was repairing the fencing at Sirius, but that was a couple of weeks ago. After that . . . maybe in the square? Just walking along? You take it for granted, right? See people but don’t see them.”