Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

They all looked to Tomas, the elder and mentor, for the answer to that, and he took a moment to reply. How did you answer that? Certainly, most things would be all right for most people. But they never would be again for the dead man, or the people who loved the person he’d been.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Tomas said. “That’s our job.”

Our job. Investigators, moving through communities like brown-draped shadows of ill tidings.

“Oh, I’ll always worry,” said good, sweet Olive, and the smile she gave them was almost back to normal. Then she sighed. “At least it’s not a banner violation.”

She’d become deeply sympathetic to households caught in banner violations. Wanting a baby badly enough could make someone break the rules, she’d say, and then insist she would never ever do such a thing herself, of course. But she could sympathize. After all, you could follow all the rules, earn a banner, and then nature plays a cruel trick on you.

On the wall above the kitchen door hung a piece of woven cloth, a foot square on each side, a red-and-green-checked pattern for blood and life: their banner, which the four of them had earned. They’d all come from households that put their banners on the wall as a mark of pride. This was their first, and they could hope there would be more. Then Olive had miscarried. They had a banner and no baby to show for it. Enid kept telling Olive that they had time and more chances. No one could take the banner away.

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Enid and Tomas arranged to meet at Haven’s archives, where they’d go over any records they had on Pasadan, looking for . . . anything. Something not right. Something that stood out and might explain any anomalies they found once they got there.

After Tomas left, she went to change into the uniform, the earth-brown tunic and trousers. Along with it, she put on the attitude she’d need to convince people she was in charge and her word was law.

Serenity household’s cottage had a handful of rooms. The kitchen and workspace, several bedrooms. Olive and Berol had the downstairs one, Enid and Sam the upstairs. There, she sat on the bed, her brown tunic laid out next to her, her pack open at her feet, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. Sam found her there with her guard down, holding head in hands, just for a moment.

He settled beside her, his weight creaking the ropes under the mattress, making her sway.

“Don’t you have to get to work?” she said, straightening, combing fingers through her short hair to cover her unease.

“We’re just putting the walls up on the new barn at End Zone. It can wait. You going to be all right?”

“Yes, yes,” she said. “It’s probably a misunderstanding. Can’t really be a murder, can it?”

“One way or another, you’ll figure it out.”

“Nice of you to have faith in me.”

She stretched out her hand; he took it and squeezed. His darker coloring contrasted with the pale sand color of hers. Both hands were calloused and weathered, rough, catching against each other. Pulling herself over to him, she gave him a long kiss, which he happily reciprocated. She hoped she would be back to kiss him again soon, and that he was right and she would figure this out quickly.

Back in the kitchen, Olive was clearing up her workspace. Finally finished with the bread.

“I shouldn’t be more than a few days,” Enid said, backpack over one shoulder. “Tell Berol I said hey, yeah?”

“Enid. I was thinking.” Olive paused, staring at her clean hands. Avoiding looking up. “I was thinking maybe you should try. Maybe it was meant to be yours.”

It. The banner. The baby.

How could Olive say that so easily to a woman about to leave for a death investigation? Olive was the one meant to be a mother; Enid couldn’t seem to stop traveling. Enid teared up at the unfairness of what had happened, but she held herself calm—the uniform might have helped—and replied firmly, avoiding any tone that could be mistaken for anything but resolve. “I stand by what we decided. Don’t go dismissing yourself so easily, my girl. The banner is yours.”

She went to Olive, kissed her cheek before heading for the door. Olive appeared both exhausted and grateful.

Olive clasped her hand for a moment. “Careful, Enid. This sounds like a rough one.”

“Don’t worry,” Enid said. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Better,” she said sternly.

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Serenity was on the outskirts of the town of Haven, situated on the Coast Road. The place occupied a wide, grassy valley, bounded by distant rolling hills and lots of sky. Pasture, cultivated fields, orchards, and vineyards, and the households that tended them, spread out along winding paths and the shadows of old roads. The settlement that clustered around Haven was home to a couple thousand folk. Sometimes, especially on the big market days, the place even felt crowded. But mostly it sprawled.

The walk from Serenity to the clinic in the middle of town didn’t take long, maybe twenty minutes, straight down the Coast Road. Enid passed a handful of other households, some garden patches, and workshops. The forge was lit, metalsmiths working, and voices carried from the potters’. Chickens muttered from coops, and goats chuckled from behind sheds.

Other Haven townsfolk were out and about; they started to wave when Enid came up the road, but saw the uniform and then held back. The uniforms changed people, and it didn’t matter how familiar their faces were, most folk never treated them quite the same while they wore the brown. Enid could smile and wave back all she wanted; nothing seemed to change that.