The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

Erik and his household were worried that this—their illogical attachment to a thing that had so little value—proved that they couldn’t care for a child. Maybe they were right to worry.

Softer, Erik said, “We just want to know if you’re going to impose any other restrictions. You know, for bringing all this up in the first place.”

By some arguments, calling for an investigation in a situation like this was itself a waste of resources that ought to be punished. Enid didn’t agree with that line of thinking. If people thought that, they’d let arguments stew until they boiled over and people got hurt.

She shook her head. “No. Losing the house is enough, don’t you think? As soon as Teeg and I walk out of here, I consider the matter closed.”

Erik laughed stiffly. “T

hat’s investigators. Coming in, tipping everything over, then walking away.”

Enid brightened. “Yeah, that is our job, isn’t it?”

Clinging to Anna’s hand, Erik looked up the hill, to the ruin behind him. “I guess . . . we should make a plan to start salvaging what we can. Maybe not right away, though.”

“You’ve got time, I imagine,” Enid said. “But you might want to get any salvage out of there before the next storm.”

“Right,” Erik murmured. Enid hoped her smile was comforting, but it felt grim.

There was always another storm, and there never seemed to be enough time between them.

Chapter Six • the estuary

///////////////////////////////////////

Last House

They continued their trek up the hill, and once again, Teeg waited until they were out of earshot. “He took it better than I expected,” he said.

“I told you—I think he knew it was coming.” They went a few more steps, and Enid enjoyed the sound of her boots crunching on dry ground, away from the marsh and mud. “They don’t always take it so well.”

The next visits went much like the first few. No one who’d seen the body recognized it. Several who hadn’t already seen it agreed to go to Bonavista and look, just in case. Enid trusted that they really did want to help, and wouldn’t go simply to gawk. No one had noticed anything strange, hadn’t seen anyone from outside the settlement wandering around. This was a case with no threads to follow. Enid was afraid they’d have to hold a pyre for the body and walk away with all the questions left unanswered.

At one household, a very old woman sat on a porch under a veil of mosquito net, braiding hemp rope. Even with her stiff, arthritic hands, the movements, over and under, showed evidence of long practice. Enid asked her if she was old enough to remember anything from before the Fall—she looked like she might be—but no, she’d been born right around that time. The woman remembered her parents’ stories, but that was all. It had been years now since Enid had met anyone with their own memories of that time. The last was Auntie Kath from back in Haven, who’d died over a dozen years ago now. No, longer than that. Almost eighteen years ago. That last bridge to the old days, to before. Enid likely would never meet another, and the fact felt like loss.

Each visit, right before Enid and Teeg left, folk all asked what she’d decided about Semperfi. Was she going to make them let the house go, or force the rest of them to prop it up? Enid told them it wasn’t important, not right now. They’d find out her judgment soon enough. It was like they didn’t see the dead body as something that concerned them. Only the house and their neighbors. Enid left them hanging.

As for the identity of the young woman, many of them said to ask at Last House. Last House traded with the wild folk, they might know. Ask them. People seemed relieved to send the investigators on their way with at least that suggestion. As if it helped.

Finally Enid and Teeg arrived at Last House.

The last household on the path was a sprawling, sturdy two-story cottage with rooms added on to the back. Unadorned, maybe even uninviting, though Enid avoided judging the inhabitants. They may have chosen to use their energy and resources on tasks other than making their house pretty for other people. Enid looked for the usual: a cistern full of drinking water, a solar collector for heat and light, a latrine an appropriate distance from living quarters—the essentials. Last House had them all.

They might have tried coming up with a more interesting name.

Piles of salvage were neatly arranged in a clearing on the cottage’s south side. Fallen trees and driftwood mostly, but also rusted rebar, flat sheets of weather-stained steel, bins containing broken glass and loops of cable, coils of wire, and broken-up electronics. Clearly a scavenging household. A set of wind chimes made of bits of animal bone and seashells strung on hemp hung silently off the front porch.

“So where’d Kellan go?” Teeg said, looking around.

They hadn’t heard from him since Enid sent him off to see about a pyre, and no one seemed to be working on it. Nobody was outside working at all.

Teeg knocked on the door. It felt odd; the grapevine in most villages was such that they rarely had to knock on doors. Folk saw them coming from far off, seemed like. As if their uniforms came with warning bells. Everyone in the Estuary had been watching for them, and Kellan should have already brought them word of the dead woman. Folk usually came out looking for more news after something like that.

They waited. The quiet drew on. Not even footsteps on the other side of the door.

“Maybe nobody’s home?” she asked.

“There’s four people supposed to live at Last House, from the records, right?” Teeg asked. “If they ran off—what does that say?”