The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

The whole household was indeed there, behind the house. Mart stood, facing down Hawk. After Hawk’s confrontation with Enid, the guy must have come back around to interrogate the folk at Last House. He might have done so earlier, if Enid hadn’t ambushed him. Telman was off to the side, pacing, glancing up at the trees, uncomfortable and avoiding the discussion. Neeve and Kellan, unhappy-looking, were sitting on a set of steps leading down from the back porch. Kellan had quieted, but his face was still red and puffy.

They all froze, looking back at the investigator. No hope of Enid appearing nonthreatening here. Best she could do was smile and hope they didn’t freeze up.

“Investigator Enid. There’s nothing else come up. I don’t know how else we can help,” Mart said cautiously. He seemed to roll his shoulders and straighten his back. Preparing. The others watched him for cues. Mart, the protector of strays.

“My partner was out of line earlier,” Enid said. “I’m sorry for that. But I think he’s right, that there’s a lot around here that isn’t being said. You want to help me out with that?”

The group stared back, seeming particularly guilty. Neeve had knitting in her lap, paused between stitches. Like Kellan’s, her eyes were red from crying. The scene stuttered like that, just for a moment, as everyone waited for someone else to speak first.

Hawk ran, straight for the trees. Predictably, Enid reflected. She thought about chasing after him yet again, but only for a moment. Three pursuits in one afternoon were just too much, and she suspected she was already looking foolish.

She turned back to the folk of Last House and crossed her arms. “Well? What did our friend here have to say?”

The expected silent conference ensued, the four of them trying to nominate with glances and earnest looks who would speak and what they would say. Neeve turned back to her knitting, hunched over it as if the stitches were the most important thing in the world.

Mart said softly to Enid, “You mind walking with me a bit?”

She had a sudden thought: that Mart was the killer, and he was now trying to get her alone to finish her off next. But no, he was smart enough to realize the kind of trouble the murdered body of an investigator would bring down on him. Besides, he wasn’t wearing any kind of knife or other weapon. He’d left his pocketknife behind.

With a nod, Enid let him lead her off, away from Last House.

“I know everyone’s gone all quiet,” he said, when they’d walked a dozen or so yards, out of earshot. The others lingered, watching. “But all this—it’s got them rattled. Ever since Ella turned up like she did. And, well. Folk don’t end up at Last House because they’re good with a crisis, you know?”

Enid smiled with sympathy. “So how did you end up here?”

“Came to the Estuary when I was young ’cause I liked the salvage. The ruins spoke to me. Thought I’d be the one to make some great discovery. Bring back something lost. A working engine, a radio. Something like that.” He shrugged, a fatalistic gesture. “I did all right. Found a bicycle once, the whole thing. Got it working again, and traded it down at Everlast. Mostly it’s just parts, though. We store them up, waiting till we can put a whole one together. Anyway, I came up here to get away from the heat. And, well. I like the quiet. Quiet’s what folk like Kellan and Neeve need, really.”

A local murder wasn’t likely to grant anyone peace and quiet. Especially when they seemed to keep ending up at the center of so many questions.

“Hawk seems very interested,” she said, hoping to lead Mart to reveal some useful bit of information.

“He’s distraught. He wants someone to blame. To punish. Anyone’ll do, I think. He . . . he thought she had come to stay, was coming to talk her into going back with him. Then he found out she was dead. He’d just found out.”

“Can you tell me—did Ella really seem like she wanted to stay, or was that Neeve’s wishful thinking?”

He chuckled. “Neeve liked the girl, I won’t argue that. I think she wanted a friend. As for the girl . . . I don’t know what she was thinking. Can’t even guess.”

“Could Hawk have done this to her? Or one of the other outsiders?”

“No, no, I wouldn’t think so. She’d just show up sometimes, along with a couple of others, when they had hides to trade. Ella liked the clothes Neeve made. Didn’t talk much about where they came from, but they seemed normal enough, even if they were wild. It’s . . . it’s hard to think of them doing something like what was done to that girl. Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“Even though they’re hunters? They hunt to get the hides they bring you, yeah? Whoever made that wound knew how to use a blade.”

“I guess I never thought of that.”

“When they came, did they bring weapons with them? Did you ever notice?” Enid tried to keep her voice from sounding so eager, but wasn’t sure she was succeeding.

“Hawk was asking about a knife, you said.”

She nodded. “Yeah, same one Kellan was looking for.”

“They all have knives,” Mart added. “Mostly salvaged metal, I think. Old signs make good spear tips and arrowheads, if you can cut the shapes and grind the edges.”

She imagined the vicious wound a length of ground-down steel could make. This was frustrating—the more questions she asked, the more possibilities presented themselves. Possible weapons were ample, common. Everyone had access to blades, salvaged or otherwise. She couldn’t figure out what motive might drive someone to use such a weapon, and on someone like Ella. Jealousy was a possibility—her last investigation, the one Teeg was so proud of on her behalf, had been about jealousy. Hawk loved Ella, though Enid was unclear as to whether or not they were a couple. But Ella kept coming here, and he didn’t like it. Had she been visiting someone in particular?

Enid said, “You traded with them, the folk from upriver—you have any way to get a message to them? Anything like a regular line of communication?”

“No,” he said. “They always come down here.”