The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

“Again,” Teeg said, and Enid straightened and prepared to rush him again.

Lunge, pivot, smack, fall.

And again, he wasn’t hitting hard—he knew how to pull punches—but she was going to have a bruise on the small of her back. A hard thwack in the kidneys would floor someone in a real fight.

He expected her attacks, but the idea was that the repetition, driving the pattern into his body’s memory, would make the movements come instantly when they were needed. Tomas could make these moves look like dancing, with a twist of an arm and a right turn of his body redirecting the force of his assailants’ attack and sending them to the ground. Tomas didn’t need to practice often, but Enid always appreciated observing. She never worried with him watching her back.

Teeg still needed some practice. This wasn’t natural for him yet. Enid attributed the problem to a lack of confidence rather than skill. If he was like her, then in the back of his mind he was imagining a knife or machete in his opponent’s hands, wondering what he would do if an enemy were armed.

“Again,” she ordered.

She got back to her feet, and this time lunged at him before he was quite ready, his staff still loose at his side and out of position. He stumbled back, swung the staff up, and she went low to avoid the coming strike. Fell forward, grabbed his calf, and pulled, throwing him off balance. With a shout of surprise, Teeg toppled, and Enid tumbled to the ground after him.

They both lay sprawled, breathing hard. He’d dropped his staff, and he groaned as he pushed himself up on his side. For a moment she worried that he might have gotten hurt in the fall, but then he said, “Not fair.”

Chuckling, she sat up. “I know! But you’re awake now.”

“I was awake before!” He glared at her, planting the staff to help him stand. “You trying to teach me some kind of lesson? Put me in my place?”

“And what place is that?”

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Not that, precisely. But she had to consider how to explain what she really thought. “I think you’re not thinking things through. You’re too worried about winning, and this isn’t a game.”

Enid sat, legs out, taking the moment to rest. She was tired and she had to acknowledge how long the past couple of days had been and how much they’d taken out of her. If not for Ella’s body and its wound, they wouldn’t be here practicing at all.

Their uniforms were grubby, stained with dried mud and sweat. They’d each brought only one change of clothes; they weren’t supposed to be here this long. They could wash, but nothing ever seemed to dry out in this humidity. Well, maybe she could scrub out some of the stains and hang

the clothes to let the wrinkles fall out overnight.

“I think I’m done,” she said, sighing.

“No. One more. I want to end with a win. You can’t quit after shoving me over like that.” He stood and held the staff in both hands like he was going to charge her with it. Strike her in the gut and shove her over, just like he’d been trained.

She could have told him that this was exactly his problem: he wanted to win, no matter what. But he had a point; if this was training, might as well let him feel good about himself. A boost of confidence. Or he’d pout the rest of the evening.

In the end, the fact remained that someone out there in the world had killed a woman with a blade. Maybe the killer had fled. Maybe had run for a hundred miles and would never be found, and would never do another horrible thing again.

Or maybe the person was nearby and ready to strike at any moment, should anyone discover the truth.

No, they had to be on guard.

“Right,” she said, heaving herself to her feet, brushing off the dirt she’d collected on her tunic. “Again.”

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Enid and Teeg accepted yet another supper from the folk at Bonavista—clam chowder again. Enid would be sure to send back a large stash of supplies in repayment. But they’d already settled the case they’d come here to investigate. So what were they still doing here?

They weren’t solving a murder; they were smashing pottery.

“Kellan confessed!” Teeg declared, yet again. He was sure they’d solved both cases. Again they’d taken their supper and retreated to the work house, eating on the front porch to take in what fresh air there was. Enid couldn’t get him to see that what Kellan had said wasn’t a confession, but blind panic. She’d stopped trying, so they ate the rest of their meal sullenly, in silence.

It was Enid’s turn to deliver their dishes back to the main cottage. Doors and windows were open to let in air, screened over to keep out bugs, and after dark things turned pleasant. A cool breeze came in from the ocean, and the front room was comfortable. The household gathered here, under solar lighting, to work on projects, mending and knitting and the like. The kind of pleasant domestic scene Enid always appreciated, which meant everything was working the way it should.

Enid set the dishes next to the sink and pump. “Already washed, thanks.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, it’s no trouble,” Juni said, rushing over, domestic and attentive. If Enid didn’t know better, she might think the woman didn’t trust her definition of clean. She recognized the type.