Darkwood (24 page)

Something cold and certain settled in Annie's chest. Her eyes found the fist of land raised toward the northwest corner of the map. Still she asked, “Where?”

“Finisterre.”

“Does Gibbet know about the ringstone there?”

“Sharta thinks he does. I told him what you saw, Gibbet speaking with the wolf. He thinks—he thought—that Gibbet has made a bargain with the wolves. He learns their language. He throws them food from time to time. In exchange they let him mine at night. Perhaps they've even promised to help him take the crown. Who knows what he's promised them. Of course the first thing he'll do when he's king is tear a path to Finisterre.”

Annie shook her head. “It doesn't make sense. I don't understand why the wolves would agree to fight for him.”

“They are starving, Annie. Their pups are dying. Think of the men who go to work for Gibbet at the Drop. Would any of them choose that life if they could help it?”

“But Sharta must have warned them. Why didn't they listen?” Annie said stubbornly.

“They should have. But Sharta … he and his mate did
something a long time ago that turned the pack against them. They don't trust him. Especially Rinka.”

“What did they do?”

“They helped a human.”

All the time they had been talking, the wolf had never taken his eyes from them. Annie met his gaze. He bared his teeth.

“How did Gibbet find out about the stone?” she asked. “Why would the wolves tell him?”

“I don't know. Sharta didn't know either. Perhaps he learned in the same way he learned to speak Hippa. Gibbet is not like other men.”

Annie hesitated. “Does the king know about Finisterre?”

“He doesn't. He mustn't.”

“Page?”

“Hmm?”

“How can we convince Rinka that Gibbet can't be trusted if Sharta couldn't?”

“We can't. Like I said, it would have been better if he died.”

After Page went to bed, Annie lay for a long time watching the wolf. The shivering stopped at last. His eyelids drooped. When she was sure he was asleep she reached out and touched her finger to one black paw.

The wolf wanted to travel with Annie. Annie alone.

“Of course it's out of the question.”

“But why, Page? I think we have an understanding, Rinka and I.” Annie looked around hopefully for a nod from Beatrice or Serena, but they were studying the breakfast buns with rapt attention.

Page set down her teacup.

“And what understanding is that? That he'll use you for food and transport until he's well enough to kill you? Or perhaps he won't wait that long. Perhaps he'll call his pack the first night on the road and they'll do the killing for him. Is that what you understand?”

Annie's breath caught in a hitch of outrage.

“I'm sorry,” Page went on. “But just because you've spent the past three days barking at each other across the hearth doesn't make you friends.”

Rinka looked up from his bowl of stew. He was nestled comfortably in the bed Annie had made for him out of an old quilt.

“Rinka,” Annie asked. “How do you say ‘my sister is unpleasant' in Hippa?”

He cocked his head to the side and barked.

“Again.”

This time she closed her eyes. The bark wasn't a single note, but an arc of sound, starting low, back in the wolf's throat, and ending high, behind his teeth.
What do you ask
?

Carefully, eyes still closed, she barked back.
I ask how say sister bad
.

He made a sound that could only be a laugh. Annie opened her eyes to find Page struggling between expressions of surprise and annoyance.

“You've made considerable progress,” she said primly.

Annie leaned across the table. “Page, just listen a moment. The king is looking for you. I heard his soldiers talking at the inn the day after we left the palace. Disguise yourself all you want, you still look … the way you look. He doesn't care about me. I'll hide Rinka in the back of the wagon. May we borrow it, and the horse?” Beatrice nodded vigorously without looking up from her plate. “And I'll stay on my guard around the wolf. I promise.”

“And if you do reach his pack, what then?”

“I'll talk to them. I'll practice Hippa every day. I'll tell them what Gibbet really wants, what he'll do to Fin—” She caught herself. “I'll warn them of the danger. We have to try, Page. Sharta told us to try.”

Page dropped her head between her hands and rubbed her temples. Annie took the opportunity to cast beseeching looks at Serena.

“It
is
dangerous,” Serena ventured. “And I don't like our Annie to go alone any more than you do. But if this Gibbet is planning something as bad as you say, perhaps the risk is well run. None of us wants to get caught in the middle of a civil war.” She glanced uneasily at Rinka. “Especially not with an army of kinderstalk.”

“Not that we'd dream of interfering in a family dispute,” Bea put in, looking significantly at Serena.

“Not dream of it,” Serena replied.

The fight left Page. She slumped in her seat. “I promised Father I would keep you safe.”

“I was a baby then.”

“Why won't you let me keep you safe?”

“I can go?”

“I hate it. But yes, go.”

The rest of the day passed in a frenzy of preparations. Page and Annie ran around gathering supplies; Serena hammered away at the wagon, alternately cursing and coaxing it into shape for a long journey; and Beatrice disappeared in a cloud of steam and flour in the kitchen. Hours later she emerged with strips of salted fish and pork, jars of buttermilk, red, wizened links of sausage, flatbread, leeks, endless oatcakes, and the last of the fresh meat from the icebox.

She wagged her finger at Annie. “Keep it packed in snow as best you can. And make sure he doesn't eat it all at once or he'll be sick.”

Annie and Page were in the barn getting the horse's tack together when Page tugged the end of Annie's braid. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Annie raised her eyes. She dreaded the hardness she would find in her sister's face. But Page surprised her.

“Little one,” she said, stroking Annie's hair away from her forehead. “Besides you, Sharta was my only …” She bowed her head. “I'm only letting you go because I know, we both know, you'll go anyway.”

She pulled Annie into her arms, squeezing her tight. Annie's ear was crushed against one of the ornate buttons on Page's cloak, but she didn't mind.

She spoke into her sister's shoulder. “Bea's calling. To feed us again, probably.”

Page laughed and let her go. “Then let's eat.”

But when Annie made to leave the barn, Page hung back.

“Wait. There's something else.” She had an odd expression on her face, as though she was nervous but not about to admit it.

“The other night, when Sharta died, how did you find me?”

“What do you mean? You could hear the fighting a mile away.”

Page shook her head. “No, I mean, how did you
find
us? It was night and you didn't have a torch—how did you even know what direction to walk? That night you found me in the pleasure forest—you didn't have a light then either.”

Annie felt the smile stiffen on her face. It seemed unfair that Page should ask her this, but Annie wasn't sure why she resented it. She wasn't even sure why she hadn't told Page about her dark sight.

“I did have a torch. You must not have noticed,” she lied.

Page looked confused. “But you were holding the pistol in one hand and I'm sure you—”

Beatrice appeared, flapping a dishrag at them from the doorway. “Girls! I've been calling you! Supper is nearly cold.”

They'd agreed Annie should leave after breakfast the next day. Bea had baked a dozen dandelion muffins. Serena had plotted her course.

“If you travel hard you'll reach the Wren's Nest Inn before dark. Mistress Zeb that runs it is an old friend of mine from my trips west. Tell her I sent you. She'll help you see to the wagon. Best not show her what's
in
the wagon, mind,” she added hastily. “But she won't pry.”

Annie nodded and smiled and studied the map, but she had no intention of doing any of it. Despite what she'd told Page, she felt fairly certain the king's soldiers would be on the lookout for her, too. And Gibbet's men—she could just imagine Smirch knocking on the door of the inn.
Seen our girl? Long hair? About so tall? Keep your eyes peeled. There's stone in it for whoever helps us find her. We do miss our girl. We surely do
.