Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (14 page)

Jenna snorted and turned away. “Why the sudden stop, Evie? What
did you see?”

I raised a finger and pointed at a distant building that had
caught my attention.

“What is it?”

“A hiding place.”

“How do you know someone’s not in there?”

“I have a feeling.”

“A feeling?” Jenna repeated.

“Let’s check it out. If it’s occupied, we’ll move on.”

“I don’t like it.”

I shrugged and started off across the open field beside me. “I’m
starting to think you don’t like anything.”

That distant structure turned out to be a barn occupied by
several musky animals and piles of doughy smelling hay. A nanny goat greeted us
with a terse, “Bahhh,” then snuggled up to her babies and paid us no more mind.
Two milk cows stared at us with baleful eyes and the velvety nose of a plough
horse eased over his stall door and sniffed at his intruders.

“We can’t stay here,” Jenna said. “Someone will be here for
the animals at first light.”

“And we’ll be gone before then,” I said. “Help me look for a
tool that can get rid of these blasted irons.”

I raised my arm and jangled our chain at Malita. I made a
pair of shears with my fingers and mimicked cutting through the links. She
nodded and searched for a suitable tool. An unlit oil lantern sat on a
worktable near the doorway. We scrounged through the table drawers until Malita
found a packet of matches. After several false starts, she managed to light one
and touched the flame to the lantern wick, setting it alight. We used the light
to search the barn and discovered a large rasp in the tack room.

“I think we could file through our chains if we had a few
hours,” I said, “but the sun will be up soon, and we need to be gone before
then.”

After scouring the barn again, Malita found a mallet. With a
triumphant sound, she held it up and tugged us back to the tack room. She
picked up a sturdy iron spike the farmer had probably used as a hoof pick and
pulled us over to the worktable at the front of the barn. After lying her
manacled wrist on the table, she inserted the spike’s tip into the keyhole. She
motioned for me to pound the spike with the mallet. I understood her meaning
but was squeamish about swinging the heavy mallet at her delicate wrist.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She must have understood my tone because she nodded and
turned her head away, scrunching her eyes shut.

“Don’t miss,” Jenna said. “You’ll break her wrist.”

I grimaced at her. “Do
you
want to do this?”

Jenna assumed an impatient stance and waved her hand,
indicating I should move it along.

“Three… two… one,” I trained my eyes on the slim tip of the
spike and swung. The mallet struck true, but not hard enough. In my reluctance
to hurt Malita, I had held back. She grunted and repeated her hammering
gesture. She clearly wanted me to do it again and with more force. I murmured a
request for help from my father and counted down again.

On one, I swung without hesitation, emptying my head of
doubt. The hammer hit the spike and bounced up, almost striking me in the nose.
Jerking to the side to avoid the recoil of the blow, I lost my balance and fell
to one knee, but Malita’s manacle had fallen open, and her wrist was loose. She
shouted something, her joy evident in her face and voice. I handed the mallet
and spike to her, urging her to free the rest of us. In short time, we made a
pile of irons on the worktable.

“What now?” Jenna asked, rubbing her wrists as if to remove
the memory of the cold metal. For once, a look of expectation showed on her
face instead of one of trepidation.

“Food would be nice,” I said.

“I didn’t see anything like food when we were looking
around.”

“Neither did I.” I patted my empty belly. Malita saw my
gesture, and her face brightened. She pointed at Jenna and me, then pointed to
the floor, issuing a command that sounded like “Blannah.”

I thought her command meant she wanted us to stay put, and
she dashed through the door before anyone could object. Jenna shrugged at me
and I shrugged back, but we stayed in place as Malita had demanded. About the
time I began to worry, Malita returned, carrying a bundle and presented it to
us with a flourish. I unwrapped her gift on the worktable, uncovering an almost
full loaf of bread and a large hunk of cheese.

“Malita,” Jenna said. “How did you find this?”

Malita pointed to herself and then walked her index and
middle fingers across her palm. She pointed in a direction away from the road.
Then she put her hands together prayerfully and rested her head on them,
imitating sleep, and added a descriptive snore. She replayed the whole story
like an actor on a stage, showing us how she opened a door, tiptoed around
until she found the food, wrapped it up, and then hurried back to us.

“I guess it makes sense that a barn has a farmhouse nearby,”
I said through a mouthful of cheese and bread. We gobbled the food and pinched
up the crumbs until nothing remained but an empty napkin.

I glanced at the cows and imagined a fresh glass of milk but
figured we’d taken enough from the farmers. “We should get going. It’s almost
light outside.”

We buried our shackles under a pile of hay and left the
barn. Without the restraints to hinder us, we walked faster and easier. The
faintest glow from a dawning sun glowed in the horizon to our right, indicating
the road traveled north and south.

Galland was north of Espiritola, and the port city of Pecia
sat on Galland’s southern coast. I wondered what would Gideon have done, after
he arrived there without me. Would he search for me or thank his lucky stars for
being freed from his burden? Jackie, however, had sought my companionship by
choice, and he might have been willing to help if I could get in touch with him
again. Connecting with his relatives in Pecia was my only hope for finding him.
So, it was to that city that I intend to venture, one way or another.

“Where are we going?” Jenna asked after the sun broached the
sky with early morning golds and pinks. “We’ve been walking forever.”

“The wagon was going this way,” I said. “There must be a
town.”

“But won’t we run into the pirates again? We’ll be
recaptured.”

“Not if we’re careful. We don’t have many other options. I
don’t know where we are, and a town will help us gather our bearings.”

Traffic increased as the sun rose higher, and though we
watched with care, none of the wagons and carriages bore our previous captors.
Sometime in the late morning, the first signs of settlement sprang up in the
distance. My throat and tongue felt like dried leather, and my feet complained
about the long walk, but my pace remained steady. Malita kept up with me, but
Jenna lagged behind as before, each of her steps fell slower and slower as we
approached the edge of a bustling city.

“What’s the matter?” I asked as I waited for her to catch
up.

“What if they’re here? I don’t care to end up a slave again.”

“I thought you said it would be no different than home.”

“That was before I considered that I might be sold to a
bawdy house.”

“A bawdy house?” I could guess the meaning of the term, but waited
for Jenna to clarify.

She blushed and turned her eyes to her feet. “You know,
where men…
do things
with women they’re not married to.”

“Ah,” I said.
Just as I thought
. Not that I wished
for such a fate, but my desire for a cold mug of cider and a hot meal
outweighed my concerns for the pirates and their intentions for me. But the
other girls....
Can I just stand by and let Capitan Alemar subject them to
such a horrible fate?

Malita stood by while Jenna and I talked. I would have asked
for her advice, but that surpassed my ability with hand gestures. She looked at
me with big, inquisitive eyes and raised one eyebrow in a questioning gesture.

“Blannah,” I said, pointing to her and Jenna and then to the
side of the road, hoping the word meant what I assumed it had when she used it
in the barn. “Stay here, Jenna. I’ll come back for you after I check it out and
assure we’ll be safe.”

“What if something happens to you?” Jenna asked.

I shrugged. “Then, I guess you’ll know it isn’t safe.”

With no money and no language skills, I entered the small
town with no expectations other than to avoid the pirates and get my bearings. Maybe
I would luck into a bit of discarded food, or a public well with clean water.
Before long, I caught a whiff of beer, the sour odor of fermented things and
cooking spices. Unable to resist the allure, I followed my nose to a small pub
with a wooden placard posted beside the door. It displayed a carved and painted
image of a bull sharing a pint with a large ram and
El Toro y Carnero
inscribed beneath.

The Bull and Ram?
I should have spent more time with
the language books at home, but with no tutor to help, I never pushed myself to
study them. Father only pressured me to learn Dreutchish, the language of our
ancestors, and Espiratola was a long, long way from Dreutch.

As I stood outside, pondering the sign, a man stepped
unsteadily through the door and onto the dusty street beside me. He wavered
once, twice, and pitched face-forward, heading fast toward the ground.

I grabbed his meaty shoulder, and tugged him upright. “Oh,
be careful!”

He leaned on me as he struggled to right himself, smelling
of unwashed body and alcohol. Together we wobbled closer to the pub’s wall, and
I leaned him against the wooden facade. He mumbled something that sounded
apologetic, but I waved him off as I turned toward the establishment’s
entrance.

“You are from Inselgrau, no?” the man said in a slurred
accent. Startled, I turned back to him, and he stared at me with watery,
unfocused eyes from behind cloudy spectacles. Bushy black eyebrows and a shiny
bald head accentuated his pudgy face.

“Yes, Señor, I am,” I said.

“I was teacher of Inselgrish. One time.” He swished a finger
like a sword. “But no more.”

I tried to keep the humor out of my voice as I watched him
sway on his feet. “You used to teach my language?”

“Yes, I teach at the school. Long, long, long time ago. But,
no more. They put me out!” He pumped his fist and that sent him toppling once
more. I caught him again, and we struggled against gravity until he regained
his balance. When I backed away, his face had gone red, and perspiration
sparkled on his brow.

“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked. “What town is this?”

“This town is
terrible
town,” he said, followed by
something unintelligible.

I waited for his rage to recede and tried again. “All right,
it’s a terrible town, but what is its
name
?”

“Its name?” He squinted at me. “Its name, its name... is
Antonio Xavier Olondo.” He drifted off and closed his eyes. Had he fallen
asleep on his feet? I shook him, and his eyes flew open, his expression changing
from surprise to annoyance. “Wha’s this, my lady, wha’s this?” He furrowed his
brow and tried to focus on me, but he could barely keep his chin off his chest.

I tried again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “Not
your
name. What is the name of this
town
?”

“This town is San— San— San Marena.” He exhaled as if giving
the answer had taken a great effort.

“And how far are we from Galland?”

“Galland? This is not Galland. This is Espiritola.”

“Yes.” I struggled to keep my patience. “But if I wanted to
walk to Galland, how far away is it?”

“Walk to Galland?” He considered my question, even going so
far as to rub his chin contemplatively. “You do not
walk
to Galland.”

“Why not?”

“Too far.”

“How far is it?”

The inebriated teacher focused on me again and pushed
himself up straighter. His efforts worked for a moment, but then he slumped
against the wall again. “Four hundred kilometers. Maybe more.”

“Oh dear.” I sagged against the wall beside him. I could
walk about sixteen kilometers a day with a steady pace and no delays. I couldn’t
speak for Malita, but I assumed she could do the same. Jenna on the other
hand.... Anyway, it would take forever, and we had neither supplies nor money
with which to purchase them.

“You do not walk to Galland,” Antonio said again. “You hire a
driver.”

“I don’t have any money for a driver.”

“You take a train.”

“No money for that either.”

He leaned forward and blinked at me. “You get a job.”

“Yes, but who would hire me? I don’t speak the language.”

My new acquaintance rubbed his chin again as he thought this
over. His face brightened, and he shoved himself to his feet. “Mi hermana, my
sister, she give you a job. I demand it!”

The drunken fellow wasn’t up for demanding much of anything,
but turned and demonstrated surprising stability as he stomped his way through
the pub’s front doors. I followed him inside as he bellowed for someone named
Anatella. The windows at the front of the room provided the only light besides
a few gas lamps, and the gloom set a somber tone. The rug underfoot once bore a
pattern, but dark stains now swirled indiscriminately beneath humble wooden
benches and tables.

“Anatella!” Antonio cried again. The patrons seated around
the room ignored him, but a large woman bearing a dark scowl turned toward him.
She wore her hair tucked in a thick black bun at the base of her neck, and she
shared most of her brother’s facial features, including the eyebrows.

“Qué quieres, Antonio?” she bellowed back. She was drying a
tray of damp glassware, but set down her work and stepped around the bar. Her
eyes flickered to me and then back to her brother.

Antonio explained in a verse of flowing, singsong words
about my need for employment. At least, I assumed that was what he told her.
Maybe he was convincing her, instead, of his need for another drink. Anatella
glanced at me, so perhaps I was the subject of his pleading after all. She
shook her head and returned a contrary argument, her intentions obvious, even
without understanding her words.

Antonio’s hands flew into the air and intensified his
quarrel. Anatella’s hands joined his, and they danced a ballet of gestures too
complex for me to follow, but at the end, it seemed Antonio had lost. He turned
on his heel, wobbled once, regained his balance, and approached me, holding his
head low.

“She said no?” I guessed.

Antonio raised his eyes to mine. “She say you can wash
dishes, but this is all.”

I paused and arched an eyebrow. “So, I
do
have a job?”

“Washing dishes is no job.” He spat and clucked his tongue. “Washing
the dishes no pay too good.”

“But it does pay?”

“Sí.” He bobbed his head. “Yes.”

I exhaled a noisy sigh. “Good. Then tell her I’ll take it.”

***

Anatella seated me in the kitchen and set a plate before me holding
a huge wedge of something hot and fragrant with the odor of garlic and onions.
I forked up a bite and discovered it was a pie of sorts, made with potatoes and
eggs, and was
delicious
. Anatella left the meal with me after pointing to
a massive stack of dirty plates and utensils towering around the kitchen sink.
I studied the pile, trying not to turn up my nose.

Maybe I had made a mistake, agreeing to the job, but I
forked up another bit of potato and decided I might wash the entire establishment
from floor to ceiling if Anatella would feed me like this every day. My
thoughts flashed to Malita and Jenna waiting on the edge of town. I ate a few
more bites, covered the plate, and hid it on a shelf, so I could share it with
my friends when I retrieved them later on.

On his way out, Antonio had explained the job came with a
cot in the attic, and I could stay as long as I earned my keep.

“Thank you, Antonio,” I said as his sister shoved him toward
the back door leading into the alley behind the pub. “And tell your sister I
thank her as well.”

“My pleasure.” He tried for a low bow and almost hit the
floor again, but his sister caught him and assisted him into the alley.

“I will see you in the morning,” he called over his shoulder
as Anatella slammed the door behind him. She huffed, brushed her hands on her
skirt, and strode into the dining room, muttering under her breath.

I finished washing up late in the evening. My hands had turned
into ugly, red, raw things in the hot water and strong soap. Anatella inspected
my pile of clean dishes, handed me a broom, and motioned to the kitchen floor.
My hair hung in limp, sweaty tendrils around my face, my sprained wrist
screamed, and I longed for a moment to lie down and prop up my feet, but I had
to pay for my place here, and not just for myself, but for Malita and Jenna,
too.

As I scraped up the last pile of dust and flung the rubbish
out the door into the alley, Anatella came into the kitchen, knotting a woolen
shawl over her shoulders. She ran her eyes over the gleaming dishes and clean
floor and nodded her approval. She turned out the two kitchen lamps and handed
me a small, lit taper. She showed me to the stairs leading to the attic and
pushed me in their direction before spinning on her heel to hurry out the alley
door.

“Goodnight to you, too,” I said to her retreating backside.
The door shut with a bang, and I waited several heartbeats to see if she would
return. When she didn’t, I put down the taper and dashed through the exit into
the backstreet. I hurried to the place where I had left Malita and Jenna hours
before.

“
Jenna
…
Malita
…” I whispered and trained my
ears on the silence, waiting for a reply. I stepped toward the high grass
beside the road and hissed their names again.
Please don’t let anything have
happened to them.

A giggle and a harsh shushing came in reply. I recognized
that giggle. “Malita?”

A shadowed head popped up among the grass. An arm extended
high into the air, waving happily. Another head bobbed up beside the first and
yanked on the waving arm, tugging it out of sight. “
What are you doing
?”
Jenna hissed.

Malita pointed at me and mimicked Jenna’s hiss, adding a
dash of sarcasm. “
Evie
.”

She jumped to her feet and bounded over the grass until she
reached my side. Her happiness and relief washed over me when she clutched my
hand and hugged it to her chest. I patted her shoulder as Jenna sidled up to
us.

She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight
onto one foot. “Where have you been?”

“I’ve got us a place to stay and something to eat,” I said. “You’re
welcome.”

I took Malita’s hand and pulled her toward the road. Jenna
followed, but her quiet grumbles punctuated each step. The town had mostly gone
to bed, and no one noticed three girls clinging to the darkest shadows,
skulking into the alley behind the Bull and Ram.

“If the pirates are in town,” I said as we stepped through
Anatella’s kitchen door, “I haven’t seen them. But, I’ve been in here most of
the day. I found a job washing dishes in this place. I don’t think it pays
much, but it has a cot in the attic. We can take turns sleeping on it each
night.”

“And the other nights?” Jenna asked.

“We sleep on the floor, which is better than sleeping in a
ditch, don’t you think?”

I showed them the plate with the potato pie, and Jenner closed
her eyes as she inhaled the comforting aroma. Malita bounced on her feet and
clapped. They took the plate and cut the remains of the pie in half as I
ransacked the pantry and came up with a bit of bread and butter for them to
share.

While they ate, I boiled water on the stove, and when they
had licked their plates clean, I washed their dishes. Then I made a pan of warm
water for our hands, faces, and anything else that needed a good scrubbing. Our
time in the pirate ship’s hold had left us all feeling, and smelling, more than
a little filthy and unclean.

When we had washed ourselves as best we could, I took the
small taper Anatella had left me and led my friends to the attic. We found a
trunk with blankets and quilts. Hoping to sweeten Jenna’s sour mood, I offered
her the cot, and Malita didn’t object.

“How long are we going to stay here?” Jenna asked and rubbed
her eyes. Malita had already made a pallet on the floor and had turned her back
to us.

“Until we can save enough money to find a way out of here.”

After stretching out on my own pallet, I pulled the blanket
up under my chin. The days were warm, but the nights cooled quickly, and the
stars peering through the cracks in the roof revealed where the heat stored up
through the day would escape. Those cracks also showed me where the rain would
leak in. I yawned and flexed my feet and ankles, savoring the relief of being
off my feet.

“What are Malita and I supposed to do in the mean time?” Jenna
asked.

I exhaled, rolled onto my stomach, and pillowed my head on
my hands. My bones felt heavy as stone and consciousness faded around the edges
of my thoughts. “I guess the best thing you can do is try not to get caught.”