A roar of approval sounded when he had finished.
“I wonder,” Rowan spoke up, but she could not be heard above the din. However, the duke flashed her a warm smile, then raised his hand to quiet the others.
“Please, everyone,” he said. “The lady wishes to speak.”
Clearing her throat, Rowan stepped forward. “I wonder,” she said. “I wonder if we’re hunting a monster at all. Goi Tate makes a good point. Arlene’s and Emily’s deaths were not like the others. They died in their homes—in their beds. I think we need to examine all possibilities.” Noticing that the men were beginning to take her seriously, she grew confident and began to speak with more authority. “So we have the first deaths up on Beggar’s Drift. Five men dead—one with his eyes and tongue gouged out, the others mysteriously dead after exposure to the elements. At the time, we wondered if it might be the work of a large predator—a wolf, many of us assumed. Next we had the strange case of my cousin’s death. The girl was wandering about in the woods at night—unusual circumstances, to be sure. Few dare go into the woods at night during our best of times, and yet there she was, alone and wandering through the trees, when a beast struck her. As I’m sure you all know, it tore out her heart. So now we have two similar crimes, although not exactly the same, but what links them is their locations. Fiona Eira in the forest, and the men up in the mountains, they were all beyond the village boundary, out in the wilds and far from their homes. But Arlene’s death, and my Emily’s death, do not seem to match the others.”
“Why are we listening to this chatter from a woman—and a child at that,” groaned Goi Tate. “We need to get out there and find the beast. Chop off its head.”
The duke raised his hand to silence the man. “Let her speak. Please, Rowan, go on.”
“I think we need to separate the deaths based on their execution,” she continued, her palms beginning to sweat. “We have two sets of attacks that were violently bloody in nature and carried out in the wilds. Then we have two more attacks that were quite different in nature. These took place within the village boundary, behind locked bedroom doors, and the attacks themselves were almost … neat. I saw the scenes myself. There was very little blood about because, well, because it seemed the victims had been drained of it.”
The duke looked at her, something dawning in his eyes.
“So you think this might be the work of two separate perpetrators?” he asked.
“I don’t think you should rule it out. Moreover, I think we need to look into the possibility …,” Rowan started, but suddenly, all eyes upon her, the words seemed too awful to say out loud.
“What is it?” prodded Paer Jorgen. “Speak, child.”
“I just wonder if this second set of deaths was caused by something else—if it was the work of a person—of one of us.”
Paer Jorgen seemed to seriously consider her question, and the room fell into silence, but a moment later, Goi Tate burst into laughter.
“A man who can walk through walls?” he mocked. “I forgot to tell everyone, that just happens to be one of my talents. Should have mentioned it.”
Soon the others joined in with their laughter, and Rowan, annoyed, looked to the duke, who was staring at her intently but also seemed somehow miles away. Clearly, he had been struck by what she’d said. She met his eyes, and he nodded at her but was too lost in his thoughts to quiet the others. Frustrated, Rowan crossed her arms in front of her chest as Goi Tate went on, rising up to his full height as he spoke.
“People, we need to take action. There’s something living in these woods. It’s preying on our people, and it must be stopped.”
Wilhelm spoke up, his voice hesitant. “I agree with Goi Tate. This thing, whatever it is, it must be stopped before it kills again. Whatever risk we take going out there is small in comparison to doing nothing in the face of this bloodshed.”
“Easy enough to say when one of your own boys refuses to join the hunt,” Tak Carlysle said.
Draeden Faez stroked his beard. “I must say, your son’s reticence to join surprises me,” he said.
Wilhelm looked shaken. “He’s not been well, my boy. He’s … not been well.”
Rowan saw a few of the men exchange looks, and she fought back her growing anxiety. Surely they couldn’t think Tom could have anything to do with the killings.
“And where was he again when Fiona Eira was murdered?” asked Goi Tate pointedly.
Wilhelm flushed a violent shade of red. “He was here at home. I … sent him out to gather firewood, and that’s when he heard the scream.”
“It’s interesting, though, isn’t it,” Goi Tate continued, looking away from the older man. “That he happened to be the first to find the body, and now he seems to be losing himself to some mystery illness such that he’s not content to join us in the hunt.”
“What are you suggesting?” Wilhelm practically growled, starting across the room toward Goi Tate, but the duke held his hand against the man’s chest, stopping him.
Rowan stood frozen, watching the scene as if it were taking place somewhere very far away.
The duke cleared his throat. “Goi Tate is making inappropriate suggestions. Your boy has had a shock. If he is unfit to hunt, then it is best that he stay home. This is not a forced labor, and we’ve numbers enough as it is. So,” he said, clapping and looking around the room. “The beast seems to strike at nightfall, and that is when we shall hunt it. Let us hope we will have better luck this evening.”
But they did not. Fifteen men, combing the woods in pairs until the early hours, did not find so much as a ground squirrel. It was as if the entire forest had gone into hiding. If there was a beast living in their woods, it was not going to make itself easy to find.
There was a moment, though, when Wilhelm, shotgun in hand, had a strange sensation. He was standing near an ancient yew tree, the kind his mother used to say was home to fairy hollows, when he was certain he felt movement beneath his feet, and for an instant, he nearly thought he heard Tom’s voice. Distant, muffled, but Tom nonetheless. His entire body froze and his heart raced, and then, quickly, he pulled himself out of his trance and hurried away from the tree.
The next day, Rowan was in the kitchen, pulling a tray of scones from the oven, when she noticed the duke leaning against the far wall.
“Thank you,” she said, and after setting down the tray, she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Thank you for defending Tom like you did at the tavern.”
“A mob of frightened men is a dangerous thing,” he said. “They are like a pack of wild animals, and often they choose to sacrifice the injured of their herd.”
She looked to him with pained eyes. “Tom couldn’t have had anything to do with any of this. He’s a good boy. There is no one kinder. You don’t suspect him, do you?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. The boy has had a shock is all. I’ll do my best to help your fellow villagers see as much. Unfortunately, the gentle people of Nag’s End do not share your love of logical inquiry.”
His words made Rowan think of Goi Tate and Onsie Best, and she couldn’t help but laugh, and when she did, the duke joined her.
“Ah, Rowan,” he sighed. “How I wish I could take you with me to the palace city, and here you go and spoil it all by marrying a soulful village lad.”
Feeling a blush rising in her cheek, she lined a basket with a towel for the scones. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have been as much help as you suppose.”