My sword and other belongings lay in a pile near a curve in the old mine tunnel. I buckled my scabbard and counted the money in my pouch. It was all there, and it turned out they hadn’t even thought to check for the knife in my boot. Well, they were just trainees. Then I trailed the waitress some more, having to stoop in many places. At last light shone down an overhead shaft and illuminated a ladder that led to the surface. My head still throbbed like a drum at a harvest festival, and finally I had to say, “Whoa, wait a second.” I leaned against a wooden support beam and made myself breathe slowly and evenly. I was in no shape to climb a ladder until the tunnel stopped wobbling beneath me.
Trudy impatiently put her hands on her hips. “Come on,” she snapped. “You’ve been lucky enough today.”
I wanted to lie down right there, but I knew I needed to get out of the tunnel and back to my job. I shook my head to clear it, a move I immediately regretted. Then I realized the soft voice I heard was not, in fact, my conscience chewing me out for being an idiot. It was a child’s voice softly repeating something.
It came from behind a tapestry hung over a crossing tunnel we’d just passed. If we hadn’t stopped, I never would’ve noticed it. I lifted the heavy fabric and peeked around. The area was just a tiny side room, originally carved to allow miners to step aside when ore carts needed to pass. Small candles illuminated it, their light hidden by the thick curtain. The little bait girl knelt before an altar, her pudgy hands clasped together in prayer. “By Epona’s white mane, I ask that my wish come true,” she said in her singsong voice. On the altar was a single horseshoe, and on the stone wall it faced someone had crudely drawn a white horse.
Trudy pulled me back. “That’s none of your business,” she snapped.
“You’re right. Let’s go.” Some lies took longer to accept than others, evidently.
I stepped ahead of her, and realized she lagged behind for just a moment too long. I dodged sideways, and her knife stabbed right through the spot my kidneys occupied a moment earlier. I punched her with the heel of my palm right between her eyes. The blow stunned her, and the knife clattered to the stone floor. The noise carried, and would soon bring her preteen reinforcements.
I slammed her against the nearest wall. I was pissed off now, and took her knife hand by the wrist. “Your boss and I had a deal, you backstabbing little bitch,” I snarled. “Did she tell you to do this?”
“No,” she said, too dazed to lie.
I bent her last two fingers back until the bones snapped. She cried out in pain, and her eyes opened wide. I slapped her to keep her attention. “I’m not going to kill you because your boss was straight with me. Next time be a good soldier.” Then I shoved her to the ground and went quickly up the ladder. No small, lethal hands reached to pull me back.
I retrieved my horse and crossed the bridge at the next open time for folks mounted on horseback, and eventually found the spot where, long ago, Cathy and I had departed from the road. Most of the forest had been cleared to build the newer buildings in Poy Sippi, but I still wandered for two days, trying to hit upon some familiar landmark that would orient me to the old half-remembered trail. Finally, just as I was about to admit defeat, I found the sign that had originally guided us.
I’d learned about that sign, and the others, after that first Poy Sippi lunch thirteen years earlier. Back then Cathy and I had crossed the bridge without incident and, after most of the traffic had dispersed onto other roads, we ducked into the woods that grew thick and heavy along the main highway.
We hunkered down out of sight behind a huge fallen tree. Cathy took a drink from her canteen and leaned back against the bark. Sunlight through the leaves dappled her face, and a breeze rustled her bangs. “I need a bath.”
“You’re not so bad yet,” I said as I took off my boots and stretched my toes.
She made a face. “Compared to that, I’m not. Did something die in your socks?”
“Keeps the bugs away.” I reclined and looked up at the patches of blue sky. I hadn’t noticed the color of the sky in a long time.
She closed her eyes. “I hate feeling skanky. Always have. It’s been the hardest part of this job.”
“Harder than fighting off grabby yahoos?”
She laughed. “Yeah, definitely.” Then she sat up and looked at me with careful, measuring eyes. I pretended I didn’t notice, but I did. She studied me for a long time before she said with certainty, “Eddie, you were right back at the Sway Easy. I should be able to trust you now. If I’m wrong about it, I deserve what I get.”
She dug inside her pack and pulled out the small map she’d previously consulted only in private. She unfolded it on the mossy ground between us.
“Here’s where we are,” she said, indicating a spot next to the river’s wiggly outline. “And here’s where we’re going. There’s no road or path; we have to look for landmarks.”
The destination seemed to be high in the Ogachic Mountains ahead. “What’s there?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Have no idea. Except that it’s where I’ll find the person I’m supposed to deliver this package to.”
“Do you know this person’s name?”
She nodded. “Epona Gray.”
“A woman?”
“Sounds like it.”
I looked at the map. Our destination really was in the middle of nowhere. “Does it seem odd to you that a woman would get a package way out here?”
“Depends on the woman, I guess,” she said. “Or the package.”
“I don’t know anything about either,” I pointed out.
She looked at me again for a long, quiet moment. Something had changed in her expression. “Yeah,” she said at last.
She peered over the log to make sure we were alone, then unbuttoned her shirt. Strapped around her stomach was a soft fur-lined belt, and in it she’d stuck a thin sealed parcel no bigger than my hand. She pulled it free and handed it to me.
I examined the box. It was a faceless wooden case, tied with string, and the knot had been sealed with unembossed wax. It could hold nothing bigger than my hand. When I shook it, a single large heavy object slid around inside. “Sounds like a rock.”
“Might be,” she said as she put it back and buttoned up her shirt. I realized I hadn’t even glanced at her to see what skin she might reveal.
We waited until dark, then crept back onto the road. There wasn’t much traffic at night, and the nearly full moon provided plenty of illumination. A breeze blew from the east, keeping the air cool and clear. Something about the combination of wind, moon and silence made us speak softly; it was the kind of night that, in retrospect, earns the name “magical.” At the time, though, it was just another night on the job.
Cathy told me about her first delivery, escorting a valuable show dog through fairly harmless territories to the home of its new owner. It had been just her and the dog, a medium-sized wolfhound, walking together for two weeks. The customer tried to stiff her for her fee because the dog had replaced so much flab with muscle. He was not successful.
“That poor dog used to howl at the moon for hours every night,” she said wistfully. “It was the saddest, loneliest sound you can imagine. She never had a proper home, just kennels and dog shows and such. The lady who sold her had never even petted her. I would try to calm her down, comfort her, and it would work for a while. But then she’d move away from the fire and just howl some more.”
I had my hands in my pockets and looked out at the trees tinted blue by the moonlight. Our footsteps were the only unnatural sounds. “Sounds like she had a tough life,” I agreed.