Quench by Mia West

Author:Mia West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-04-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

They lay near the shallow puddle at the bottom of the well, bodies stiff: four crows, the shine of their black feathers dulled by mud. Their swollen tongues stretched out from open beaks, as if trying to reach the water.

“They were here when we arrived.”

“We?”

“Master Judoc wanted to see our progress, so I brought him out.”

“Judoc.” An image flashed through Marc’s mind of Judoc and Philip with their heads together before the Council meeting. “Why?”

“Because of the livestock. He’s been keen to find a closer water source than the creek.”

“And the birds were here when you got here?”

“Yes, master.”

“Where is Judoc?” Wolf asked.

Cedor shrugged. “I ran to find Master Marcus. He must have left.”

Marc looked at Wolf. “To find Philip.”

Wolf frowned. “You don’t know that.”

“Should I remove them?” Cedor asked, scowling at the dead birds.

“Leave them.” Marc wanted evidence. He needed evidence. He needed for someone to have planted those birds. The alternative was to admit that the groundwater was poisonous.

“Here’s Judoc.”

He looked up at Wolf’s voice to see the master farmer coming toward them. Marga hurried along beside him, her brow pinched with worry. When they reached the well, Marga peered down at the birds. Judoc nodded to Marcus.

“I figured she could tell us if they were poisoned.”

Marc stared hard at the man. “Can she tell us if they were poisoned before they landed in the well?”

Judoc’s thick eyebrows slammed together. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that some might not have wanted this well to succeed.”

“You think someone is trying to sabotage your project?”

“You tell me, Judoc.”

“Hold! You think I did this?”

“Enough!” Marga barked. “We don’t know anything but that we have dead crows. I need a closer look. Cedor, would you fetch them up into the light?”

Marc and Judoc glared at one another as Cedor descended the ladder. A minute later, he climbed out again, gripping the birds by their feet. Dropping them onto the ground, he wiped his hand on his breeches, his mouth twisted with revulsion.

Marga knelt next to the creatures. She began to examine them, pressing her thumb into their bellies, turning their heads this way and that. Their sightless eyes looked like glass beads. Marc shuddered.

After a few minutes, Marga looked up at Marc. “Poisoned.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t think it was herbal, Marcus. I’m sorry.” She glanced at the well.

She didn’t have to say it. The groundwater was deadly. He couldn’t risk digging a well anywhere near the stronghold. It could explain why they hadn’t found an existing well when they’d arrived. Perhaps someone had already tried and discovered the same problem. The one person who might have known—the old steward of the villa—had died during Marc’s first winter there.

“What’s wrong, Papa?”

Wolf quieted Matthias with a silent shake of the head. Behind them, Philip approached.

The last person Marc wanted to see. Come to gloat, probably. The entire stronghold was likely abuzz with this by now. Judging by the lines of salt crust on his long tunic, someone had fetched Philip up from the beach. From his own project.

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