The 7 12 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton

Author:Stuart Turton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2018-06-11T00:00:00+00:00

37

I hear the horses before I see them, dozens of shoes clopping along the cobblestones ahead of me. Not far behind is their smell, a musty odor mingled with the stench of manure, a thick rolling mix even the wind can’t disturb. Only after I’ve been assaulted by their impression do I finally come upon the animals themselves, thirty or so being led out of the stables and up the main road toward the village, carriages harnessed to their backs.

Stable hands are guiding them on foot, their uniform flat caps, white shirts, and loose gray trousers rendering them as indistinguishable from each other as the horses in their care.

I’m watching the hooves nervously. In a flash of memory, I recall being thrown from a horse as a boy, the beast’s hooves catching me in the chest, my bones cracking…

Don’t let Dance get a grip on you.

I tear myself free of my host’s memories, lowering the hand that had instinctively gone to the scar on my chest.

It’s getting worse.

Bell’s personality rarely surfaced at all, but between Derby’s lust and Dance’s manners and childhood traumas, it’s becoming difficult to keep a straight course.

A few horses in the middle of the mass are nipping at those to the side of them, a ripple of agitation passing through the muscular brown tide. It’s enough for me to take an ill-advised step off the road, straight into a pile of manure.

I’m flicking the filth free when one of the stable hands peels away from the pack.

“Something I can help you with, Mr. Dance?” he says, tipping his cap at me.

“You know me?” I say, surprised by this recognition.

“Sorry, sir. Name’s Oswald, sir. I saddled the stallion you rode yesterday. Fine thing, sir, seeing a gentleman on a horse. Not many know how to ride that way anymore.”

He smiles, showing off two rows of gappy teeth stained brown with tobacco.

“Of course, of course,” I say, the passing horses nudging him in the back. “Actually, Oswald, I was looking for Lady Hardcastle. She was supposed to be meeting Alf Miller, the stable master.”

“Not sure ’bout her ladyship, sir, but you’ve just missed Alf. Left with somebody about ten minutes gone. Heading to the lake, best I could tell, took the path alongside the paddock. It’s on your right as you pass under the arch, sir. You can probably still catch them if you hurry.”

“Thank you, Oswald.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tipping his cap again, he falls in with the pack.

Keeping to the edge of the road, I carry on toward the stables, the loose cobbles slowing me down considerably. In my other hosts, I simply leaped aside when one slid beneath me. Dance’s old legs aren’t nimble enough for that, and every time one wobbles under my weight, it twists my ankles and knees, threating to tip me over.

Vexed, I pass beneath the arch to find oats, hay, and smashed fruit littering the courtyard, a boy doing his best to sweep the debris into the corners. He’d probably have more luck if he wasn’t half the size of the brush.

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