Threads of Malice by Tamara Siler Jones

Author:Tamara Siler Jones [Jones, Tamara Siler]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-553-90203-7
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

17

Dusk had gathered close by the time Dubric and Dien reached the ferry port across from Wittrup. They had queried every business owner and home in Tormod but had found no sign of what had happened to Otlee. They spoke little that evening as they rode west. All lines of evidence led to dead ends, leaving only Calum’s shriveled brain and Eagon’s missing corpse as potential threads to follow.

Dubric dismounted to ring the ferry bell. He felt wracked with a level of fear and shame he had not experienced in decades. Braoin died and Otlee is missing. How could I have failed both boys?

He heard a cart approach, and both he and Dien loosened their swords in their saddle scabbards as it rattled closer. Dubric remounted, turning his horse around to face whoever traveled toward them, while the ghosts seemed intent on getting in his way.

Atro the peddler eased into view, yawning behind his rickety mule. “Peace be to you, Lord Dubric,” he called, waving. “Thank you for calling the ferry.”

“You are most welcome,” Dubric said. “Are you always on the road this late?”

“Aye,” Atro said as he climbed down from his cart. “Some nights much later, I’m afraid. Don’t suppose I could interest you in a trinket or two? Perhaps some tobacco or a bauble for your lady?”

Dubric sighed and rubbed his eyes. His “lady” had died forty-six summers before. “Thank you, but no.”

The peddler opened the back of his cart and pulled himself in. He appeared again with a rolled parcel in his hand and a book tucked under his arm. “How about you, Master Saworth? A lovely bauble for your beautiful wife or daughters?” He unrolled the fabric parcel to show a selection of bracelets.

“No,” Dien grumbled. “Not today.”

Atro’s face fell and he rolled the strip of fabric again. “I’ve got just the thing for you, though, I’m sure of it.” He tucked the roll of fabric under one arm and pulled the book from beneath the other. Presenting it to Dubric, he said, “All the things a village boy should know but might not. Knot tying and rabbit snares. How to bait a hook and set a tent. Curing leather. What berries are safe to eat. It’s got beautiful drawings, real true-to-life pictures. The cover says it’s The City Boy’s Guide to Country Living.”

“I see that,” Dubric said, politely thumbing through despite the stinging in his eyes.

Atro beamed. “I thought that boy you have might like it.”

“He is missing,” Dubric said, closing the book. He tried to ignore the pain in his heart and clenching throat.

“Have you seen him today?” Dien asked.

“Yes, I have,” Atro said, taking the book from Dubric. “He can’t be missing, milord. Boys go missing at night, round here, and yours purchased a tonic and a bag of candy from me just this morning. In Tormod. He was fine, milord, just fine. Maybe he got lost, or found some children to play with.”

“You saw him?” Dubric asked.

“Yes, sir, I certainly did, this morn in Tormod.

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