CHAPTER THREE: ON THE TRAIL
Relieved that Shyri and Thimmy leaving for home had not been overheard, Fawkes sheathed his dagger. He gave JuJu a pat then waved at the street.
The dog wandered out of the gap to sniff here and pee there as though he was out for his nightly walk. Ambling over to where the three men had strolled by, he dropped his head for a real sniff.
Be noticed until you're no longer worth noticing. The memory of one of Grandfather's many lectures echoed in his mind, making him smile. JuJu has learned this so well, Fawkes thought, rolling his eyes. What a thespian!
JuJu picked up the scents of the three men. Trailing them at a walk, he made sure to stay far back and out of sight.
As Fawkes followed the dog, his frustration returned. The Hand had killed so many people just to get Grandfather's book with no fear of repercussions because they bribed the town watch. He did not dare go charging in with a murderous wizard allied with the thieves.
His heart ached for Grandfather. He even missed the old man being quick to use his staff whenever annoyed. If he learned too slow or mentioned something the old man thought foolish, he earned himself a rap from the staff. Still, there had been few bruises. Grandfather had rapped more to make Fawkes think than to punish, most of the time.
Juju turned off the cobblestone street and onto a rutted alleyway made for deliveries. Fawkes followed, his thoughts turning from Grandfather to the old man's beloved book, Garzio. That was not its full name but as much of it as he was allowed to think about. Speaking the name was never allowed. At all. Even now, with Grandfather and Garzio gone, he could not bring himself to speak that name; a well-learned caution in case there were spells waiting for him to speak the name.
The only way to steal Garzio had been to break the bond Grandfather shared with it. The shock of that broken bond would have stunned Garzio long enough that mere thieves could stuff it into a magical sack. The Hand did well keeping it hidden, or at least Haggler did. Until now. The book was in that magic sack with the gleaming sigils and he needed to rescue it.
It would be easy to use his magic to get the book back right now, but he dared not. Well, sure, he could not cast a spell to kill them all in one fell swoop so there would be a fight. Fights were noisy.
Fawkes grimaced. He hated admitting it, but it was not the noise that bothered him so much. Magic always left some faint trace that some wizards could follow. At least the really good ones could. Any wizard powerful enough to cast mage fire so potent it killed many people at once had to be damned good. He could outrun anyone drawn in by the noise, but he could not outrun magic.
Fawkes tripped over a wagon rut, stumbled a few steps, then regained his balance. All he could do was endure a shake of the head and a snort from JuJu as he had no good excuse for not watching his step.
Huffing out a breath, Fawkes kept on following his dog. This time, he paid more attention.
A short while later, JuJu turned back onto a cobblestone street that led right to the docks. He then turned onto the dirt track that followed the river out of town.
"Wait," Fawkes said.
JuJu stopped to look at him.
"It won't look right if we go on. PeyPey can take over for you." He always made sure to walk the dogs one at a time. One of the dogs had to stay aboard the Gosling to keep others from stealing it.
Walking them one at a time not only allowed for that but got people used to seeing them as friendly rather than terrifying. This also established a pattern giving him more time to snoop about the town without anyone realizing that was what he was doing. Now that he and JuJu seemed to be returning to the keelboat, they had to do just that.
JuJu grunted then peed right there in the middle of the track. He led the way back to the docks and the Gosling, the keelboat they called home.
A single lantern hung next to the cabin door, shedding light beneath the canopy canvas stretched over most of the deck. Underneath, another huge dog covered in black and gold stripes lay on a blanket chewing a bone.
JuJu went over to a bundle of cloth and pawed at it until it lay spread out, revealing an ox bone. He picked up the bone and flopped onto the blanket.
"PeyPey, your turn. We have a trail to follow."
JuJu's brother got up, stretched, then jumbled his blanket around his ox bone. Picking up the bundle, he set it in a corner near the cabin door. Fawkes smiled as he patted the massive head with its wrinkled brow.
The huge dog jumped onto the dock and did not wait for Fawkes to tell him where to go. Instead, he dropped his nose, sniffed about for a moment, then confidently strolled towards the street. .
PeyPey turned onto the dirt track. He sniffed about for another moment then peed in the very same spot Juju had.
Rolling his eyes at the ways of dogs, Fawkes followed PeyPey. He held little doubt that JuJu's brother was now trailing the three men. As JuJu had done, PeyPey stopped to pee here or sniff there before continuing. He was not as much a thespian as JuJu but he did well when he wanted to.
He led Fawkes to the edge of town and away from the river. Soon, they were past the last of the homes on the outskirts of Blackstone. There was nothing but the moon and stars to keep them company.
PeyPey turned onto a rough path into an ill-kept orchard. Gnarled apple trees grew out their twisted branches as though trying to snag the clothing of the unwary. At a crossing of paths, where there was more open space amongst the trees, PeyPey stopped.
PeyPey growled low in a tone that warned Fawkes something was wrong but not a threat.
Reaching PeyPey, Fawkes stopped under the gnarled apple tree the massive dog stood beneath. A heavy coppery tang filled the air. The smell reminded him of the slaughterhouse where he bought bones for the dogs.
Looking out at the crossing paths open to the moonlight, Fawkes saw three men laying on the ground. A spreading dark pool grew from each of them. He struggled not to heave as he realized it was blood. Lots of blood. Fawkes hated these men for being part of the gang that had murdered his Grandfather but seeing them laying there spilling out their blood did not feel like justice or even revenge.
After a few steadying breaths, Fawkes looked about the trees and their shadows. Too dark for him to notice anything.
"I can't see what might be out there. Go give it a look."
PeyPey snorted, but he circled the crossing paths. The dog kept out of the moonlight as he did. When he returned, he sat under the gnarled apple tree with a put-upon grunt.
"Yeah, yeah," Fawkes patted PeyPey's head. "But I'm human and the moon doesn't give me enough light." He frowned at the crossing paths. Time to rescue Grandfather's annoying book.
He stepped near the downed men. There was no way to get to the bodies without stepping in the blood but he had to get that book. Wincing as his boots squished into the gore, he crouched down over the nearest man. Small quarrels jutted out of him. The gut had a single sideways cut and a large hole. It was too dark to see what was missing but the hole was big enough for a liver. The belt purse was gone and there was no sign of the sack.
A quick check of the other two men found them as pierced and butchered as the first man. Their belt purses were gone. One of them wore the strap of a sack wrapped around the shoulder he lay on. Fawkes rolled the body. The rest of the sack was gone.
"Damnation!" Fawkes swore. "Someone else took the book!"
Fawkes hurried back beneath the gnarled apple tree, shimmying his feet through the grass to try and wipe off the blood.
"Nisslings?" he asked PeyPey. It could be a setup made to look like nisslings, right down to cutting out their livers. His dog would know just by the smells left behind.
PeyPey nodded. It was not a setup.
"Double damnation!" Fawkes swore again. Nisslings were small scaly creatures that walked and talked like men when they were not piercing people with their poisoned little crossbow bolts. Tracking them was not possible as they had wings like bats. What else there might be to the little menaces had not been in anything he had read about them.
PeyPey barked low. His ears pricked forward and he looked down one of the paths that went deeper into the orchard.
Fawkes stood up and looked. He could see a flickering light, probably from a torch, moving closer.
"Now what? Who else is out here?"
The Hand had been taking the sack somewhere. Had others been expecting them? Not wanting to be seen by whoever else might be stumbling upon the bodies, Fawkes crept to the path they had followed into the orchard.
PeyPey let out another low bark and herded Fawkes into a run. Never doubting his dog, Fawkes ran.
They rushed down the path and onto the dirt track. Several curse-filled shouts came from behind them. These faded as they kept on running.
The two did not stop until they reached the outskirts of town. There they slowed to a walk. It was still very dark, could he be tracked by torchlight? They were walking on cobblestones and any wet blood that would leave his boots must have already done so. Soon as morning came, there would be people and wagons busy all over to erase his tracks. If there was enough of them, they would even hide his scent.
PeyPey led them back to the Gosling ambling along as though nothing had happened. Fawkes wanted to hurry home, but it would not look right if he did. Huffing out a breath or three, he managed to keep to a leisurely walk.
Before stepping onto the docks, Fawkes took off his boots. There had been no way to check the men without stepping in their spreading blood. The chance that there was still enough wet blood to leave a trail on the wood was low but he was not about to risk it. He clunked his boots together while holding them over the water as though knocking away mud. He kept on walking down the dock past a few fishing boats tied to the dock to the Gosling, boots in hand.
Once in his cabin, Fawkes scrubbed his boots and put them by his bed, which was one of two fancied-up cots. He readied for bed, then climbed in under the blankets.
He tried going to sleep but one frustrating thought kept pestering him. How was he going to rescue the book that was now in the hands of the nisslings? Could he even find the deadly little buggers? Only one idea came to him. He would have to visit the Brethren tomorrow.
