The Radiant War

Chapter 12a

     Malone climbed down from the back of the potato wagon. “Thanks,” he said to the driver, putting his arm through one strap of his backpack and swinging it onto his back.

     “No problem,” the man replied. “You sure this is the a good idea?” He looked around dubiously. They were in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but fields all around. The road stretched endlessly both before them and behind with no side turnings. There wasn't so much as a farmer’s cottage in sight.

     “Lord Benjamin Hedley lives just over those hills, right?”

     “So they say, though I've never been closer than this. They won't welcome you, though. They wouldn't welcome a declared human unless he had plenty of gold in his pockets. They'll chase you away, maybe shoot you. Why not let me take you the rest of the way to Perdum? There's good work to be found there, even for a half raised dog man like you.”

     “I have to find my sister. I have to tell her our parents are dead."

     Malone had given this as his cover story when he'd first asked for the lift, but the farmer hadn't thought his fictional sister would be able to help him and he hadn’t changed his opinion since. “You're living in a dream world,” he said. “Maids, no matter how highly valued, have no influence with their employers. She's not going to be able to find work for you.”

     “Well, if that's the case then maybe I'll come to Perdum after, but I want to try Lord Hedley's house first. I haven’t seen her for three years, so I want to see her anyway, just to talk."

     “And you want to get to the house by walking across a cow field? An honest man would approach the house by the main drive, but then they might see you coming, right? You're not looking for a job. You want to rob the place, right?”

     Malone just stared, not knowing what to say. He thought about running away, but the farmer just shrugged. “I don’t care either way. None of my business, and I’m sure he can spare a few silver candlesticks. Just don’t get yourself killed. Okay?”

     “I'm not going to rob him,” said Malone, “but if you think I am, that doesn’t bother me. Thanks for the lift.”

     “No problem. Good luck to you then, whatever you want with him.”

     The farmer touched the rim of his hat to him, then slapped the reins. Malone watched as the cart clattered off down the road. Then he turned and began to trudge his way across the fields.

     Two hours of hard slog later he saw the mansion ahead of him, just the way he remembered. The small shack in which the prisoners had been held the last time he'd been here must be somewhere behind him, then. He was approaching the mansion from the same direction he had after murdering the government agent to prove his loyalty to the Movement. The guilt of that act still ate away at him, but killing the traitor Benjamin might help to make up for it, he hoped.

     He looked up at the sun. It was still an hour or two before nightfall. He would have to find a place to wait until after dark, until everyone was fast asleep. He looked around. There was a small barn a couple of hundred yards to his right, probably used to store seed and equipment. Keeping an eye on the mansion to make sure there was nobody about who might see him, he made his way over to it, at the same time taking the long sheathed dagger from his backpack, where he’d hidden it, and buckling it around his waist.

     The barn was padlocked, but the wood of the doorframe was rotten and the door burst open on the second kick. Inside were a couple of rusty shovels, a pile of empty sacks and a bag of grain that had spilled open, the seeds sprouting where they'd been touched by the rain coming in through a mouldy hole in the ceiling. The other half of the floor was dry, though, so he spread the sacks out to make a comfortable surface to lie on and settled down to wait. The musty smell was strangely comforting and he soon drifted off to sleep.