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wrong, but not about that, it seems. The chill of the water has preserved him, and he appears to be unmarked, because the man who murdered him<br />
struck from behind. I saw the riven skull when I turned him over, and have put him back as <strong>you</strong> see him now to spare <strong>you</strong> that sight.” The Covenant<br />
Man paused, then added: “And so he’d see <strong>you</strong>, I suppose, if his essence lingers near his corse. On that, the old wives reach no consensus. Still all<br />
right, or would <strong>you</strong> like another small dose of nen?”<br />
“I’m all right.” Never had he told such a lie.<br />
“I felt quite sure of who the culprit was—as <strong>you</strong> do, I reckon—but any remaining doubts were put to rest at Gitty’s Saloon, my first stop in Tree.<br />
The local boozer’s always good <strong>for</strong> a dozen knucks come tax time, if not more. There I found out that Bern Kells had slipped the rope with his dead<br />
partner’s widow.”<br />
“Because of <strong>you</strong>,” Tim said in a monotone that didn’t sound like his own voice at all. “Because of <strong>you</strong>r gods-damned taxes.”<br />
The Covenant Man laid a hand on his breast and spoke in wounded tones. “You wrong me! ’Twasn’t taxes that kept Big Kells burning in his bed<br />
all these years, aye, even when he still had a woman next to him to quench his torch.”<br />
He went on, but the stuff he called nen was wearing off, and Tim lost the sense of the words. Suddenly he was no longer cold but hot, burning up,<br />
and his stomach was a churning bag. He staggered toward the remains of the campfire, fell on his knees, and vomited his supper into the hole the<br />
Covenant Man had been digging with his bootheel.<br />
“There!” the man in the black cloak said in a tone of hearty self-congratulation. “I thought that might come in handy.”<br />
“You’ll want to go and see <strong>you</strong>r mother now,” said the Covenant Man when Tim had finished puking and was sitting beside the dying campfire<br />
with his head down and his hair hanging in his eyes. “Good son that <strong>you</strong> are. But I have something <strong>you</strong> may want. One more minute. It’ll make no<br />
difference to Nell Kells; she is as she is.”<br />
“Don’t call her so!” Tim spat.<br />
“How can I not? Is she not wed? Marry in haste, repent at leisure, the old folken say.” The Covenant Man squatted once more in front of his<br />
heaped gunna, his cloak billowing around him like the wings of an awful bird. “They also say what’s slipped cannot be unslipped, and they say true.<br />
An amusing concept called divorce exists on some levels of the Tower, but not in our charming little corner of Mid-World. Now let me see . . . it’s<br />
here somewhere . . .”<br />
“I don’t understand why Square Peter and Slow Ernie didn’t find him,” Tim said dully. He felt deflated, empty. Some emotion still pulsed deep in<br />
his heart, but he didn’t know what it was. “This is their plot . . . their stake . . . and they’ve been back cutting ever since Cosington was well enough to<br />
work again.”<br />
“Aye, they cut the iron, but not here. They’ve plenty of other stubs. They’ve left <strong>this</strong> one fallow <strong>for</strong> a bit. Does thee not know why?”<br />
Tim supposed he did. Square Peter and Slow Ernie were good and kindly, but not the bravest men ever to log the iron, which was why they didn’t<br />
go much deeper into the <strong>for</strong>est than <strong>this</strong>. “They’ve been waiting <strong>for</strong> the pooky to move on, I wot.”<br />
“It’s a wise child,” the Covenant Man said approvingly. “He wots well. And how does thee think thy steppa felt, knowing yon treeworm might move<br />
on at any time, and those two come back? Come back and find his crime, unless he screws up enough gut to come himself and move the body<br />
deeper into the woods?”<br />
The new emotion in Tim’s heart was pulsing more strongly now. He was glad. Anything was better than the helpless terror he felt <strong>for</strong> his mother. “I<br />
hope he feels bad. I hope he can’t sleep.” And then, with dawning understanding: “It’s why he went back to the drink.”<br />
“A wise child indeed, wise beyond his— Ah! Here it is!”<br />
The Covenant Man turned toward Tim, who was now untying Bitsy and preparing to mount up. He approached the boy, holding something<br />
beneath his cloak. “He did it on impulse, sure, and afterward he must have been in a panic. Why else would he concoct such a ridiculous story? The<br />
other woodsmen doubt it, of that <strong>you</strong> may be sure. He built a fire and leaned into it as far as he dared and <strong>for</strong> as long as he could take it, scorching<br />
his clothes and blistering his skin. I know, because I built my fire on the bones of his. But first he threw his dead pard’s gunna across yon stream, as<br />
far into the woods as his strength would allow. Did it with <strong>you</strong>r da’s blood not yet dry on his hands, I warrant. I waded across and found it. Most of it’s<br />
useless mickle, but I saved thee one thing. It was rusty, but my pumice stone and honing bar have cleaned it up very well.”<br />
From beneath his cloak he produced Big Ross’s hand-ax. Its freshly sharpened edge glittered. Tim, now astride Bitsy, took it, brought it to his<br />
lips, and kissed the cold steel. Then he shoved the handle into his belt, blade turned out from his body, just as Big Ross had taught him, once upon<br />
a bye.<br />
“I see <strong>you</strong> wear a rhodite double around <strong>you</strong>r neck. Was it <strong>you</strong>r da’s?”<br />
Mounted, Tim was almost eye-to-eye with the Covenant Man. “It was in that murdering bastard’s trunk.”<br />
“You have his coin; now <strong>you</strong> have his ax, as well. Where will <strong>you</strong> put it, I wonder, if ka offers <strong>you</strong> the chance?”<br />
“In his head.” The emotion—pure rage—had broken free of his heart like a bird with its wings on fire. “Back or front, either will do me fine.”<br />
“Admirable! I like a boy with a plan! Go with all the gods <strong>you</strong> know, and the Man Jesus <strong>for</strong> good measure.” Then, having wound the boy to his<br />
fullest stop, he turned to build up his fire. “I may bide along the Iron <strong>for</strong> another night or two. I find Tree strangely interesting <strong>this</strong> Wide Earth. Watch<br />
<strong>for</strong> the green sighe, my boy! She glows, so she does!”<br />
Tim made no reply, but the Covenant Man felt sure he had heard.<br />
Once they were wound to the fullest stop, they always did.<br />
The Widow Smack must have been watching from the window, <strong>for</strong> Tim had just led a footsore Bitsy up to the porch (in spite of his<br />
growing anxiety he had walked the last half-mile to spare her) when she came rushing out.<br />
“<strong>Thank</strong> gods, thank gods. Your mother was three quarters to believing <strong>you</strong> were dead. Come in. Hurry. Let her hear and touch <strong>you</strong>.”<br />
The import of these words didn’t strike Tim fully until later. He tied Bitsy beside Sunshine and hurried up the steps. “How did <strong>you</strong> know to come to<br />
her, sai?”<br />
The Widow turned her face to him (which, given her veil, was hardly a face at all). “Has thee gone soft in the head, Timothy? You rode past my<br />
house, pushing that mule <strong>for</strong> all she was worth. I couldn’t think why <strong>you</strong>’d be out so late, and headed in the direction of the <strong>for</strong>est, so I came here to<br />
ask <strong>you</strong>r mother. But come, come. And keep a cheery voice, if <strong>you</strong> love her.”<br />
The Widow led him across the living room, where two ’seners burned low. In his mother’s room another ’sener burned on the bed table, and by its<br />
light he saw Nell lying in bed with much of her face wrapped in bandages and another—<strong>this</strong> one badly bloodstained—around her neck like a collar.<br />
At the sound of their footsteps, she sat up with a wild look upon her face. “If it’s Kells, stay away! You’ve done enough!”<br />
“It’s Tim, Mama.”<br />
She turned toward him and held out her arms. “Tim! To me, to me!”<br />
He knelt beside the bed, and the part of her face not covered by bandages he covered with kisses, crying as he did so. She was still wearing her