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nightgown, but now the neck and bosom were stiff with rusty blood. Tim had seen his steppa fetch her a terrible lick with the ceramic jug, and then<br />
commence with his fists. How many blows had he seen? He didn’t know. And how many had fallen on his hapless mother after the vision in the<br />
silver basin had disappeared? Enough so he knew she was very <strong>for</strong>tunate to be alive, but one of those blows—likely the one dealt with the ceramic<br />
jug—had struck his mother blind.<br />
“’Twas a concussive blow,” the Widow Smack said. She sat in Nell’s bedroom rocker; Tim sat on the bed, holding his mother’s left hand.<br />
Two fingers of the right were broken. The Widow, who must have been very busy since her <strong>for</strong>tuitous arrival, had splinted them with pieces of<br />
kindling and flannel strips torn from another of Nell’s nightgowns. “I’ve seen it be<strong>for</strong>e. There’s swelling to the brain. When it goes down, her sight<br />
may return.”<br />
“May,” Tim said bleakly.<br />
“There will be water if God wills it, Timothy.”<br />
Our water is poisoned now, Tim thought, and it was none of any god’s doing. He opened his mouth to say just that, but the Widow shook her<br />
head. “She’s asleep. I gave her an herb drink—not strong, I didn’t dare give her strong after he cuffed her so around the head—but it’s taken hold. I<br />
wasn’t sure ’twould.”<br />
Tim looked down at his mother’s face—terribly pale, with freckles of blood still drying on the little exposed skin the Widow’s bandagements had<br />
left—and then back up at his teacher. “She’ll wake again, won’t she?”<br />
The Widow repeated, “There will be water if God wills it.” Then the ghost-mouth beneath the veil lifted in what might have been a smile. “In <strong>this</strong><br />
case, I think there will be. She’s strong, <strong>you</strong>r ma.”<br />
“Can I talk to <strong>you</strong>, sai? For if I don’t talk to someone, I’ll explode.”<br />
“Of course. Come out on the porch. I’ll stay here tonight, by <strong>you</strong>r leave. Will <strong>you</strong> have me? And will <strong>you</strong> stable Sunshine, if so?”<br />
“Aye,” Tim said. In his relief, he actually managed a smile. “And say thankya.”<br />
The air was even warmer. Sitting in the rocker that had been Big Ross’s favorite roost on summer nights, the Widow said, “It feels like<br />
starkblast weather. Call me crazy—<strong>you</strong> wouldn’t be the first—but so it does.”<br />
“What’s that, sai?”<br />
“Never mind, it’s probably nothing . . . unless <strong>you</strong> see Sir Throcken dancing in the starlight or looking north with his muzzle upraised, that is. There<br />
hasn’t been a starkblast in these parts since I was a weebee, and that’s many and many-a year a-gone. We’ve other things to talk about. Is it only<br />
what that beast did to <strong>you</strong>r mother that troubles <strong>you</strong> so, or is there more?”<br />
Tim sighed, not sure how to start.<br />
“I see a coin around <strong>you</strong>r neck that I believe I’ve seen around <strong>you</strong>r father’s. Perhaps that’s where <strong>you</strong>’ll begin. But there’s one other thing we have<br />
to speak of first, and that’s protecting <strong>you</strong>r ma. I’d send <strong>you</strong> to Constable Howard’s, no matter it’s late, but his house is dark and shuttered. I saw<br />
that <strong>for</strong> myself on my way here. No surprise, either. Everyone knows that when the Covenant Man comes to Tree, Howard Tasley finds some reason<br />
to make himself scarce. I’m an old woman and <strong>you</strong>’re but a child. What will we do if Bern Kells comes back to finish what he started?”<br />
Tim, who no longer felt like a child, reached down to his belt. “My father’s coin isn’t all I found tonight.” He pulled Big Ross’s hand-ax and showed<br />
it to her. “This was also my da’s, and if he dares to come back, I’ll put it in his head, where it belongs.”<br />
The Widow Smack began to remonstrate, but saw a look in his eyes that made her change direction. “Tell me <strong>you</strong>r tale,” said she. “Leave out not<br />
a word.”<br />
When Tim had finished—minding the Widow’s command to leave nothing out, he made sure to tell what his mother had said about the<br />
peculiar changelessness of the man with the silver basin—his old teacher sat quietly <strong>for</strong> a moment . . . although the night breeze caused her veil to<br />
flutter eerily and made her look as though she were nodding.<br />
“She’s right, <strong>you</strong> know,” she said at last. “Yon chary man hasn’t aged a day. And tax collecting’s not his job. I think it’s his hobby. He’s a man with<br />
hobbies, aye. He has his little pastimes.” She raised her fingers in front of her veil, appeared to study them, then returned them to her lap.<br />
“You’re not shaking,” Tim ventured.<br />
“No, not tonight, and that’s a good thing if I’m to sit vigil at <strong>you</strong>r mother’s bedside. Which I mean to do. You, Tim, will make <strong>you</strong>rself a pallet behind<br />
the door. ’Twill be uncom<strong>for</strong>table, but if <strong>you</strong>r steppa comes back, and if <strong>you</strong>’re to have a chance against him, <strong>you</strong>’ll have to come at him from<br />
behind. Not much like Brave Bill in the stories, is it?”<br />
Tim’s hands rolled shut, the fingernails digging into his palms. “It’s how the bastard did <strong>for</strong> my da’, and all he deserves.”<br />
She took one of his hands in her own and soothed it open. “He’ll probably not come back, anyway. Certainly not if he thinks he’s done <strong>for</strong> her, and<br />
he may. There was so much blood.”<br />
“Bastard,” Tim said in a low and choking voice.<br />
“He’s probably lying up drunk somewhere. Tomorrow <strong>you</strong> must go to Square Peter Cosington and Slow Ernie Marchly, <strong>for</strong> it’s their patch where<br />
<strong>you</strong>r da’ now lies. Show them the coin <strong>you</strong> wear, and tell how <strong>you</strong> found it in Kells’s trunk. They can round up a posse and search until Kells is found<br />
and locked up tight in the jailhouse. It won’t take them long to run him down, I warrant, and when he comes back sober, he’ll claim he has no idea of<br />
what he’s done. He may even be telling the truth, <strong>for</strong> when it gets in some men, strong drink draws down a curtain.”<br />
“I’ll go with them.”<br />
“Nay, it’s no work <strong>for</strong> a boy. Bad enough <strong>you</strong> have to watch <strong>for</strong> him tonight with <strong>you</strong>r da’s hand-ax. Tonight <strong>you</strong> need to be a man. Tomorrow <strong>you</strong><br />
can be a boy again, and a boy’s place when his mother has been badly hurt is by her side.”<br />
“The Covenant Man said he might bide along the Ironwood Trail <strong>for</strong> another night or two. Maybe I should—”<br />
The hand that had soothed moments be<strong>for</strong>e now grasped Tim’s wrist where the flesh was thin, and hard enough to hurt. “Never think it! Hasn’t he<br />
done damage enough?”<br />
“What are <strong>you</strong> saying? That he made all <strong>this</strong> happen? It was Kells who killed my da’, and it was Kells who beat my mama!”<br />
“But ’twas the Covenant Man who gave <strong>you</strong> the key, and there’s no telling what else he may have done. Or will do, if he gets the chance, <strong>for</strong> he<br />
leaves ruin and weeping in his wake, and has <strong>for</strong> time out of mind. Do <strong>you</strong> think people only fear him because he has the power to turn them out on<br />
the land if they can’t pay the barony taxes? No, Tim, no.”<br />
“Do <strong>you</strong> know his name?”<br />
“Nay, nor need to, <strong>for</strong> I know what he is—pestilence with a heartbeat. Once upon a bye, after he’d done a foul business here I’d not talk about to a<br />
boy, I determined to find out what I could. I wrote a letter to a great lady I knew long ago in Gilead—a woman of discretion as well as beauty, a rare<br />
combination—and paid good silver <strong>for</strong> a messenger to take it and bring a reply . . . which my correspondent in the great city begged me to burn.