That was a good question. Celia didn’t belong here; this wasn’t her home. And while Friedrich and Greta had been good to her, everyone else in this town had been nothing but malignant. She’d been sneered at, spit on, and attacked ever since she came through the gates, if not outright ignored. Why should she stick her neck out to help them?
Because he would have. Solomon would be on the streets already, not afraid of the hunters, facing them down. She didn’t have his prowess, or his bravery; she could only do what she was able to. Which was all anyone could do, he always said.
“It’s just something that needs to be done,” she finally replied.
They might not understand, but she knew.
♦ ♦ ♦
“That’s it?”
Friedrich nodded, his hand clasped firmly around his wife’s.
The manor was exactly as they described. In the middle of town stood a fountain that at one time had flowed with clean sparkling water but was now empty, slimy with green and black algae. Streets radiated out from that circular plaza, with the largest leading straight through town and ending here, in front of this large house.
It was three stories high, built of brick, thick timbers and once-white stucco. There were several peaked roofs with chimneys poking into the sky. No smoke came from any of them.
As big as the place was for a village like Dunfield, it would easily fit inside the main tree of the Whispering Pines compound with room to spare. Still, Celia was well aware of how many rooms, stairways, passages, and twists and turns a house such as that could have.
And all the windows were boarded up. Heavy timbers ran across each of them, some on the inside, some on the out. The door was firmly shut, offering no way into or out of the place.
The street divided here, running across the front of the building, then down each side in two narrower lanes. Celia moved forward, intending to circle the place, looking for other openings that things could be coming out of.
When she started to approach, a malingering sense of menace grew. She didn’t notice it standing back with Friedrich and Greta, but when her intention came clear in her mind, she started to feel a revulsion.
She ignored it and pushed closer. The unease in her stomach grew with every step. Soon, it turned to nausea, and she was fighting to keep from retching up her thin breakfast.
Finally, she gave up and moved back to stand with her hosts again. The feeling diminished but stayed with her.
“That was…. strange,” she said.
“No one can go near the place,” Greta said. “Ever since it was all boarded up that one morning.”
“They must be coming from here,” Celia said.
Friedrich shrugged. “So everyone assumes, but no one has been brave enough to follow them when they’re out to see if that’s true. At least not that they’ve returned to tell the tale.”
“Well, let’s go for now,” she said. “I need to think about this.”
♦ ♦ ♦
They passed what amounted to a pleasant afternoon in Dunfield, although there was still an air of great sadness in Greta and Friedrich whenever they saw a child. Celia wondered if it would ever leave them. She watched them observe a mother and her young daughter, picking over the half-rotten apples in a vendor’s cart. The vendor also watched them, his hand close to the cudgel on his belt.
The mother finally picked up a wormy apple and handed it to the vendor. He looked it over. “Five shillings!”
“Five shillings? That’s robbery! Look at it!” the mother protested.
“Five. Take it or leave it.”
The mother glared at him, her daughter pressed behind her skirts, peeking around at the scowling man.
“I don’t have five. I only have two. And we need milk for the little one at home.”
“I said five. If you don’t have it, beat it.”
“Please,” the mother pleaded. “We haven’t eaten anything in two days.”
The vendor glared at her, then down at the little girl. A sly smile crossed his face. “Another one at home, you say. Then leave this one with me. You can take five apples in trade and keep your money to feed your other brat.”
Celia had heard enough. She stepped forward and snatched the apple from the vendor’s hand. He spun toward her in outrage, his protest choking off when saw the height of her. Then, his bravado returned when he realized he was facing a woman.
“Ah. You offering yourself in her place?”
That was as far as he got before Celia hit him. Her fist caught him perfectly, in the space where his nose and upper lip met, and he went down in a heap, not moving.
Celia handed the apple to the woman, who eyed her suspiciously.
“Leave one shilling here on his cart,” Celia said.
The woman dug it out of her grubby pocket, placed it on the lip of the cart and scurried off, dragging her daughter with her. The little girl looked back, her eyes wide.
“Nice work,” Friedrich said, “but that shilling will be gone as soon as we turn our backs.”
“No, I’ll wait until he comes to. He’s a crook and a creep, but I won’t be party to stealing from him.”
The man at her feet started to stir. She reached down and hauled him upright, taking the coin from the cart and pressing it into his hand. She bent down so that she could stare directly into his still slightly dazed eyes.
“This is more than a fair price for your apple. Be better. And if I hear about you threatening a child in any way again…” She let the sentence linger, unfinished, and dug her fingers painfully into his shoulder.
Then she released him and, making sure Greta and Friedrich were
