"Whoa," Mal said softly, "easy there, young lady. As much time as you spent between my legs the past couple days, now you're feelin shy?"
He was presently sharing a stall in the Frye horse barn with the mare he had ridden fence with, giving the animal its first good brushing since he'd set out on the trip. It whickered and switched its tail across him as he continued to coo and murmur, calming and reassuring in the confined space as he drew the big handleless brush over its coat. He breathed deep of the scents of horse and hay and manure, listened to the mare's breathing and movements, felt the hide twitch as the brush passed over and saw the dust rise off of it where the bristles had just been. Grooming a horse was a Zen experience, he thought, one he hadn't realized he'd missed out in the black.
Inara's voice, amused: "Am I interrupting? Perhaps I should give you two some privacy."
He turned and saw her in the aisle between the rows of stalls, smiling at him. She was out of her fancy clothes, dressed in a checked flannel shirt and denim pants, her hair up in a ponytail. Still not looking much like a farm girl, but more wholesome and just plain cute than he could ever have imagined her.
He found his voice. "S'prised the smell hasn't driven you out already."
Inara lifted her nose and took a deep breath. "Believe me, after a client who marinates in aftershave before his appointment, a horse stall is very appealing."
"Well," he said, "be careful. Don't want to ruin those pretty boots."
"I'm always careful where I put my feet."
"And always land on em, I don't doubt." He hadn't meant anything by the remark really, but a tiny line appeared between her brows. He went on, "Ever groom a horse? Or ride one?"
"No and yes. Some of my clients keep stables, but their interest in their animals ends at the barn door. Grooms take care of things."
"Then your client and his horses don't have what I'd call a relationship." He proffered the brush. "Brushing down your mount after a good ride is a reward for you both." Then it was Mal's turn to gather brows. "What?"
The Companion stepped into the stall and took the brush, a tiny dimple at the corner of her mouth. "Jayne said the same thing to me once, almost word for word. But he wasn't talking about horses." She drew the grooming tool down the mare's flank in a long slow stroke that looked like a caress. Mal watched her hands, so smooth and soft and somehow able to make anything they did look sensual…
"I said," Inara said, lifting the brush between them, "is this right?"
"Doesn't matter what I think," Mal said. "What does the horse think?"
As if in answer, the mare muttered and sidestepped toward them, pressing man and woman tightly together against the side of the stall. The woman said, with a hint of laughter in her voice, "I don't think she wanted me to stop." She bumped hips with him as she reached for the animal's neck and ran her fingers through its mane, smiling like sunshine.
Mal's breathing roughened. Her waist was nearly in the circle of his arm, and the warmth and scent of her made the barn smell disappear. She tipped her face up to him, eyes huge and dark, lips like pillows. He swallowed.
A tiny voice whispered darkly, the last man got a smile like that from her paid for it. What does she want from you?
She told me she loved me, he thought.
One time, the dark voice insisted. In the middle of an argument, and not again since. Mayhap she wishes she hadn't said it the first time.
He dropped his hand and pressed into the corner of the stall. "Did you come out here for somethin in particular?"
Her smile faded. "Yes," she said, giving the horse's shoulder a final lick with the brush. She handed it to him. "Mister Frye wants to talk to you about the ship." She stepped out of the stall and stood aside.
-0-
Jayne returned from his early-morning business to find the others up. Simon sat on his blanket, shoes still off, working on his bare feet. The blisters were gone, but the places they had been were still red and angry-looking. "Thought you said they'd be healed up by morning."
"I said I'd be fine," the doctor replied, working some more salve into the friction-burned skin. "And I am."
"Only took half a day to mess em up too bad to walk on yesterday. What are they gonna be like by noon?"
"I wasn't managing the problem yesterday." The doctor pulled two pair of socks over the heavily coated feet and reached for his borrowed boots. "Today I am."
Royce was watching as well. To Jayne he said, "We still going to the quarry?" The merc knew that the prospector was asking two questions, not one.
"Ayuh. Nothin's changed." It would be nearly noon before they reached the pit; four hours' walk should tell Jayne whether the boy would be fit to continue on.
They broke fast with part of their small stock of perishables from Mama Frye's kitchen, taking their time. Jayne would have liked to set out at first light, but first light among the trees was too dim and uncertain for good footing on the steep and uneven trails. So they waited until a little color came into the world before shouldering their packs and taking up their walking sticks.
The paths continued to roughen. Jayne had seen the last tracks from other feet on the trail the previous night; he reckoned they were out in the wild now. A light rain began to patter on the trees overhead, thickening the air and wetting the ground. Two hours into the march, they were toiling up a narrow path black with old leaves and so steep that, at a separation of three or four paces, Jayne's head was even with the pigu of the man ahead of him. They climbed single file, the Hensons leading eldest to youngest, followed by Jayne. Simon brought up the rear half a dozen paces behind him.
Jayne gave the doctor nearly as much attention as the path ahead. The boy was leaning heavily on his staff, but they all were on this slope. His footing seemed sure, and the merc saw no evidence of pain in his walk. Maybe he'd be all right…
A snap and a grunt ahead of him, and Jayne turned his head back just in time to see Dell tumble past. Simon, with a couple of seconds more warning, snatched at a flailing arm and caught the boy by the wrist. But Dell's momentum took his rescuer off his feet as well, and the two slid down the slope in a bow wave of flying leaves, Dell on his ass feet-first, Simon dragging along behind face-first with Dell's wrist still tight in his fist. The three still on their feet bounded downslope after them, careless of their footing, but still losing ground as the unlucky pair picked up speed.
Simon still had his walking stick in his other hand, and he managed to jam the end into a cleft tree beside the trail as he slid by. It bent, but held long enough to swing him toward the edge of the trail before it snapped. He hooked a sapling in the crook of his elbow and braced, feet wide. Dell swung to the edge of the path and thudded into a tree. He wrapped his free arm around the foot-thick trunk and hugged it like the girl of his dreams.
Jayne reached them first. He stamped a heel of into the soft dirt of the path and grabbed a fistful of Simon's shirt while the Hensons rushed past to reach Dell. "Hell of a tumble there, Three Percent. You all right?"
Simon let go of Dell's wrist and struggled to his feet. The doctor's face and shirt front were black with dirt. He twisted and stretched and tested his limbs. "Well, I may have another reason to have trouble walking tomorrow, but … What are you grinning about?"
Jayne felt his cheeks stretch wider. "Never seen ya this dirty before."
"I've never been this dirty before. Sober, anyway." Simon shrugged out of his pack. He removed his canteen and a square of folded white cloth – so he had brought one – and wet it. As he wiped at his face, he said, "Dell. Are you all right? Do you need looking at?"
Dell's father and brother had been fussing over him, checking him over and peering into his eyes. His pack was gone, there were leaves in his hair, and he was near as grubby-looking as Simon, but he was on his feet and seemed okay. Ignoring the doctor, he brushed at his clothes. "Didn't think I was gonna stop till I was back at the farm."
"The creek, anyway," his father said. "You'd still been busted up plenty by the time you fetched up." He looked meaningfully from his son to Simon and back again.
The youngest Henson shifted his feet. "Got a hell of a grip, Tam."
"Networking at society balls," Simon said, adjusting his pack straps. "All those firm handshakes."
Dell's ears reddened at that, but he went on, "Ayuh. Well, thanks."
"You make it sound as if I had a choice." The doc slipped his arms through his pack and shrugged, settling it. "As if I'd let you be hurt or killed because you insulted me." He turned upslope. "You've just insulted me again."
"Hey, I didn't mean it like that-"
"You didn't mean it at all." Simon turned away. "But I don't care. If you fall again, I'll catch you. And if you're hurt, I'll tend you. If you lost your canteen, I'll share mine. Liking each other has nothing to do with it. You're crew." He started carefully up the slope.
"Well, hell," Jayne muttered. Reckon Captain Tightpants is rubbing off on him some. He hustled upslope after the boy and caught up while the Hensons were still staring after him.
"Sorry," said the doctor. "Maybe I shouldn't have come."
"Nah. I been on plenty a new crews. It almost allus starts out like this. People gotta push and bump each other till they settle where everybody fits." Jayne spied Dell's beaten-up pack at the edge of the trail and picked it up, glancing back downslope. Royce and his sons were working their way back up the steep path. Dell's face was sullen, and the corners of his mouth pulled down further as his father leaned close and spoke to him. "Least, with this crew, nobody's gonna be shovin guns up each other's noses." Probably.
-0-
"Hey," Kaylee said. "You found something to do after all."
Shepherd Book smiled. He was on hands and knees in the dirt of the herb and vegetable garden just outside the Fryes' kitchen door. The section he was working in had been harvested; with a hand rake, he broke up the packed earth, releasing a rich smell, and removed dead plants from the loosened soil and dropped them into a basket. "His Son may have been a carpenter, but God is a gardener. I had a plot like this one at the Abbey."
"I know. How could I forget that bundle of fresh you brought aboard? We ate till we nearly busted. You gonna plant strawberries?" She teased.
"If I did, I don't think we'd be here long enough to pick them." The old man finished his task and rose with the basket in his gloved hands. "At least, I hope not."
"What, you don't like it here?"
The Shepherd paused. "If we're here more than a month, it means trouble. Something on the ship can't be fixed, or we've gotten caught up in a local situation, or River's condition has gotten worse. Something." He gave Kaylee a sympathetic look. "Your family are fine people, and I'm glad to have met them. But we need to be gone, and soon."
Kaylee's eyes dropped to the dirt between them. "I think we already got caught up in a 'local situation.'"
The old preacher set down his basket and took her by the shoulders. "That's not what I meant, child. None of us could turn our backs on that little girl. But staying on the move has always been this crew's greatest security – especially for Simon and River. New Home is a quiet world, but that could work against us. Strangers are bound to draw interest, and the Federal authorities send out fresh wanted posters every ninety days to all their garrisons. If we stay overlong…"
"We'll need to hide them."
The old man reached down for a metal bucket packed with green stems. "Simon's pretty well hidden right now. And River spends most of her time on the ship, which is about as far from outsiders as we can put her. All we can do, really, is make sure that they're not the subject of idle talk from any hired hands when they're off the farm."
"I'll bring it up to Ma and Pa. I'm sure they already talked to them, but I'll have Pa make sure they know how serious we are about it."
Shepherd Book knelt in the cleared dirt with his bucket of plantings, and, through the gloves, idly rubbed at his knuckles as if they were sore before taking up his tools. "You do that."
-0-
The hunting party took a short break at the next stream. While Jayne hunted, and Royce and Garrod stood guard, Simon and Dell washed up a bit. Both young men, bare-chested, knelt at the bank, dipping and wringing their shirts. Their exposed skin sported bruises that would have them moving stiffly tomorrow, the elder Henson judged. "Near a miracle neither one a you broke anything."
"I seem to have both kinds of luck in abundance these days," said the doctor, rubbing at his upper body with the damp wadded cloth of his shirt. He dipped and wrung again, and glanced at Dell just in time to see the boy's eyes flick away.
"Don't take me wrong. I ain't sly," the youngest Henson said as he dunked his shirt in the stream. "I'm surprised, is all. You look more a lumberjack than some soft Core World doctor."
"Well, I don't sit in the infirmary waiting for someone to come in. I have jobs aboard like everyone else. My practice doesn't keep me very busy these days, except when it keeps me very busy. Sometimes the crew comes back after a rough job or a … trade negotiation … pretty banged up. Not Kaylee," he added quickly. "But I think I've put enough stitches in Jayne and the captain to make a shirt." He examined the damp shirt, and began to roll it up. "And at school, I didn't spend all my time in classrooms and making rounds. MedAcad had plenty of sponsored athletic activities."
The young miner wrung his shirt thoroughly and put it back on. "You had time for that?"
"I made time. It wasn't an official requirement, but I was expected to participate."
"Expected? By who?"
Simon brought another shirt out of his bag and shook it out. "Well, by the school. And my classmates, and my family, and by my social class – it's traditional, and part of the networking process. So I ran track and cross-country, and sculled a bit."
"On top of all that schoolin? How long were your classes?"
Simon shrugged. "Ten to fourteen hours a day, including lab work and rounds."
"Gorry. Wha'd you do, make appointments to sleep?"
"Pretty much. 'From those to whom much is given, much is expected.' One of my father's favorite quotes."
Dell eyed Simon's pack. "How many changes you got in there?"
"Just two. My father also told me that seasoned travelers pack half the clothes they think they'll need, and twice the money." He buttoned up his flannel shirt. "Of course, he never traveled anyplace where even banknotes were only good for starting a fire."
"Yeah, I heard Core Worlders keep all their money on computers. You don't use money you can hold in your hand at all?"
"It's illegal," Simon said.
"Yuh bun duh," the boy muttered. "No wonder you shucked it all."
-0-
From the edge of the woods, Jayne stood and looked through his rifle scope down into the crater. "Looks deserted." The little shack's door was closed, but there was a bird's nest in the top of the crumbling outdoor chimney, and the clothesline lay on the ground.
"Ayuh." Royce lowered his binoculars, surveying the area with bare eyes. He pointed left. "Bout twenty degrees around. The path down. See it?"
The big merc nodded, holding back from saying that he had spotted it as soon as he'd glanced down into the crater. The Hensons were strung tight right now, coming back to the place where their kin and Will Frye's namesake had been murdered. He only hoped their doctor wouldn't find a way to set anybody off.
"Still goin down there?" Asked the elder prospector, with an eye flick toward the doctor. After the hillside rescue, it seemed the option of leaving Simon here to wait for a shuttle was off the table. The boy had proved he could pull his weight. And the fiancé of the girl this hundan had stolen ten years before had as big a stake in this venture as any man.
Jayne shrugged. "We're here. It's worth a look." He thought about consulting Ames's aerial maps again, but decided not to waste his time. The old satellites could spot temp changes and vibration; analyze gas concentrations; even look through trees to assay the shape of the land beneath. But when it came to giving up a bird's eye view, they were feioo. Ames had explained that, in the two hundred years since the system had been put in orbit, the satellites' optics had been scarred and fogged from the impacts of a billion dust particles. Whatever the reason, the captures of the little crater were soft and blurry, the shack just a light rectangle in the center.
"Dell," the father said. "Keep a watch up here. Close eye on the top of the trail and the trees around the rim. You see anybody, fire a shot. In the air."
The boy hesitated, glanced at his father, and nodded. "Shiia."
They went single file down the path, which angled down along the side of the cliff like a stair. Jayne's ears strained for anything off-seeming, but the only sounds were birdsong and their own footsteps and breathing. Looking down at the shack and its surrounds, Jayne noted that the black glass looked to have been cleared for about ten yards all around the shack, leaving a bare area paved with sand and normal rocks, just as Kaylee and Royce had said. Their descent had shown them only two sides of the windowless little structure, though; first order of business would be a reconnoiter of the perimeter.
They reached bottom, at a spot almost directly facing the shack's door, and picked their way over the black stones. Royce turned an ankle and went down on one knee, hissing in pain; when he rose, Jayne could see that his heavy trousers were cut. He waved Simon away. "Later," he said in a low voice.
The party reached the edge of the cleared area. Jayne gestured for a halt a pace from the dirt, and he crouched, studying it. Unlike the black rubble elsewhere in the crater, the cleared ground would hold prints well, he judged. But there was no sign of recent travel in the area in front of the door. He said, "This is the only way in, right?"
"Ayuh," answered Royce. "Not even a window."
He stood. "Reckon we're alone here then. Don't touch nothin fore I see it."
Jayne walked around the little shack, comparing the real thing to Kaylee's recollection. Royce followed, silent, as they passed the tumbledown outhouse and the bird-infested outdoor oven.
He turned the corner to the back of the shack and froze. Royce nearly walked into him. "Wai-"
Jayne brought up a fist, commanding silence, and pointed.
The row of cairns Kaylee had described was gone, their stones neatly piled together in a waist-high pyramid. No big surprise, that; surely the law would have disinterred the remains of the other kidnapped girls and took them somewhere to be identified and claimed. What brought up the hairs on his neck and arms was the dent in the side of that big rockpile, and the single cairn beside it.
Stepping quiet, both men hastened back to the others and whispered their news. Then with guns drawn, they stacked up at the shack's door. At a nod from Jayne, Gerrod lifted the latch and booted it open, and the big merc rushed in.
Dust lifted up into the air as the door swung wide. The room was vacant, abandoned-looking. There were two doors to other rooms, but a glance at the dust on the floor told Jayne that no foot had trod the inside of the cabin in a very long time.
"Clear?" Royce asked from the doorway. Jayne glanced that way and saw the other men behind him, all waiting just outside, staring into the cabin. What the hell were they doing, hanging out there?
Then he saw clearer. The Hensons were blocking the doorway, preventing Simon from entering. The boy's eyes were wide and staring as he pushed against the human barrier.
"Clear?" Royce said again.
Jayne followed the doctor's eyes, and looked up, almost directly overhead. A short length of rope hung from the little shack's central beam, its end cut off clean. It was stiff with dried blood for the last several inches of its length. The gray wood planks of the roof above it were mottled with spots of reddish brown as well, and several places on the wall up where it met the ceiling. It occurred to him that two of the men at the door had first seen this place when that blood was fresh and warm and filling their noses, the girl it belonged to still hanging from that rope. One of them had cut her free and carried her out. And he had a feeling that the one Kaylee told him had sicked up at the sight was now keeping watch at the crater's rim. "Yeah. Nothin here." He backed out and shut the door.
They returned to the cairn and examined it without touching it. It was a shabby grave, the rocks hardly layered on heavy enough to cover the body beneath. On the side nearest the rockpile, a skeletal hand poked out, and a few long wisps of hair escaped from between the stones near one end, their color leached out by the sun.
Chest tightening, Jayne bent and carefully began removing rocks. The first few uncovered a thick mass of hair, a deep auburn in color, and the shoulder strap of a sundress.
"Wo de ma," said the elder Henson.
Jayne turned his head to look up at Gerrod, the eldest son. The man's face was moving like a sack full of puppies. Jayne said, "You knew her."
"Yeh." His face stilled, sagged. "It's Willamina."
Simon dropped to his knees and spread his hands across the cairn.
-0-
"She done it herself," Jayne said, after examining the pile, and the cairn now covered by a weighted blanket. "Laid down next to it and started coverin herself up, and quit when she couldn't reach no more rocks. Then just waited to die."
"Hell of a way to end." Royce Henson's mouth was a slash in his face. "Guess she thought this was where she was meant to be, after that umhuo was done with her. Sure, she didn't have any kind of a life after she left this place."
Jayne shouldered his pack. "Gonna take one last look around before we leave."
Gerrod and Simon's faces creased. "We can't leave her like this," Gerrod protested. It was his blanket spread over the cairn.
"She's been like this for ten years," the merc said. "Another day won't make a difference. We'll tell em at the nightly call, and a shuttle will be here for her come mornin. I wanna be at least two ridges away by then." He nodded at the blanket. "Better roll that up. You'll need it more than her."
14