“But… but why would she run?” Bobby stares at me, genuinely confused. “We all know what happens if she turns out to be mistreated.”
“Probably should have all thought about that before doing the mistreating, and assuming she wouldn’t do anything about it,” I snap. Two servants pass us with gawking expressions, and when we make it to the stables, the Bonecleaver is already there, saddling up his mount.
“Figure you’ll need a tracker, if we’re to get your wife back,” he grunts, looping a flashlight string around his arm. “She won’t go far in the dark.”
“We should still wait until the morning,” Bobby says, but I shake my head, before seeking out Topper from the horses.
“Sorry I’ve not come to see you in a while,” I whisper to the bay horse, who nickers at me. He stands still and patient as I saddle him up, and eventually Bobby gets the message as well. At one point, Pearl’s servant girl, Jay, sidles up to me.
“Please bring her back safe.” The youngster looks terrified. I suppose I’d be too, if I was alone in a house of people who didn’t like me.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say, even though there’s a gnawing worry in my heart. Maybe she’s not fine. Maybe she’s already crossed the border into Hartson lands. Maybe my brother lied and actually sicced someone on her after all, and Paul is the scapegoat.
A small spasm of shock enters when my father joins the men saddling up. “What, you're actually coming? You're not just seeing us off?”
“Of course I'm coming. I'm dressed for it, aren't I?”
“But why?”
“I'm being responsible,” he says shortly. “She’s one of us, whether we like it or not. Rayse and my wife may not like this, but I do appreciate the sacrifice you two are doing for us. I’m not foolish enough to believe we can beat the Graves by ourselves.”
“Even with Tielman support?” I say. Knowing of our efforts with that outlying clan, of the boost of support they might provide if ever the Claymore lands fell under serious threat.
“Even with them,” my father says. “And I’m not about to plunge us all into a civil war.”
“You were before,” I point out. “When the church was destroyed.”
At this, my father grimaces, the scar on his left cheek becoming more pronounced. “I make mistakes too, son. I’m trying not to make any more.”
Fair enough. I nod curtly to my father. In the meanwhile, I’m fighting hard to keep the belief that nothing serious has happen to my wife. That she went for some unsolicited walk somewhere. That she wouldn’t think of leaving me. Not when we’re getting closer. Not when we’re finally getting our shit together and maybe, just maybe, actually act like a husband and wife. A happy one.
All of us grab or are handed flashlights. My father even gets a couple of hounds, and we give them something to sniff of her, before we set off, the Bonecleaver leading the way, using the report of a witness to lead us to the main path that leads eventually towards the Hartson lands, if we picked the right bends. I’m reassured by Bobby, the two Graves guards, my father, and a couple of my father’s vassals coming with us. I’m sure Rayse must have felt very sad to decline coming with us to help. If he’s not laughing himself sick into his cups, of course.
“If I see her trotting back this way, I’ve half a mind to give her a tanning,” I say, though I know I won’t. I’ll just be relieved. We stop on our search regularly to interview the people of the houses nearby the path, to see if any of them might have spotted a lone rider along the path. Two witnesses say they saw a rider, but didn’t think anything of it. Good enough for us. And evidence that she did strike out by herself.
“If that fool girl really has done a runner,” my father rumbles, “then we’re in deep shit. The stable boy and Ethel is one thing. But were you mistreating her at all?”
Maybe. “I’m not sure,” I reply. “I thought I was doing my best, but I did ignore her at times when I shouldn't have.”
My father says nothing to this. “I had to confront the head servant,” I add. “She was refusing to provide clothes and many basic necessities for Pearl.”
“Ethel. She always was a fiercely loyal servant to the Claymores,” my father says. “I struggle to deal with what you've told me about her scheming. She's never caused problems before.”
“Well, she's causing them for Pearl. I tried to warn her. But I don’t think my words had any effect.”
My father rides in silence for a moment, obviously discomfited. We all turn on our flashlights to better see along the path, led by the Bonecleaver tracker. Another household confirms they saw someone heading this way through their curtains, and I can’t help but think she was doing an extremely poor job of hiding herself. Unless she intended to come back.
She better be okay.
“I’ll have words with Ethel as well,” my father says then. “I do not want to remove her. It would be a mockery to her services.”
“She really should have thought of that before disrespecting her lord’s son. Because that’s my wife.”
My father grunts in agreement, but says no more on the matter. I regard him and his aging face in the darkness. The shadows cast sinister patterns over his features, and I try to remember him as when I was young – a strong, proud warrior, forging a brighter future for the clans. Not the aged, pruning person I see today, still strong, but perhaps bested by youth and time. He probably thought there would never be peace in our time. I’m glad he’s trying, though there’s many years of bad blood shed.
And she said he killed her father’s brother. Oh hell. I nudge Topper away from the railed edge that he ambled towards, in search of the grassroots growing around the metal. Our small procession hears the sound of laughter and carousing, and we spot the brightly lit bar built not too far from the road, supported upon a ledge that is able to overlook the forests and ravines, giving the bar goers a wonderful view of our lands.
“They probably saw something,” my father says, and we follow the Bonecleaver towards the bar. We dismount and tie our horses to the beam provided, and a sudden hush falls over our party.
Tied to one of the wooden beams outside the bar is Hoover. The missing horse from the stables.
“She’s been here,” Bobby says, surprised. My father and the Bonecleaver, however, look grim. We work our way through the small crowd gathered inside. It’s a merry sight. Many men and women drinking, laughing and roaring their stories. One man’s on the table, the clan colors draped all around him, mimicking the position of a shooter. He lets out a theatrical bang, and the men around him laugh and thump their hands on the table, spilling drink. One of the female bartenders looks less than impressed at this behavior, but all the men and women are in peculiar high spirits. Celebrating.
One quick work through the room doesn’t yield any sight of Pearl. Her horse is here, but she isn’t. The Bonecleaver shakes his head, before approaching and whispering something to my father. Both of their features look grim, and a sense of foreboding ripples through me.
If the horse is here, but Pearl isn’t…