Chapter 2: The Quiet Before

  Despite planning on a quick departure, it was almost noon before Turner and the others were on the road. It had taken well over an hour to get supplies together, double check them, and plan the route. The pickup of the delivery itself didn't take much time, but confirmed some of Turner's suspicions. The client had sent their butler to hand over the package, and it had been all too near to the upper end of town. The butler alone very likely made more money in a year than Turner had seen his whole life.

  Which wasn't that hard, he reflected. He'd heard butlers for wealthy clients had high salaries, and Turner was hardly a successful freelancer. Very few made it big, despite the rumors of money and fame. Nowadays, that seemed unlikely to happen. The days of the famous adventurer, going to the untamed lands and bringing back riches are almost gone.

  At times like these, Turner felt that reality keenly. Trudging along the dirt road, heavy pack upon his back, he wished he had a pack mule or something. Travel wasn't much of a burden under most circumstances, but here out in the western lands, it was dangerous outside of the cities. The roads were poorly maintained and often nothing more than simple, cleared dirt paths. At best, they were packed earth, but this one was rough enough to make each step hard on the ankles.

  "Did you see the steam carriage at the side of the plaza on the way out?" Martin asked, breaking the silence. This happened from time to time. The four of them had traveled together for half a year, and long stretches of silence were common. Occasionally, a stray thought would spark conversation. The rough road seemed to have shaken this one loose from the taciturn hunter, recalling the carriage.

  Nora was the one who answered, with a nonchalant, "I did." She shook her head. "Dreadful things. I've seen one or two before that, but never actually working. Do they really move?" She looked toward Turner. "You grew up in the city out east - did you see many?"

  Turner didn't even look at the others, but he did speak. "No. I grew up in the poor part of town. If you think they're toys for the rich now, imagine six or seven years ago." He waved a hand dismissively. "They don't work well outside of cities, or anywhere without good roads. You don't see them out here often because they're a pain to get between towns. Go a little north and you might find some. They've put in some rail lines."

  Milo grunted, trading places with his brother as the quiet one, for once. Martin continued, "I remember when they put a station in the town nearest our village. We went to go see it - the train, I mean. Seemed so big and amazing back then. Someday rail lines will cover the entire west, one coast to the other."

  "Someday," Turner agreed, his tone absent. "But not for a long time. Too many dangers out here for the workers. We've got years before that happens. Might not even be in our lifetime. If they had the manpower to push through and protect it into the wilds, we'd be out of a job."

  To that, Milo had to quip, "If you want to be fair, we're practically out of a job now." That earned a chuckle from both Nora and Martin, and a wry smile from Turner. "I know what you mean, though. I always thought they were exaggerating the danger of going out west."

  It almost sounded like a jab at Turner, but Nora spoke up before he could decide how to respond. "It may well be an exaggeration, but not by much," she cut in. "You'll see soon enough."

  That got the attention of both brothers, and Milo asked, "Are we headed that way?" After a brief pause, he added, "I know we said we wanted more action, but is that why you were reluctant about this job, Turner?"

  "Mn," Turner replied. "No. We might run into something from the wildlands down here, but even if we don't, we'll be heading that way soon." He gestured with his right hand, vaguely to the west. "I'm careful, yeah, but any real money means going where the city watch won't. I've seen you two fight enough. You're competent, I just want to pick our battles."

  The brothers looked at each other, then over at Nora. The blonde was walking again, eyes forward, favoring her walking stick. Turner was still trudging along at a slow, steady pace that somehow ate up the ground. He only had a few years on Milo, the eldest, but sometimes the brothers looked at him like a wizened elder.

  "Is it true there are actual monsters out there?" Milo asked, looking west. It was a question he'd danced around before, but in six months hadn't asked. He'd joked about it, talked about taking one down, but had never gotten a response from Turner about it.

  _Good_, Turner thought. _They're starting to ask the right questions._

  "When people say that, they usually mean vicious and wild beasts," he answered truthfully. "In the more civilized parts of the world, animals have learned to fear mankind. Out here, we're the invaders - and they don't care. We aren't in control."

  The road rounded a bend. Gentle rises now forced it to curve, and scattered trees were starting to appear. They were making good time, but might have to stop for the night in the forest. Turner nodded to the trees. "Humans have been in this area for a couple generations. Run into a bear here, and it's as likely to run as attack, depending on how threatened it feels. Go too many leagues west, though... the bears only know we're in their territory."

  He paused and glanced back. "You two come from a family of hunters - you've probably seen this. Normally, animals that see something strange are skittish. For some reason, the ones out west... aren't. They're fiercely territorial. They have their own way of life, and we're the intruders."

  Milo nodded thoughtfully. After digesting that, he realized his question hadn't actually been answered, and... hesitated. Maybe he sensed Turner and Nora were more talkative than normal, because he went ahead and pushed the topic. "So when people talk about baby-snatching goblins and monstrous trees, it's just stories? Just wilds with strange beasts? Monsters don't exist?"

  Turner rubbed his chin, his thumb subconsciously sliding up to trace the thin scar along his jaw. "I didn't say that. I only said most people don't know what a monster looks like. Or sounds like," he muttered, adding the last part almost as an afterthought.

  Milo started to ask for clarification, but Nora had already turned her head. The icy glare the blonde gave him shut both him and Martin down immediately. She shook her head, and the two hunters got the idea. This was as far as either had ever managed to push, and it was enough for now.

  The mood had soured, but the entire group walking in silence wasn't anything new. Martin and Milo didn't try to change the subject, sensing that Turner was done talking. Turner, for his part, was fine chatting about other things - but he didn't need to. He'd gotten the measure of the brothers months ago, and Milo getting bold enough to come out of his shell was just another milestone. This, too, was training for the neophyte adventurers.

  The forest thickened, but never enough to darken. Someone - or many someones - had made a halfhearted attempt to keep the barely-presentable road clear on either side. The result was a line of stumps rotting to either side, but trees still practically butted up against the road. Fortunately, the forest wasn't thick enough to hide much, but it still made Turner wary.

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  Everything made him wary.

  As expected, the small group hadn't made it through the forest before darkness began to fall. Milo had found the remnants of a campfire left by previous travelers not far from the road, while he was out hunting. It made for a convenient spot now, with Nora stirring the group's stewpot for dinner. Nearby, Martin fed the roasted remains of the single rabbit Milo had caught into the pot.

  Turner rolled up the map, finished with his own task for the night. It was getting hard to read anyway. "We should arrive before nightfall the day after tomorrow," he announced. "Hodgeworth is large enough it has a couple inns, but we'll have to hope there's work. If we have to go back to Sparston, we'll have barely made a profit."

  Martin looked up from slicing the cheese. One rabbit wasn't enough for all four, so dipping into the dry rations helped stretch the meal. "At worst we're starving next week, but at least we aren't starving this week," he pointed out. This was not entirely correct - everyone in the group was at least decent at hunting. Martin and Milo were great at it, even. But Turner got the sentiment.

  "It'll be fine," Nora reassured, stirring the stew a little further. "There’s a good chance something’ll be available in Hodgeworth. Even if there isn’t... well." She glanced at the brothers. "We'll try to find something worth our time. At worst, there are always boring jobs available." She tapped the spoon on the rim of the pot. "Turner! Make yourself useful and serve this into bowls. I'm going to finish laying down the perimeter."

  Turner shuffled over to oblige her and began ladling out the stew. With only four bowls, it didn't take long, even after he set one aside for Nora. What Turner didn’t expect was that Martin mistook his recent mood for openness. He was, but only because he needed the distraction.

  "Hey, Turner," Martin said, sitting beside him and lowering his voice. "Always wondered... why do you let her do that? You keep saying superstition and magic are tricks and scams." He spooned some stew into his mouth and muttered, "Bit more fat than I expected."

  The question went unanswered until Turner had gotten comfortable. Martin was starting to think he'd misread the mood, and that Turner was angry. He looked visibly relieved when Turner finally spoke.

  "You're not wrong," came the reply. "There's magic, and magic, and Magic," he explained. The tone of Turner’s voice at the end carried that subtle weight—like he was audibly capitalizing the word. "The first kind is the charlatan kind. Tricks, misdirection. Hidden panels, quick fingers. It's simple foolery that works because they're very, very good at it. I don't know all the tricks, but most so-called magic is this kind of deception."

  By this time, Milo had moved closer, drawn in by Turner finally saying something of note. The two brothers had joined up with him not just for numbers, but to learn the ropes. He might prefer a subtler way of teaching, but the brothers were listening now. They'd asked, maybe they would learn.

  Turner didn’t keep his voice down, though he wasn’t exactly loud either. He didn't care if Nora heard, and he wanted that to be clear to both her and Martin. He gestured toward the dark blob moving beyond the campfire. "What Nora is doing is another kind of magic. It's careful, it's practiced... and it usually works. We don't know why. Maybe it's some kind of science we haven't fully understood yet. Nora tells me people can melt gold in a special fluid - but that isn’t magic. They figured out exactly how to do it, if they have the ingredients - but a hundred years ago, it was mysterious. Alchemy and magic. We know better now. At least, people smarter than me know."

  "And the third?" Milo asked. Turner hadn't intended to lead the two brothers on, but he did need to eat. Sopping up stew with a chunk of bread - his ration for the night - necessitated a pause. Turner was taciturn by nature, and didn't realize how often that left people hanging.

  He set down the bowl, nodding as Nora quietly stepped in to gather her own meal for the night. "The third kind," Turner began, "is the rarest. That's the real Magic. The unexplained. The powerful. The stuff that breaks rules and doesn't apologize. A few people learn to grapple with it and come out ahead. Mostly, it stays unknowable and dangerous."

  Nora smiled. "'Unknowable and dangerous,'" she repeated chuckling. "If the you I first met had heard you talk..." The tease trailed off as she picked up where Turner had left off. "He's right. Magic, real Magic, is something you hope to never notice. What I do with the perimeter only works because I know the animals. It can’t keep out a bandit, or anything that thinks for itself. A strange beast might still wander in. You don’t have to think of it as magic if you don’t want to. But it does work."

  "Sorry," Martin said. "I don’t care—I mean, we don’t care. Our village had an old woman who did remedies that were basically magic. At least, to us. I was curious because Turner here seems so... uh... skeptical. No offense." He nodded toward the young man in question there.

  Turner waved it off with a dismissive snort. "None taken. I am skeptical, but what works, works. I don't have to understand it." He grew more serious. "And that’s what’s important. Not that it works—but that I trust someone who knows how to handle it. Nora. You two have something most of our kind don’t. You have each other—someone you trust with your life. That’s precious. Don’t take it for granted."

  He didn’t give them much chance to reply. Turner stood, lifting the pot. "I’ll rinse this out in the stream. We’d better get some sleep if we want to make good time tomorrow." He turned to leave, Milo and Martin blinking in a mix of confusion and contemplation. Nora just chuckled, then set about preparing for sleep herself.

  The next morning, Turner and the others made good time. Even so, it took all morning and was easing into early afternoon before the forest began to thin out. It had been an uneventful trip. Turner was grateful the Wellright brothers were talking more. He knew they were getting impatient, but he’d grown to like them. He was just so bad at starting conversations without slipping into a lecture.

  The group had stopped for a brief rest. About an hour later, on the move again, the signal came. Milo was the one out scouting when he sent the predetermined signal: a series of birdlike calls. _Something strange. Approach with caution, but no immediate danger._ It wasn't a combination Turner had heard from Milo before, and it threw him for a moment.

  It came as no surprise to anyone that Turner felt uneasy when they met up with Milo. The scene that he'd found was just... wrong. At the forest’s edge, small clearings were more common - but this one held two slaughtered wolves. Not what Turner had expected.

  "Stop there!" Milo called, as Turner and Nora advanced. Martin had already moved ahead and was squatting next to one of the wolves. Turner halted immediately - this was Milo's specialty, and he trusted the lanky hunter had a reason. The younger man gestured toward Turner and Nora's feet. "Step carefully, take a look at the tracks."

  Turner wasn't a tracker. He'd spent plenty of time in the wilderness, but identifying animals by the imprint they left in the grass wasn't his thing. If the ground were muddy from a recent rain, he could track game, but that's about where his skills stopped. Even so, he could tell what Milo meant. The trampled area around the wolves was dry, with no recent rain, but it held signs even Turner found odd.

  All over the clearing - and especially around the two crippled bodies - lay circular indentations. Each one was clearly visible, about two inches wide. It was as if someone had taken a large hammer and slammed it into the earth at random. Moving closer with care, Turner could make out several broken bones in the wolves. Shattered ribs and pulped muscle made it obvious - even to him - that the indents and the injuries came from the same source.

  "A few hours dead," Martin mumbled. The flies said that much, but the smell wasn't bad yet. Else they wouldn't have needed Milo's signal to find this. "But look - the splintered branches over there, gouges over here..." He frowned in concern. "Male and female. Probably starting a new pack. They weren't hunting, though. They were running away. Not eaten either. Killed for sport."

  Turner nodded and pointed to a patch of fur near one wolf’s face. "Look here. Richer color, fur’s matted." Even as he pointed it out, he caught the faint scent of meat mingled with the ripe sweetness of decay. "Hot water. Or steam. It's boiled, basically."

  "Mmm. After death, too," Nora pointed out, leaning in to examine. "No signs of blistering. And why so many crushing blows?" She frowned. "This wasn't some farmer hunting a threat to their sheep."

  "Yeah," Milo agreed from the edge of the clearing. "That's not the weirdest part. Come look at this, I found a different track." He was pointing at something next to the nearby tree.

  By now, everyone understood why Milo had signaled something strange. Even with the warning, Turner had to stop and stare. It was a lucky catch - soft earth, untouched. Just firm enough to hold a print, and just dry enough to keep the edges clear.

  A single, small shoe print.

  Milo, crouched by the print, ran a finger along the outline. "This isn’t a hiking shoe. This is something you wear in town. A city boy - and I do mean boy. Twelve to fifteen, maybe. No sign of running. The heel’s too solid. A few more out that way, too." He looked straight at Turner for the next part. "The kid watched - then walked away. Calmly."

  Turner wished he'd listened to his gut on this job.