I tracked his line of sight, not to the building but through it. To the inside where Kit and Thoma were doubtless chatting. My mind raced through the images I’d drawn over the pastfew weeks, trying to recall what Anders might have seen in his snooping.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, but I felt my throat closing. Choking up with dread that I knewexactlywhat he was talking about.
Most of my sketches were taken from nature. Bugs, birds, and the like. But recently, I had a bit of a captive subject, and I found myself more taken with him, more invested in studying his lines and shapes, than I had ever been with a passing swallow or dragonfly.
I hugged my satchel tightly to my side as Anders huffed a laugh.
“Good old Kit over there.” He jerked his chin in the direction we both faced. “I don’t need any imagination to know what he looks like under those clothes, now. Bare as the day he was born.”
My stomach somersaulted, and I covered my mouth with my palm to keep my breakfast from spewing out all over the frozen ground.
“I did wonder what you spent all your time doing with your nose in that dumb book,” Anders said. “Now I know. You’re busy penciling in the freckles on Kit’s ass.”
I couldn’t breathe. Not from my damaged lungs, but from the nausea that continued to bubble like a stew cooking in my gut. It was sour and hot, burning my insides and flooding into my legs, feet, arms, and hands. I wanted to punch the smile right off his face. Knock him down like I had Merrick and leave him wearing a bruise the rest of our trip.
But I didn’t. And he laughed. He laughed so loud I just knew Kit would hear. So, I shushed him because I couldn’t think to do anything else. I shushed him with what little breath I had while clenching useless fists and trying not to notice the passing townspeople who were definitely noticing us.
He was still sniggering when Kit emerged from the shadow of the wide stable door, leading a gray roan by the bridle. He cast a glance toward Anders and I, both of us red in the face, but for entirely different reasons.
Anders’s good humor evaporated, and he groaned at the sight of the familiar gelding. “Oh, not that bastard again. Damn thing’s more ornery than a mule.”
My anger had bled off into wretched misery. What had been seen could not be unseen, and we were about to be rattling around in a cart with Anders for untold hours.
It would come up again. I knew it. To Kit, and to anyone else Anders thought might find it funny the moment we got back. He’d crow about it to the whole town, and Merrick would get a good laugh out of it, too. The secret of mine and Kit’s relationship would be spoiled. He would be upset, but not half as upset as when he found out Anders had seen a heavily detailed drawing of him nude.
Scooping up our bag, I hurried over to Kit as he directed Flint toward a parked cart at the end of the low building. I slung the knapsack into the back without even waiting for the horse to be hitched. I should have tossed my satchel in after, but I wouldn’t risk parting with it or its contents for fear Anders might rip the page out and post it on the doors of the Ossuary for the whole of Ashpoint to see.
Kit made quick work of hooking up Flint, then came over to where I stood in nauseated quiet.
“You all right, Pen?”
I shook my head but still couldn’t speak as Anders came up behind us and clapped one meaty hand on each of our backs.
“Nice work, boys. What say we hit the road?”
It wasn’t a question, and neither Kit nor I gave an answer as the lumberman clambered into the wagon and sprawled, taking up as much space as possible.
I leaned closer to Kit, desperate for a hug or some reassurance before we embarked on what was shaping up to be a miserable journey. Seeming to sense my angst, Kit caught my hand for a squeeze before climbing up onto the driver’s seat. He patted the open space beside him, and I gladly filled it, tucking my satchel in my lap and hugging onto it long after we passed beyond the city gates.
11
Kit
This trip out of Ashpoint was less enjoyable than the last had been, and it was only partly due to our unwanted company. On top of Anders regaling us with endless stories of his feats of strength and his plentiful exploits with women both in Ashpoint and on the road, Penny scarcely said a word. He was tense and withdrawn, and I missed his chatter. I wished I could slide my arm around his shoulders and pull him against me and ask what was bothering him.
We travelled until sundown, then pulled off the road into the shelter of a dense stand of evergreens. The location was far enough from any towns or militia outposts to not be noticed. There was some weary brown grass for Flint to graze on and enough dry wood beneath the heavy boughs to build a fire.
Once the flames had caught, the three of us crowded around to take advantage of their meager warmth as the chill of the night set in. Penny and I shared a bag of dried fruit and nuts and kept as close as we could without being too obvious while Anders reposed on the opposite side with a pouch of venison jerky.
“If we get going at first light, we should make Wendwood by midday,” Anders said around a mouthful of food. “Means oneof us will have to be the distraction. Can’t have the Symbiarch finding us in the middle of our task.” His lips curled in a sinister smile. “Though, Ihavewanted to test the sharpness of my machete against bone.”
Penny’s face paled.
“We’re not killing anyone,” I snapped. “That’s not part of the plan. Penny can keep the Symbiarch occupied, and you and I will handle the supplies.”
“Occupied how?” Penny asked with a quizzical squint.
I shrugged one shoulder. “Be friendly. You like talking to people, and they like talking to you.”
