Page 29 of No Place in Time

“I can still use it,” she said, “but not well.”

He tore a strip from his tunic and fashioned a sling, easing her arm into it. Then he handed her the knife he’d taken from the guard at Hawthorne Manor. “Keep this with you. I’ll be back soon. I need to find something for us to eat.”

She took it without comment.

Finn turned over logs and scraped at the frozen soil with his bare hands. He returned with a few woody roots and a handful of damp nuts. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He scooped up a handful of snow and held it to her lips, watching as it melted in her mouth.

“I need to leave,” he said after building a small, shielded fire just outside the shed’s doorway. Its meager heat barely cut the chill, but it was better than nothing.

Cecily looked at him, worry creasing her forehead. “Please stay.”

“I have to,” he said gently. “There’s a town east of here. I can earn some coin so we can eat properly. And we need to get the machine. If I can get tools and bring it back here, I can work on it again. Then…”

He stopped, not knowing how to finish. He didn’t know what would happen then.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. “Be careful.”

“I will.” He glanced back at her once, then left.

∞∞∞

The village lay east, about an hour’s walk away. From the edge of the field, Finn could see rooftops clustered near the river. Smoke curled up from chimneys.

The town was called Marrowden. It sat low beside the water, its streets churned to mud by carts, hooves, and melting snow. A mill stood near the river’s edge, its wheel turning steadily. The air smelled of wet grain, smoke, and animals.

Finn went first to the mill. The owner looked him over, saw his torn clothes, dirt ground into his hands, and shook his head.

“Not today,” he said.

Finn tried the cooper next. The cooper barely glanced up.

“Git,” he said. “We’ll have no loiterin’.”

Near the far end of Marrowden, a carter was unloading sacks of barley from a wagon. He paused to watch Finn approach.

“Ye lookin’ fer work?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

The carter studied him for a moment. “Ye look strong.”

“I am, sir.”

The carter jerked his chin toward the wagon. “Go ahead, show me.”

Finn hauled until his shoulders burned and his palms blistered. He did not stop. When he stacked the last sack, the carter pressed a few coins into his hand.

“That’s all I need today,” he said. “Come back tomorrow, and there may be more.”

Finn bought bread, dried meat, and a thin blanket. He did not linger, and by forcing a quick pace, he was back at the shed as the sun was setting.

Cecily looked up when he stepped inside. She smiled.

They ate in silence. When night fell, the wind rose, rattling the boards. He covered her with dried leaves, thin branches, and the blanket he had bought so they would hold warmth without pressing on her arm.

Finn lay awake with his back against hers, the knife within reach. Cecily slept fitfully behind him, her breathing uneven but steady.

In the morning, he rose before the light.