Gallina sniffed and wiped her nose. “Well, it wasn’t all bad. Turns out some people pay a lot for toad tongues.”
Viv reached over and squeezed her shoulder.
Then they both sat back and finished their sausages.
When they were done, Viv breathed deep and let the cold air curl down in her lungs and watched the night wick away from the countryside.
She idly ran a thumb along Blackblood’s fuller, thought about what was to come, and felt as though she were emerging from the fog of a weeks-long dream.
When they arrived at the farmer’s holding, the sun was up, and ribbons of mist were burning off the lowlands in the dawning heat. The farm consisted of a cottage, a jumble of outbuildings and fenced paddocks, a long, thatched barn, and a sizable garden, all encircled by fields filled with hayricks. Bastion oak crowded the slopes up out of the valley.
They heard the bleat of waking sheep, anxious for their morning fodder, and a dog delivered big echoing barks across the breadth of the valley.
The farmer was out on a stool when the mules trundled to a stop in the big looping turnout before the cottage. Even seated, Viv could tell she was tall. Lean and hard, with a tangle of handsome gray hair, she puffed on a pipe in one hand, waving them in with the other.
“So, a Murkie finally decided to take a peek?” she asked around the pipestem.
Viv and Gallina vaulted out of the wagon and stretched.
The farmer looked them up and down, gaze settling on Vivas she strapped the greatsword and saber back on. “Meg,” she said by way of introduction.
“Hey, Meg,” said Gallina, flashing the bounty sheet. “Still havin’ trouble? My ass hopes we didn’t ride down here for nothin’.”
The farmer laughed with an edge of bitterness as she got to her feet. “Aye, that I am. Have to keep the flock close, and don’t dare take them to the south pastures. Now, they’re comin’ up around the place after dark. Nothing I can do but bar the door, keep the dog in, and wait it out.”
“They’re taking sheep at night?” Viv studied the paddocks, the jackleg fences still intact. “Are you fixing the fences when they bust through?”
“They don’t come every night, but often enough. And when they do, I’m always a few head shy in the morning. Funny thing, the fences are always fine. They must be leapin’ over.” She shook her head.
“Blood?”
“Not usually.”
Viv frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a spineback.”
“You’ve seen ’em?” Gallina asked Meg.
“Once or twice. I think there’s a nest near the meadow two hills south. And that sound they make? Like rocks rubbin’ together? You don’t soon forget that.”
“All right,” said Viv. “Point us in the right direction, and we’ll see what we can do. Can our driver stay here with you?”
Meg nodded. “Tea’s on,” she called to the sea-fey.
Viv stared south at the hills and stands of bastion oak and, presumably, the meadow beyond. She had seen—and slain—her fair share of spinebacks, and her skepticism was growing by the second.
When they had passed beyond the first line of oak, Viv called a halt and unslung the leather bag.
Setting it on the ground, she fished inside for one of the bottles, popped the cork between her teeth, and dusted Satchel’s bones with a few gentle taps of a forefinger.
As she resealed the phial, Satchel assembled himself in a pearlescent rush, flushing with crisp blue light as consciousness bloomed in his eye sockets.
“I don’t know why I’m worried about this,” said Viv, hiking the bag over her shoulder again and rising to her feet. “What’s anything going to do to you?”
“I assure you, there’s no cause for concern.” His hollow voice held no doubt.
“I guess. Although in my experience, spinebacks like to crack bones between their teeth.” She clenched her fist demonstratively. “I feel guilty that you don’t have a weapon or something.”
Satchel flourished a hand, and the phalanges narrowed to long, wicked points.
