The woman’s smile strained a little. “If there’s nothing else, I really must greet some of the others. Enjoy your stay at Salvation!” She stepped away from them, and Venn didn’t bother to call her back. He was convinced that she either didn’t know the answers to his questions, or she would refuse to give them. Either way, he didn’t like how busy this square was; he wanted to get the children settled.
They headed out of the main square, moving toward the back of the camp.
They hadn’t gone far when Finn suddenly gasped. “Father!”
Venn twisted, and he bit out a curse when he saw Finn slide off the horse. The boy stumbled as he hit the ground, but Sarah was also wavering after her brother’s fall, and Venn grasped her to keep her from falling. “Finn!”
The boy ignored his bark as he ran through a cluster of men and headed for a row of beggars who sat on the edge of the square.
Vera quickly stepped forward to hold Sarah steady so Venn could follow Finn, and he spotted the man that had grabbed Finn’s attention almost at once. The beggar sat in a line of other men and women with scarves draped over their heads to protect them from the Mortisian sun. His head was ducked, but the dented tin cup he clutched in both hands did not hold enough fingers. Three were missing; two on his right hand, one on his left.
“Father!” Finn cried again.
The beggar’s head lifted and Finn jerked back.
Venn grabbed the boy’s shoulder a breath later, his gaze riveted on the beggar. It was clear this man wasn’t David Holm; if he had been, Finn would be embracing him by now.
The beggar cracked out a thin smile, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. “Apologies, but I’m not your father.”
Finn’s muscles were rigid beneath Venn’s hold. “I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
Venn squeezed his shoulder, his eyes on the beggar. “We won’t trouble you further.”
But even as Venn tried to turn away, Finn dug in his heels. “Do you know my father? His name is David Holm. He’s also missing three fingers.”
The beggar scratched at one of his finger stumps. “Unfortunately, these marks are a common enough sight here at the camp. I’m afraid I don’t know a David Holm, though.” His eyes glinted. “For a coin or two, I might be willing to keep an eye and ear out.”
Finn shot Venn a desperate look, and as much as Venn suspected it wouldn’t do any good, he handed over a coin. “If you learn anything, we’ll be near the back of the camp,” he said. “You can ask for me: Venn Grannard.”
“Very well, Master Grannard. Thank you.” The beggar tucked the coin into a pocket rather than depositing it in his cup, and Venn tugged Finn away.
He stopped a short distance from the horse and tugged Finn to face him. “That was extremely reckless,” he told the boy, his tone low and perhaps a little too hard. But, fates, that stunt had made his heart stop. “You could have hurt yourself falling off the horse—or pulled Sarah down. And you shouldn’t have run across the street like that, toward strangers.”
“I thought he was my father,” Finn said, his cheeks a bit red. “I saw his missing fingers, and . . .”
Venn kept hold of the boy’s arms as he sank into a crouch so they were eye level. “I promised I’d help you find him, and I will. I need you to trust that. I need you to trust me.”
Finn bit his lower lip. “I do trust you.”
Venn’s fingers tightened on his arms. “Then let me find him, all right?”
The boy let out a long, slow exhale, but he nodded.
Venn sighed. “I also think it would be wise not to repeat his name to strangers.”
His forehead wrinkled. “But, how else will we find him?”
“I’ll get an audience with the record master and view the logs. If your father came here, we’ll find him that way.”
When Venn stood, Finn fidgeted. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I just thought it had to be him.”
“It’s all right. Just promise me you won’t run off like that again. And that you won’t go anywhere alone.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” Venn ruffled the boy’s brown hair. “Let’s get back to the others.”
Finn walked with him easily, but Venn kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
