1
Kit
Iwas a hard man to find. It took me years to become that way, and it annoyed me every time a stranger appeared on my doorstep. It didn’t matter why they were there; they could be giving away a fortune or asking for directions down the road. It was equally irritating either way. I had carved out a quiet, solitary life for myself, and I was loath to share it for even a moment.
The townspeople knew better than to bother me at home. I was fair game when I was down in the forge—not that many people approached me there, either, but for work—but my house was off-limits. Every once in a while, someone went against their better judgment and made the trek past the outskirts of Forstford and up the hill to my door. Usually, it was a wayward traveler seeking directions to town or a passing salesman. No one got more than a point down the road, or a curse and the door slammed in their face.
That day, everything started out normal. I fixed myself a breakfast of coffee and eggs and enjoyed it while sitting on my back porch watching the sun rise between the pines.When the chill of the late autumn morning had sufficiently numbed my hands and nose, I retreated inside and curled up with a book in the den.
Not quite an hour passed before a knock at the door made my jaw clench. Setting my book on the side table, I stalked to the front hall. I undid the locks and yanked the door open, primed to dismiss the interloper and return to my coveted quiet as quickly as possible.
The man on my doorstep looked like an overgrown rat. Large, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his pointed nose, and crooked teeth poked out beneath his top lip. Hair the color of dirty dishwater hung around his face in thick, ropy strands.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
He smiled, showing his teeth to not only be jagged and crowded but horribly yellow. “Mister Mosel, I’m glad you’re home. I was hoping to speak with you about the peace of Paneus and the joy that he can bring?—”
“No.” I didn’t have the energy to listen to his spiel. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you people only ever come tomydoor, never anyone else in town. As if everyone else in the province is more devout than me. You should keep to therealpurpose of the mission and do something to help the families who lost crops in the flooding last month.We’vesent help. Have you?”
The man sputtered but didn’t manage a response.
“Didn’t think so.” I leaned in and dropped my voice so the threat in my tone was unmistakable. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told thelastman who came out here to bother me: I’m not interested in anything to do with either of the gods. They’ve never done anything for me, so what use do I have for them? Next time, perhaps I should carve my response into your forehead so you won’t forget it again.”
I slammed the door and engaged the locks, then turned with a haggard breath. “Gods, I need a guard dog.”
I dragged my hands through my hair to settle myself before heading to the kitchen to prepare another cup of coffee. When I returned to my chair a few minutes later, I had no sooner reclaimed my book and opened to the marked page than another knock echoed at the door. The muscles in my shoulders tensed, and I ground my teeth.
Throwing my book down, I detoured to the kitchen to retrieve a long, serrated blade from the knife block, then stormed to the front hall. I threw the locks and jerked the door open, knife raised threateningly.
“I warned you that the next time I would—” I blinked at the figure on the stoop—notthe rat man of?several minutes before. This was a much younger man, younger than me, with his green eyes wide and his hands held up in a pitiful defense.
“Oh,” I said, lowering the knife. “I thought you were someone else.”
My unwanted visitor kept his hands raised as he stared at the blade. The late morning sun made his sandy hair shine golden and highlighted the spiderwebbing burn scars that covered both palms and forearms, disappearing beneath the cuffs of his rolled shirt sleeves.
I knew all the faces in town, and he wasn’t from around here.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he said quickly, lifting his gaze to meet mine. “Are you Kit Mosel?”
I sighed and slumped against the door frame. “Unfortunately. What do you want?”
A grin spread across his face. “I’m Penny Oliver.” He thrust out a hand to shake.
I stared at it long enough that he shifted in discomfort before I gestured with the knife. “And?”
He pulled back his hand and stuffed it meekly in his pocket. After coughing to clear his throat, he forged on. “I was hoping to ask you some questions about the Bone Men.”
The words rolled off his tongue with the same casual tone one would use to comment on the day’s weather. Like he hadn’t just brought up a topic that could get me questioned by the militia or run out of town. Bile rose in my throat, and I stepped back, grabbing the door to swing it closed. Before I could, Penny braced his foot against the bottom of it.
“Please.” His smile faltered. “There are things I need to know, and I think you’re the only person who can help me.”
My eyes narrowed. “Look, kid, I have workeddamnhard to get away from that. I want nothing to do with the Bone Men, and I have no interest in someone digging in my past for their own fascination.”
“They took my father’s body.” He squirmed as he spoke. “We buried him in the woods behind our cottage. It’s a sunny little clearing where my sister and I used to play. He loved it there. Has the best view of the sunset…” His upturned nose scrunched, and lines creased the corners of his eyes.
It wasn’t an uncommon sob story, but not a problem I was inclined to assist in solving.
“You should have burned him,” I grumbled, trying and failing to roll the tension out of my shoulders. “That’s your fault.”
