“When you say he…” I stopped there.
Woody grasped my shirt and pulled. I leaned toward him. He put his lips to my ear and whispered. I expected Gogmagog, but that wasn’t what he said. What he said was Flight Killer.
11
“He could send assassins against us, but he doesn’t. He lets us live, those of us who remain, and living is punishment enough. Aloysius, as I said, never made it out of the city. Ellen, Warner, and Greta have taken their lives. I believe Yolande still lives, but she wanders, insane. Like me, she’s blind, living for the most part on the kindness of strangers. I feed her when she comes and agree with the gibberish she speaks. These are nieces, nephews, and cousins, you understand—the close blood. Do you follow?”
“Yes.” I did, more or less.
“Burton has become an anchorite, living deep in the woods and constantly praying for Empis’s deliverance with hands he can’t feel when he presses them together. He can’t feel wounds unless he sees blood. He eats, but he has no sense of whether his stomach is full or empty.”
“My God,” I said. I had thought being blind must be the worst, but it wasn’t.
“The wolves leave Burton alone. At least they did. It’s been two years or more since he came here. He may be dead, too. My little party left in a farrier’s wagon, with me, not yet blind as you see me now, standing up and snapping a whip over a team of six horses that were crazed with fear. With me were my cousin Claudia, my nephew Aloysius, and my niece Leah. We flew like the wind, Charlie, the wagon’s ironbound wheels striking up sparks from the cobblestones and actually flying in the air for ten feet or more from the top of the Rumpa Bridge. I thought the wagon might turn over or break apart when we came down, but it was sturdy-made and held together. We could hear Hana roaring from behind us, roaring like a storm, coming ever closer. I can still hear those roars. I lashed the horses and they ran as if hell was after them… as it was. Aloysius looked back just before we reached the gate, and Hana swatted his head from his shoulders. I didn’t see that, all my attention was fixed ahead, but Claudia saw. Leah didn’t, thank God. She was wrapped in a blanket. The next swipe of Hana’s hand tore off the back of the wagon. I could smell her breath, can smell it still. Rotted fish and meat and the reek of her sweat. We got through the gate just in time. She roared when she saw we had escaped her. The hate and frustration in that sound! Yes, I hear it still.”
He stopped and wiped his mouth. His hand shook when he did it. I had never seen PTSD outside of movies like The Hurt Locker, but I was seeing it now. I don’t know how long ago all that had happened, but the horror was still with him and still fresh. I didn’t like being responsible for making him remember that time and speak of it, but I needed to know what I was getting into.
“Charlie, if you go into my pantry, you’ll find a bottle of blackberry wine in the cold cupboard. I would like a small glass, if you don’t mind. Have one yourself, if you’d like.”
I found the bottle and poured him a glass. The smell of fermented blackberries was strong enough to kill any desire I might have had to pour my own glass even without the healthy wariness I had for alcohol on account of my father, so I helped myself to some more lemonade instead.
He drank two big swallows, most of what was in the glass, and heaved a sigh. “That’s better. These memories are sad and painful. It’s growing late and you must be tired, so it’s time to talk about what you must do to save your friend. If you still intend to go ahead, that is.”
“I do.”
“You’d risk your life and sanity for the dog?”
“She’s all I have left of Mr. Bowditch.” I hesitated, then gave him the rest of it. “And I love her.”
“Very well. I understand love. Here is what you must do. Listen carefully. Another day’s walk will take you to the house of my cousin Claudia. If you move along briskly, that is. When you get there…”
I listened carefully. As if my life depended on it. The wolves howling outside suggested very strongly that it did.
12
Woody’s toilet was an outhouse, connected to his bedroom by a short board passage. As I walked that passage, holding a lantern （the old-fashioned kind, not a Coleman）， something hit the wall with a hard thump. Something hungry, I assumed. I dry-brushed my teeth and used the facility. I hoped Rades could hold her water until morning, because no way was I going to take her out until then.
I didn’t have to sleep by the fire here, because there was a second bedroom. The small bed had a frilly coverlet embroidered with butterflies that just about had to be Dora’s work, and the walls were painted pink. Woody told me that both Leah and Claudia had used it on occasion, Leah not for many years.