Ganry awoke when the wagon stopped. He could hear voices, without being able to make out the words. Light peeked through the gap around the curtains and lit up a parade of swirling dust motes in the air. He groaned. He hated waking while the sun was still up. And if it was still light they could not have reached anywhere decent enough to stop. Some of the children might tumble for a hot meal at farmsteads, but Ganry didn't venture out of the wagon for more than a privvy stop unless there was a crowd. Along this road there were only a few families, with miles and miles of the flat grazing land of the plains between them. He hated the vast emptiness of the plains, everything was so exposed.
There was a loud knocking on the door.
"Ganry? Boss? I think you'd better see this" It was Myst, the lead hand. Ganry liked that the older ones still called him boss, even though it was no longer him who handed out the coin every fortnight. The newer members of the troupe didn't understand the hardships he had suffered to keep the troupe going, what he had sacrificed; they had no respect.
He stepped haughtily through his doorway, a grand gesture somewhat crippled when he immediately threw up both hands to shade his face from the glittering sun. He was dizzy from the previous nights wine and standing upright increased his pounding headache.
There was something in the road, right where it met a long drive which snaked off into the distance. A few buildings, the same colour as the earth around them, were barely visible. Ganry pushed his way between Herc, the strongman, and some of the acrobats who grudgingly let him through. Lying there was a young man, one eye open and seemingly staring at the sun ahead, the other smashed to an oozing pulp along with half of his skull. His body had been pierced in a dozen or so places by a sword or a spear and a river of congealing blood ran down the slight slope towards the ditch at the side of the road. Ganry felt ill. He had never liked gore, although he had seen death well enough.
A horse, one of theirs, galloped up the drive and came to a sudden halt next to Ameera's wagon. She alone had not disembarked to stare at the body. The rider, Pers, looked pale.
"The same, Ma'am. I mean, all dead, but all butchered, Ma'am. So much blood." he stopped talking and leaned over his mounts neck to retch in the dust. The murmuring of the troupe became distinctly louder and Ganry's headache bloomed a fresh burst of pain.
"Myst, take some of the lads with stronger stomachs and ride back to the house," Ameera said softly; "Burn the bodies. They shouldn't be left for the animals. The rest of you, back on the road. There naught we can do here and the village waits ahead."
As the crowd dispersed Ganry knelt and drew a blessing rune on the mans undamaged cheek. He took no comfort in the gesture, the runes had long ceased to hold any meaning for him, but Myst saw as he came to hoist the body onto a spare buggy.
"Poor sod, I think he needs more than a blessing to help him on his way" said Myst.
"Poor us that's left to clean up" replied Ganry. He took out a damp cloth and wiped his finger and then spat. His spittle landed in the ooze of blood and fluids left by the corpse with a wet noise. Ganry shuddered as he turned back towards his wagon.
"Ganry? A moment?" Ameera was kind to make it a question. He hated to admit it, but she owned this troupe more wholly than he ever had and she let him remain more from pity than for any respect of his dried up talents. Her own personal mystic, too drunk to work often than not and too old to believe in it all anyway.
He climbed up beside her and she clucked to her horse. He was a prancing, showy thing; all glossy dark hair and rippling muscles. His own Velda was a solid and predictable beast. It had been a long time since he had given her any instruction - she plodded along with the troupe without need for his directions, stopping when the wagon in front of her stopped and never wandering far when she was unhitched. It meant he could sleep while the others were forced to drive, but he often wondered if her compliance showed loyalty or just meant she was stupid.
He sat at Ameera's side in silence. they rode a good distance before she spoke.
"A bad end that, for a lad."
Ganry didn't answer. He was sulky now at being forced to stay out in this sun and his headache meant his eyes couldn't focus properly.
"And that's the third along this road."
Ganry wondered what she meant, but still didn't speak.
"The third homestead found massacred," Ameera continued in a low voice, "Pers rode out ahead to each, to see if they had supplies to sell." Ganry nodded - farms were often cheaper to buy from than the village markets.
"I kept it quiet because i'll not have a panic, but that lad on the road could not be cleaned up quick enough. Pers is a good scout, but he can't handle blood. I am wondering who and why and whether it was a good idea to come out this far."
Ganry nodded and finally found his voice. "You know I hate it out here. Plains farmers are all crazy and they hoard their coin anyway."
"It made for a change, Ganry. Whether you admit it or not, change is sometimes a good thing. No one could have forseen this, not even you."
"Ha, no, certainly not me. Ganry the useless. Ganry the washed up." He started back down the side of the wagon, but Ameera caught his arm.
"I didn't call you here to gloat. I called you to ask if you had any idea who. Or what, perhaps."
Ganry considered. Although murder wasn't heard of in these parts, he couldn't imagine anyone he'd seen in the district in the eightweek they'd been circling these parts butchering whole families like this. Ameera seemed to genuinely want his opinion though, a circumstance that was becoming more and more rare.
"I don't know," he said, "I don't know and I think that makes it even more frightening."
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I would read your book, even if it wasn't you writing it. You are such a clever, my mouse.
ReplyDeleteAlso I like circusy people.