Out-Dweller

3. Commute

3

Commute

The walk from The Oarlock to his and Raedrick's small Constabulary seemed to drag, though it was only a few blocks. Julian strongly suspected he would find Ilsa there, slinging accusations of her husband's infidelity, and he really did not want to deal with that. This was what passed for excitement these days, and for a moment Julian almost found himself wishing for some nice honest brigands to fight off.

He shoved that thought away, a half-remembered twinge of pain from his left thigh almost causing him to limp for a pace or two. They had been damn lucky, beating Isenholf's group of bandits. The fight could easily have gone the other way. And even though the town emerged victorious, several good men had paid with their lives, and many people's livelihoods had been harmed; some were only now beginning to recover from the episode, months later.

So no, the drudgery of playing wedding savior was much preferable to the alternative.

Julian emerged onto Main Street and smirked as his boots went from kicking up dust to clumping along on the well-laid flagstones of Lydelton's only paved street. Why they had not bothered with the other streets was beyond him, and Raedrick had never been able to properly explain it. Nor had anyone else in town, for that matter.

He turned right and strolled another block, nodding to a pair of men who were just starting up the day's business as they opened their leatherworking shop. A moment later, he paused as a gaggle of children burst out from another building. The group was ushered along by a pair of nearly identical older ladies, their grey hair done up in matching buns and their dresses matched to compliment each other's colors. That was on purpose, Julian was certain.

The group of youngsters giggled their way past him and the lady in the rear nodded her head politely to him. "Constable."

Julian grinned and made a little bow. "Good morning, Beverlee," he said brightly, earning a flash of a smile from her before she swept past.

Julian watched the procession maneuver down the street, then turn left toward the docks. Must be a lesson about the lake, or how boats work.

"Damn shame, that," a gruff voice said.

Julian turned toward the speaker, a short but powerfully built man in his early middle years. Grey flecked the black hair on his head, and he had a puckered scar over his left eyebrow. He wore a simple white shirt and brown pants, and carried a heavy leather apron slung over one shoulder that smelled of woodsmoke and metal. A blacksmith, evidently. Julian did not know him.

"What is?"

The smith nodded toward Beverlee, just before she disappeared around the corner. "Keep forgetting you're new around here. Them two were the loveliest lasses in town, once." He grunted. "Never married though; said they never wanted to. Just lived together and taught the kids, nothin' more."

Julian frowned. "Nothing wrong with teaching."

The smith snorted, casting a baleful look Julian's way. "'Course not. That's not the shame of it." He turned away, shaking his head, and stomped off down the street, continuing back on his way to work.

Julian watched him go. The man paused at the cross-street the ladies and children turned down. Julian could have sworn he looked down the street with longing in his eyes for a moment before moving on himself.

Julian stopped in front of his destination and paused, contemplating whether he really wanted to go in or not.

The building he shared with Raedrick was small, one story tall and constructed of pale-stained wood. A pair of hitching posts flanked the stairs leading up to the front porch, which ran the length of the building. The hitching posts were empty; hardly unusual, considering how few of the townfolk rode horses as part of their daily routine. Overall, the building had an official look to it that went beyond the simple sign reading "Constable" above the front door. Maybe it was the iron bars over the windows.

Might as well get to it. With a small sigh, Julian strode up the stairs and stepped inside.

The front room stretched the length of the building. A pair of desks faced each other on either side of the room; his on the left, Raedrick's on the right. A shelf with a number of books—city ordnances, the laws of the kingdom, local histories, that sort of thing—stood against the far wall, near the steel-barred door that led back into the cell block. A chest-high cabinet with a multitude of small drawers containing case files and the like stood on the other side of the cell block door. Behind Raedrick's desk was a rack of swords, behind Julian's a rack of bows and his favorite feature of their office: a small but very well constructed fireplace.

Raedrick was already at work, sitting behind his desk and reviewing some paperwork, when Julian walked in. As always, his friend wore his black hair tied into a short pony tail at the nape of his neck and was dressed well, in a dark blue shirt that was open at the collar.

Raedrick looked up as Julian entered and grinned. "You're late."

Julian rolled his eyes. "Everyone's been saying that today." He stomped over to his desk, unhooked his scabbard from his belt and leaned it against the wall, then sat down and kicked his feet up. "Hear about the fuss over at The Oarlock last night?"

Raedrick quirked up one eyebrow. "In gruesome detail."

Julian chuckled. No doubt Lani had left no detail out. She was Molli's daughter and worked the inn as well. She was also Raedrick's "friend", though Julian wondered how long they were going to keep up that charade rather than just come out and admit what everyone in town knew: they were sweet on each other. Disgustingly so.

"Wonder how long it'll take before she shows up here," Julian quipped, trying to sound amused rather than resigned about the situation.

Raedrick did not respond to Julian's attempt at frivolity. Leaning back in his chair, he ran one finger absently along the edge of his desk for a few seconds, frowning. Finally, he said, "From what I hear, it's not like Baelin to not return home as planned."

Julian gave him a level look. "All sorts of reasons why a man might have to spend the night out in the woods." Or, for that matter... "Or not in the woods."

Raedrick nodded, still frowning, but did not reply.

It took a lot longer for them to get company than Julian thought it would, but it was not Ilsa who came to see them.

Shortly after noon, the door to their office opened to admit a tall, lean man who was well along in years but still walked with the posture and vigor of youth despite the deep canyons lining his face. His hair was fully grey, with only a few wisps of its original black still showing, and hung loosely past his shoulders. He boasted a full beard of similar color that reached nearly to the collar of the leather jacket he wore in spite of the lingering late-summer heat. Like him, the jacket showed signs of great age. Also like him, that age did not seem to do anything except make the jacket better. It hung down to the man's thighs, covering up a patched set of clothes that looked made to blend in with the forest. He bore an unstrung bow in his left hand, and a quiver hung over his shoulder. A long hunting knife and knee-high boots that looked to be ridiculously comfortable completed an ensemble that screamed "woodsman" louder than a company of men shouting in unison.

The old man squinted at them from just inside the entranceway for a moment, then snorted. "You two're the lawmen 'round here." Julian was not sure whether it was a statement or a question.

Raedrick answered first. "We are. I'm Raedrick Baletier and that's Julian Hinderbrook." He stood from his desk and walked around it, extending his hand for a shake. "How can we help you?"

The old woodsman looked at Raedrick's extended hand as though uncertain what his intentions with it were, then shrugged and gestured toward the door. "Got something you want to take a look at, in the hills above town."

Julian and Raedrick exchanged glances. "What sort of something, Master..." Julian left the sentence die away into a question.

The old man grunted. "Man got himself torn up. Ain't never seen nothing like it." He grimaced, as though talking about it was bringing up an unpleasant vision. For a moment, it almost looked like the man was going to be sick right there.

This was not good at all.