Husk: A Maresman Tale Read Free

liquor to unclog his throat of trail dust. That’d get him right for the other kind of comfort, assuming they had clean whores in a dump like Portis. Smell coming off the Chalice Sea, had to wonder if all they got was stinking, fat fishwives.
    A figure lurched from the shadows of a shop’s awning. Jeb tensed, closed his fingers round his saber hilt.
    “Spare a copper for some broth, Mister?”
    He was a gangly lad, no more’n fifteen or sixteen. Talked weird, though, kind of like his tongue was too big for his mouth.
    Jeb gave him a hard look and picked up his pace, but the lad shuffled along behind him.
    Ants crawled over Jeb’s nerves. He turned, gave the lad the once over, sniffed the air. It weren’t him, he was sure of it, but there was something… some residue, like he’d been in the proximity of a husk.
    “You on the streets a lot, boy?” Jeb said. “You seen anything strange?”
    Chances are he wouldn’t have. If the husk was gonna show itself, there’d have been blood already. Wolf-men would’ve torn the town apart same as they did last time. No, this was something different. He’d known from the start, when he first picked up the trail; no footprints, no spoor; nothing tangible that’d tell there’d been an incursion. Whatever it was, this husk promised a steaming pile of mischief.
    “No, sir, nothing strange, if it’s odd you mean.” The lad had his focus on the ground, like he was ashamed to look a man in the eye. “Can I have a copper now?”
    Jeb stepped up close, took a whiff of his neck and clothes. Nothing but stale sweat and urine. “You here when the wolf pack came, son?”
    “Ten years, six months, two days ago, sir, by my count. I’d say they was odd. Say a lot of things changed then, hmm.”
    “Well, something’s coming; something’s already here.”
    The lad flinched, like he thought Jeb was going to hit him. He wouldn’t meet Jeb’s gaze, just stood there, fidgeting with his fingers.
    “Got something to tell me, boy?” Jeb said.
    There was a long pause before he answered, like the cogs of his brain were rusted together and taking their sweet time to get moving. His mouth worked silently for a moment, but then he simply shook his head.
    “Just keep ’em peeled, then,” Jeb said. “See anything unusual, come find me, got it?”
    “Promise you I will, sir. Sure could use some broth, though. Ol’ Tizzy Graybank said I could get some, if I paid a copper, and the nights are real cold right now.”
    Jeb took a coin from his purse, held it up between thumb and forefinger. “I’ll give you this copper, boy, if you just keep your word to me. Deal?”
    “Deal.” A lopsided smile lit up the lad’s face, and he took the coin, clutching it over his heart as he scurried away.
    “I’m headed for the Crawfish,” Jeb called out to his retreating back.
    “Yes, sir, Crawfish. Anything strange, I’ll come tell you.”

3
    S PIT AND SAWDUST was too good a term for the Crawfish. Shit-hole was a step in the right direction. Whole place stank of fish. It wasn’t clear how much of the smell came from the kitchens and how much was from the patrons. Bunch of them still had their oilskins on, salt-stained from the spray. A few came in with their own clutches of cod, handed them over to be cooked. Couldn’t get fresher than that, Jeb supposed, but what did you expect? It was a fishing town, after all.
    Blood trail had gone colder than a moldering corpse. Save for the hint he’d got talking to the beggar, there’d been nothing. Maybe the husk had sensed him following and found some way to outrun him. It had happened before, once or twice, but those times the trail had still lingered, albeit faintly. This time, it had just died. Told Jeb one of two things: Either the husk had already been taken out, or it had found some way to throw him off the scent. That’d be a new one, but not beyond the bounds of belief. Kind of made him uneasy, though. Husk like that, able to elude his senses,