The Crimson League (The Herezoth Trilogy) Read Free

until he’s my age, but mark my words….”
    “That’s enough, Kora. Your brother has the sense to guard what he says in public. You can talk to him yourself if it’ll make you feel easier, but don’t chastise him. That’ll only make him worse. Now, help me straighten out these threads.”
    Kora bumped the living room table, lifting one end off the floor.
    “Careful! I know that isn’t your grandmother’s table, but I’ve grown fond of it.”
    Kora took ten minutes to get the threads sorted, then announced, “I’m going to bed.”
    “Me too. Take a glass of water to Zacry, won’t you? He forgot again to fix one.”
    “He always does.” Kora poured the drink and eased open her brother’s door. The window she had slammed was shut no longer; the curtains billowed in the breeze. She glanced at the bed, and had light enough to see that no shadow of a head fell across the pillow.
    Eavesdropping at the tavern by day was one thing. To sneak off to God knew where after Zalski’s curfew was another.
    “Zacry Porteg, I’ll whip your hide I will.”
    Kora placed the glass on the bedframe and climbed outside.
     
     
    The night was cool and clear, the full moon high. Kora sprinted to the road, wondering which direction to take, but a cursory glance revealed a human shape just in her range of vision, heading toward the river, the Podra. She cursed beneath her breath and followed. Her legs were longer, and she overtook Zacry within minutes.
    “What are you playing at?” she demanded.
    Zacry looked at her in terror. “Don’t tell Mother!”
    “Oh, stop it. You know I’m not a snitch. Just where do you think you’re going?”
    “The riverbank. Opal….”
    “Your friend from school?”
    “Opal told me people hide stories for the Letter half a mile from the general store. In a tree, so they can’t be connected to anyone specific.”
    “How would Opal know that?”
    “Her father’s the local correspondent.”
    Kora was stunned. “Opal’s father writes for the Letter ?”
    “A real important issue’s coming out,” said Zacry. “At least, Opal thinks one is, ‘cause her Pop’s been real nervous. Listen, he stores his work in that tree and someone from the paper picks it up. Let’s go look.” Kora’s eyes narrowed. Her brother sensed her reservation, for the night was too dark to read it plainly. “Please, Kora….”
    “Oh all right. If it’ll stop you leaving home again as soon as I drag you back.”
    They left the road to cut quicker to the Podra and found themselves in a wheatfield. The stalks, as tall as Zacry, closed them in. They walked in the harvesters’ lanes between the rows. Kora noted, “This is Farmer Byjon’s land. The tree’s on Farmer Byjon’s land?”
    “It must be,” said Zacry. “Ha! I wouldn’t mind him taking the blame if Zalski gets his hands on an article.”
    Farmer Byjon had a knack for muscling people out of the property he wanted. He kept a riverside path in good condition for public use—mainly to stem hostilities—but to skirt around his fields to find its start would take the siblings well out of their way.
    “As long as Old Byjon doesn’t find us ,” said Kora. And she felt an inexplicable tingling in her limbs, a sensation that had nothing to do with the farmer.
    “Get down.”
    “What?”
    Kora yanked her brother to the dirt. Five seconds passed. Ten. She felt through the earth bodies coming from behind, shuffling through the wheat stalks. Nearer and nearer they came; were they walking in her row?
    No, they were one lane over. A male voice spoke.
    “Why does he want us searching the riverbank? It won’t be here.”
    “No, it won’t, but I don’t ask questions. Neither do you.”
    Kora heard an exasperated groan. A third voice said, “Let’s just get this done, shall we?”
    A troop of six men passed on Kora’s left, two yards away. From the earth she could see their trousers, their boots, but not with any distinction. Her mind started racing: