Chapter 80. A Torn Page Wedged Between Shelves: Bram Never Went to See His Daughter

Chapter 80: 80. A Torn Page Wedged Between Shelves: Bram Never Went to See His Daughter

"Here’s the latest," said Alicia, leaning over.

She put her finger on the last line of the entry. "Convoy departing dusk, fifth day..."

"Route northeast via the old toll road... Destination S-09."

"Dusk on the fifth day," I said. "That’s like... tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow."

Laura had stopped at a column on the right-hand side of the page, headed by a single letter. It was just a D, in a neat, square hand.

Beneath it, a handful of the entries had been marked with small checks.

"What’s this?" she said.

"Destination," I said. "Or maybe Drevane... Or maybe something else entirely."

"There’s no note."

"Then we don’t know." I didn’t like it. And yes... I didn’t like it one bit.

"Copy it."

She was already writing. Her pencil flew across a spare page of her notebook, and Alicia stood beside her, with her eyes tightly closed, muttering to herself, memorizing line after line.

I realized she wasn’t taking notes... She’d never needed to.

She had a head for numbers that I’d always envied.

"There’s more," said Laura, slowly.

She’d turned to the last page, where a block of text had been stamped at the bottom of the final entry. It was an authorization, the kind that every major shipment required, with three signature lines at the foot.

The first signature was a long, looping scrawl in blue ink. Beside it, in a clerk’s hand, someone had written ’Quartermaster General.’

Laura stared at it for a moment, and her eyes narrowed.

"That’s... wrong," she said.

"What is?"

"The signature... I’ve seen the Quartermaster General’s real handwriting."

"I handled a report from his office last year... His capital Q has a little hook on the tail, like a fishhook."

"This one is... smooth." She put a finger on the paper. "Someone forged it."

"Someone who’s seen his name written but never watched him sign."

"A good forger?"

"A decent one... Not a perfect one."

The second signature was bold and blocky, in black ink, with a stern, upright slant.

Beside it, a seal of red wax had been pressed into the paper, bearing the crest of the Royal Crystal Guard.

Underneath, the clerk had written the name in neat capitals.

’MARSHAL DORIAN KELL.’

I heard Alicia’s breath catch. "Wait... isn’t that..."

"That’s Sharon’s," she said, very quietly.

"I know."

"That’s Kell... That’s the man she’s always..."

"I know."

The third signature was the strangest of all. There was no name.

No seal. No title. Only a pair of initials, written in a tiny, cramped, anxious hand, as though the writer had been afraid of being seen.

’Lord T.’

"Who the hell is Lord T.?" I whispered. "Some kind of a rapper?"

"No idea," said Laura. "No wax... No crest... and no rank."

"Somebody important enough not to need one."

"Or somebody who doesn’t want to be found."

She copied all three signatures into her notebook, as carefully as an artist copying a masterpiece, and when she was finished, she lifted the loose sheet that lay beneath the ledger.

It was a map. A large, folded square of heavy paper, hand-drawn in black ink, showing the northeastern provinces in careful detail.

A thin red line ran from the depot across the hills, along the old toll road, past a cluster of tiny villages, and ended in a ring of red ink at the edge of a forest.

Beside the ring... in small, neat letters, were two words.

’HARROWMERE HOLLOW.’

"Three days’ walk," Laura said, tracing it with her finger. "Maybe less by a wagon."

"It’s real," said Alicia. "It’s actually there!"

I stared at the little red circle, and I thought about Garrick, lying in the back of a wagon with a crayon drawing in his hand, whispering, ’It’s under my village.’

A place that had been dead for five years... A village that nobody would ever think to search for, because nobody had a reason to go there.

’It’s a perfect hiding place,’ I thought. ’It’s the one place on the entire map that the kingdom had decided to forget.’

"We can’t take it," I said. "If they open this safe and it’s missing... they’ll know."

"Agreed."

"Copy everything! Put it back exactly as it was."

Alicia gave the map one more look. She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded.

"Got it... Every road... Every river..."

"Are you for real? SURE...?" I asked with doubt.

"Hm-hm~! Don’t underestimate my mind, Roland... I never forget a map." She said it with a smug smile.

We replaced the ledger, the loose sheet, and the stack of letters. I was nudging the safe door shut when something small and white caught my eye at the bottom of the compartment.

It was a folded scrap of paper... wedged into a crack between two of the shelves, with a ragged edge.

I picked it up. It was a page torn from a small, cloth-bound notebook, written in a shaky, old-fashioned hand.

A date was scrawled across the top, from about two weeks earlier. The entry was short.

’They asked about the tally stick again... I said I’d lost it.’

’I don’t think they believed me. I am too old for this.’

’If anything happens, Hallis, the other half is under the third floorboard in my cot... I will not give them the names.’

The last line trailed off into an ink blot, as though the pen had been snatched from the writer’s hand.

I read it twice. Then I folded it carefully and tucked it inside my shirt.

"What is it?" whispered Alicia.

"Bram," I said. "He didn’t go to see his daughter..."

Her face went hard. "No."

"They took him."

"Oh no... We need to find him!"

"We will," I said. "But not tonight."

I closed the safe, and Laura spun the dials back to where they’d been.

We slipped out of the office, locked the door behind us, and crept down the stairs. It wasn’t until we were halfway across the yard that I felt the back of my neck prickle.

I stopped and looked up.

On the nearest watchtower, silhouetted against the stars, a single guard stood motionless at the rail.

He wasn’t scanning the walls. And he wasn’t looking at the road.

He was looking at the three of us... directly, with his head tilted a little to one side, and he’d been doing it for long enough that I knew he’d seen us come out of the building.

As I watched, he raised one hand and rubbed his chin. Then he turned away, unhurried, and walked to the far side of the platform.

’What the fuck is that...? He saw us,’ I thought. ’ He saw us, and he didn’t sound the alarm...?’

I didn’t know whether that was good news or terrible news.

"Keep moving," I whispered. "Don’t look back."

We climbed the wall, dropped into the ditch, and ran.

We came back to the chapel in the small hours of the night, filthy, tired, and cold, and found the others waiting up.

Sharon was sitting on a stone bench with a lamp beside her, and she looked like a different woman. The usual swagger had drained out of her.

She’d taken off her sling, though the shoulder was still stiff, and she’d been staring at the flame for a long time.

Eveline sat across from her, curled up with her knees drawn to her chest, and she glanced up when we came in, then quickly looked away.

"Well?" Sharon said.

I told her. I laid it out in order, quietly, with Laura filling in the details.

The ledger.

The convoy.

The map.

The strange initials.

I tried to say it gently... I didn’t say the name until the last, and when I did... I watched her face.

She took the copied page from Laura’s hand and unfolded it under the lamp.