The first useful answer came from a woman who sold onions.
I had been expecting a spy.
Possibly a frightened clerk.
Someone carrying a stolen ledger beneath a cloak.
Instead, a broad-shouldered woman arrived at Greykeep’s northern gate with two baskets, a lame mule, and an opinion about the condition of our road.
“The last mile is better,” she told me. “The turn before the stream is not.”
I looked at Melody.
She had returned from White Fern that afternoon with Tessa and their visitor.
“This is Bessa,” Melody said.
“I gathered that from the introduction.”
“She sells onions.”
“I gathered that from the baskets.”
Bessa folded her arms.
“I also know where they have been taking your missing people.”
That ended my interest in the road.
We met in the smaller receiving room.
Evelyn joined us before the tea arrived.
Mary brought Merrow’s statement and the copied transport docket.
Bessa accepted a cup, tasted it, and nodded as though we had passed a minor inspection.
“My sister keeps an eating house outside Dunmere,” she began. “I sell to her when the roads allow it. Onions, turnips, dried peas.”
“How often?” Mary asked.
“Twice since the first frost.”
“Did you see the relief wagons?”
“I saw wagons.”
Mary placed the emblem before her.
“Bearing this?”
Bessa leaned over it.
“Some. Others had it painted over.”
“Where did they go?” I asked.
“East yard first. The bonded sheds beside the old canal. They kept people there while arranging the next loads.”
Evelyn’s expression tightened.
“People, or goods?”
“People. I heard them.”
Bessa set down her cup.
“A child was asking for water. The man at the yard told the driver to keep moving because the kitchen tally had already been closed.”
My fingers curled beneath the table.
Evelyn noticed.
Her knee pressed lightly against mine.
Mary kept writing.
“When was this?”
“Eight days ago.”
“Did anyone leave the wagons?”
“Some were taken inside the sheds. Others stayed aboard.”
“Could you describe the guards?”
“Brown coats. Most carried clubs. One wore a proper soldier’s belt, but no colors I recognized.”
Tessa, seated beside her, unfolded a scrap of paper.
“Bessa remembered the yard mark.”
It showed a wheel with one broken spoke.
Mary compared it to the transport docket.
“The contractor’s secondary stamp.”
Bessa looked pleased.
“I notice who buys onions.”
For the first time that afternoon, I nearly smiled.
“Did the wagons leave Dunmere?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes.”
“Where for?”
“Rillford for the able-bodied. At least, that is what a driver said while eating at my sister’s.”
Mary wrote the name.
“And the others?”
Bessa hesitated.
“A place called Saint Orra’s Rest.”
Helena, who had entered quietly during the questions, stopped beside the door.
“I paid for its roof.”
Nobody moved.
She looked at the name on Mary’s page.
“Last spring.”
My mother-in-law did not become loud when she was angry.
She became precise.
Within an hour, we had the roof invoice, the original appeal, the names of the trustees, and the address of the builder who had completed the work.
Saint Orra’s Rest had been established as a convalescent house.
Twenty-eight beds.
A kitchen garden.
A small chapel.
Helena had received a letter thanking her for making it possible to keep patients dry.
Evelyn read it beside her.
“Could the house have changed hands?”
“Yes,” Helena said. “Which is why we will ask the builder and the local steward before accusing the people named here.”
There was effort behind her calm.
I could hear it.
Garrick stood at the window examining a regional map.
“Dunmere’s outer wards fall under the Marquis of Harth,” he said. “The bonded yards are administered through Caerwyn’s customs charter.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Two authorities?”
“Three, if the canal company still retains its easement.”
“Of course it does.”
Lady Sabine’s remaining clerk, a thin man named Denholm, cleared his throat.
“I cannot speak for the royal customs office.”
“What can you do?” Evelyn asked.
“Carry the request through the correct channel. And identify the documents a bonded operator is required to retain.”
Mary looked up.
“Transport manifests?”
“Yes.”
“Passenger lists?”
“If passengers were declared.”
The room went quiet.
Denholm looked uncomfortable.
I could not blame him.
“What if they were not?” I asked.
“Then the operator has misrepresented the consignment.”
“People,” Melody said.
He turned toward her.
“They are people.”
“I understand.”
“Then say it.”
Denholm lowered his gaze to the docket.
“If they were carrying people without declaring them, the manifests may conceal where those people were sent.”
Mary placed a clean sheet in front of him.
“Tell us what to look for.”
He did.
We could have sent an angry letter to everyone named in the records.
Garrick advised against it.
Not because he doubted the survivors.
Because warning the wrong person might empty the yards before anyone reached them.
“We need an authority who will preserve the records and permit an inspection,” he said. “And we need someone close enough to act before a courier makes another circuit.”
Helena touched the Saint Orra’s letter.
“I can request to visit a house I support.”
Evelyn turned toward her.
“With guards.”
“With guards,” Helena agreed.
“And a healer.”
“Yes.”
“And someone who can record what you find.”
Helena smiled faintly.
“You are becoming very like me.”
“Apparently that is inconvenient.”
“Frequently.”
I looked at Garrick.
“How long to reach it?”
“From Valewood, a day to the eastern posting road. Another day if the weather holds.”
Too long to feel quick.
Fast enough to matter.
The plan formed around what we actually knew.
Helena would travel under her own name to inspect Saint Orra’s Rest, accompanied by a healer, a clerk, and a proper escort.
Garrick would contact the Marquis of Harth through someone he trusted personally, asking for a magistrate empowered to inspect the bonded yards and prevent the removal of records.
Denholm would send a sealed report to Sabine.
Tessa’s traders would watch the roads without entering the compounds or confronting guards.
Greykeep would prepare to receive more people.
I listened until everyone finished.
Then I asked the question that had been sitting beneath all the others.
“What if the inspections are refused?”
Garrick met my eyes.
“Then we will know who is willing to place their seal beside the refusal.”
That was not the answer I wanted.
It was the answer available.
The city continued around us.
Hessa sent a report from Silvervein.
The upper drainage channel had been cleared, and she wanted approval to test a repaired pump.
The council received two petitions concerning stall sizes.
A child put a stone down a public water spout.
Eleanor sent the stone to my office with a note suggesting that we consider educating the population before they dismantled it.
I showed the note to Evelyn.
“She has a point.”
“She usually does.”
“I wish she would stop attaching objects to them.”
That afternoon, we visited the room Abigail had begun using for lessons.
It had once stored broken shutters.
Now benches faced a wall covered with charcoal letters.
Twenty-three children sat inside.
Seven adults occupied the back row.
Abigail was teaching numbers with dried beans.
When we entered, everyone began to stand.
“Sit,” she said without turning.
They sat.
I liked that she had answered for us.
On the front table stood a slate.
A boy had written his name in uneven letters.
I recognized him.
Mara Venn’s grandson.
He saw me looking and lifted his chin slightly.
Proud.
As he should have been.
Evelyn crouched beside his bench.
“Will you read it to me?”
He did.
Slowly.
Abigail continued the lesson while I stood at the back.
The room was too crowded.
The roof was sound.
The light was poor.
All three facts went onto a list in my head.
For once, it was a list I wanted to work on.
Outside, Evelyn took my hand.
“We should give them the western room as well.”
“The one with the larger windows?”
“Yes.”
“Approved.”
“You should consult the room schedule.”
“I am the king.”
She looked at me.
I sighed.
“I will consult the room schedule.”
She smiled and leaned against my arm.
For a few moments, we talked about benches instead of missing children.
It did not feel like forgetting them.
It felt like remembering what we wanted them to have.
Merrow asked to see the new names that evening.
Dunmere.
Rillford.
Saint Orra’s Rest.
She read them standing beside Mary’s table.
“Rillford,” she said.
“You recognize it?”
“A stoneworking district. Quarries. Lime kilns.”
“From the wagons?”
“No. From before.”
Mary noted the distinction.
Merrow looked toward the receiving hall.
“Some of our masons were put in a separate line.”
I felt cold despite the fire.
“We have not confirmed they reached Rillford,” Mary said.
“I know.”
Merrow sat.
That alone told me how tired she was.
“I should go.”
“To where?” I asked.
“Any of them.”
“You are still recovering.”
“So are the people who might recognize me.”
I did not immediately answer.
Evelyn stood beside the table.
“We may need you to identify witnesses or speak to officials,” she said. “But if you leave now without knowing where you are needed, we could lose days bringing you back.”
Merrow stared at the page.
Then she nodded.
She did not like it.
Neither would I.
Mary pulled a blank sheet toward her.
“Can you help us list who went into each line?”
Merrow looked up.
“Yes.”
“Only what you remember. We can add statements from others.”
The captain took the pen.
Her hand shook once.
Then steadied.
She began with the children.
The reply from Harth arrived four days later.
By then, Helena was already traveling.
She had sent one note through Valewood confirming that the roads remained open and another asking Evelyn whether I had been sleeping properly.
I considered that an abuse of the courier service.
Evelyn answered it anyway.
The marquis agreed to an inspection of Dunmere’s bonded yards.
More importantly, he agreed that no people or records were to be removed once his magistrate presented the order.
His letter was courteous.
It was also careful.
He had no wish to admit that his jurisdiction contained anything worse than improperly documented relief transport until someone proved it.
I could work with careful.
For the moment.
Eliza read the escort allowance.
“Twelve guards accompanying the delegation. No banners inside the town.”
“Enough?” I asked.
“For an inspection supported by local officers.”
“And if those officers are involved?”
“Then we do not place all our people inside the yard at once.”
Alistair nodded.
“I will take the outer watch.”
Melody pointed to herself.
“I am going in.”
Mary did not object.
She closed the records case.
“So am I.”
I looked at Evelyn.
She already knew what I was going to say.
“I need to see it.”
“I know.”
“The marquis authorized an envoy.”
“He did not forbid a king.”
Garrick, reading from the other end of the table, made a low sound.
“That is the kind of interpretation that gives advisers headaches.”
“Would he refuse if we asked?”
“He might demand three weeks of preparation.”
“Then we will travel as the authorized delegation. I will keep my title out of the introduction unless it becomes necessary.”
Evelyn studied me.
“No announcements.”
“Agreed.”
“No wandering away from the magistrate because someone looks suspicious.”
“That seems broad.”
“Uriah.”
“Agreed.”
“And you send word at every proper opportunity.”
I took her hand.
“Yes.”
She held my gaze for another moment.
Then nodded.
“I will keep Greykeep ready.”
We reached Dunmere two days later.
The last stretch took us beside a canal gone dark beneath the autumn sky.
Flat-bottomed barges rested along its edges. Warehouses stood behind brick walls. Smoke drifted from chimneys, carrying the smell of boiled cabbage and coal.
It looked like a place where goods were moved.
That was all.
No visible cruelty.
No ominous towers.
A boy on the roadside tried to sell us hot chestnuts.
A woman argued over the price of rope.
The ordinary life of the town continued within walking distance of whatever waited in those sheds.
Our magistrate met us at the customs house.
Magistrate Lorne was a narrow-faced woman with a short walking stick and two local officers beside her.
She examined our authority.
Then Mary’s evidence.
Then me.
Her gaze lingered.
“You are younger than I expected.”
“I hear that often.”
“Will you follow my directions within the yard?”
“If they do not endanger the people inside.”
She nodded once.
“A tolerable answer.”
I liked her slightly less than Eleanor.
But the resemblance was there.
We approached the east yard before noon.
Its doors bore the broken-wheel mark.
A man in a brown coat stepped forward.
“Business?”
Lorne held up the sealed order.
“Inspection.”
His eyes moved over it.
Then toward the guards.
Then Mary’s case.
“I will fetch the factor.”
“Open the gate first.”
“The factor has the key.”
“Then call him.”
The man hesitated.
Melody’s ears shifted beneath her hood.
She looked past him.
“There is someone running inside.”
Lorne turned to one of her officers.
“West exit. Present the closure order.”
The officer left at once.
Alistair took two of our guards toward the opposite lane.
The man by the door swallowed.
“I am sure there has been a misunderstanding.”
“Then the records will help us,” Mary said.
The factor arrived carrying a ring of keys.
He smiled until he saw Lorne.
“Magistrate.”
“Master Voss.”
Apparently they knew one another.
That could be good or very bad.
He read the order.
His smile did not return.
“The premises contain protected charitable stores.”
“Then you will be pleased to demonstrate their proper handling.”
He opened the gate.
We entered.
The yard smelled of wet straw.
Three wagons stood beside the nearest shed.
Two were empty.
The third had its canvas tied down.
A muffled cough came from inside it.
Melody stopped.
So did I.
Master Voss moved between us and the wagon.
“Those passengers are under medical restriction.”
Lorne held out her hand.
“Your medical officer’s record.”
“He is not present.”
“Then unlock the wagon.”
“It is not locked.”
Melody touched the fastening.
A chain ran beneath the canvas.
She lifted it into view.
Voss said nothing.
My hands had become very still.
Mary stepped beside the magistrate.
“We have a healer with us.”
Lorne pointed toward the chain.
“Open it.”
The key shook in Voss’s hand.
Inside sat nine people.
A woman held a sleeping toddler.
Two boys leaned together beneath one blanket.
An older man stared at the sudden daylight as though he expected it to hurt.
Our healer climbed up first.
I remained on the ground.
If I had moved too quickly, I was not certain I would have stopped at the wagon.
Melody stood beside me.
For once, she said nothing.
She did not need to.
Lorne turned toward Voss.
“Where are their names recorded?”
“In the office.”
“Show us.”
Mary followed them.
I looked at the woman nearest the opening.
“We are getting you out.”
She pulled the toddler closer.
“Will they take him?”
“No.”
The word came easily.
The promise behind it did not.
I held her gaze.
“He stays with you.”
She began to cry without making a sound.
The office contained six ledgers.
Mary opened the first.
Then the second.
Transport numbers.
Weights.
Food allowances.
Payments received.
Some pages listed people by trade.
Others listed them only by age.
“Where are the names?” she asked.
Voss stood beside the door under guard.
“That is the register.”
Mary looked up.
“Where are their names?”
“Individual particulars were supplied by the originating station.”
“Bellcross?”
“Among others.”
“And those papers?”
“Not retained here.”
I had never seen Mary look so angry.
Her voice did not rise.
That made everyone listen more closely.
“You kept the cost of their meals.”
Voss glanced at the ledger.
“Accounting regulations require—”
“You kept the price of the straw. The axle repair. The guard’s supper.”
She turned another page.
“But not the names of the people in your wagons.”
Lorne took the ledger from her gently.
To the officers, she said, “Secure this room. Every book stays where it is until copied or sealed.”
Outside, a guard called for our healer.
More people had been found in the second shed.
Alive.
Frightened.
Waiting.
I turned toward the doorway.
Then Mary caught my sleeve.
She had opened the dispatch book.
One line was underlined.
Rillford transfer. Second northern movement.
Departure tomorrow, first bell.
Twenty-six people.
The destination mark was clear.
So was the route.
I looked at Lorne.
She read it.
Then she reached for her writing case.
“We will need another order.”
“How long?”
She uncapped the ink.
“As long as it takes me to write it.”
Outside, the woman from the wagon stepped down with her child still in her arms.
Melody helped steady her.
For the first time since Northwatch, the missing people were no longer only names we were trying to find.
They were here.
And there were others on the road ahead.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter