Fear the Drowning Deep(68)

No one stepped forward, but at least I’d tried, and so had Lugh. I wove between close-pressed bodies to reach Mam’s side, aware of the disapproving glances following me.

“You were splendid up there,” Mam whispered fiercely. “Morag would be as proud as I am if she knew.” Her gaze slid out of focus, and she rubbed her temples. “She taught me about those crosses when I was younger. I remembered after you gave me one to wear for the wedding, but I hadn’t had time to tell you …”

I threw my arms around Mam’s waist and squeezed. “I’m going. I’ll see you at home.”

A current of gossip swirled in my wake as I crossed the foyer. As I stood outside, letting the breeze dry the sweat on my brow, movement from the front window caught my eye. Fenella Kewish, the town gossip, picked up a cross and slipped it on. Snowy-haired Ms. Elena took one next, followed by Martyn Watterson.

I touched my fingers to my forehead in a quick salute, and turned away.

While the town argued over murderers and how mad I was, I had work to do.





CHAPTER TWENTY



The sun hovered above the treetops as I ran home. There were still a few sunlit hours in which I could scour the land for the few poisonous plants I knew. If I was quick about it, there might even be time to deliver my finds to Morag before curfew.

Fynn glanced up from the hearth as I rushed inside. “What’s wrong?” He dropped the wood he was about to feed to the flames.

“Too many things,” I panted, running a hand through my damp, sticky hair. With hardly a moment to catch my breath, I recounted every detail of the meeting. When I finished, silence fell over the house.

We needed to act quickly, for the sake of anyone near the water.

“Fynn?” I laid a hand on his arm. The touch seemed to recall him from whatever vision had claimed him.

“The serpent sounds angry,” he muttered. “Hope I at least gave it a good scar, or—”

“Where’s Grayse?” I interrupted. I’d forgotten she was supposed to be with Fynn. The remnants of a card game lay on the floor, but there didn’t appear to be a mischievous blonde head behind any of the furniture.

Fynn nodded toward my bedroom. “She’s taking a nap. Cheating at cards exhausted her.”

I hurried toward the door. “I’m going to wake her. We’ll drop her off at the Stowells’—they weren’t at the meeting, so they must be home—just in case Mam and Da are out discussing the new curfew a while longer.”

“You could tell me where we’re headed, while you’re at it,” Fynn said.

I paused to offer him the ghost of a grin. “We’re collecting herbs for Morag. I’ll explain on the way. If you want to come, that is.” I opened the door, calling over my shoulder, “Whatever you decide, I need to go now….”

Fynn hurriedly pulled on his boots. “Then I’m with you.”

We maintained a brisk pace after dropping Grayse at the Stowells’ cottage, slipping behind a row of tall houses as a shortcut to the overgrown field that bordered the forest. The usual scuffing of feet and shouts of hello! were absent, leaving only the sighing of the wind. Unease clung to me like cobwebs as I explained to Fynn how Morag would make serpent poison with whatever we found today.

“I’m certain I remember seeing a clump of pennyroyal over here,” I muttered, mostly to distract myself.

Fynn shot me a look. “Pennyroyal?”

I pressed my hands to my hair as a gust of wind blew strands into my face. “The flowers are bright purple and puffy like dandelions. You can’t miss them.”

He darted ahead, kicking rotten strawberries from his path. I bounded after him through the waist-high grass, glad to leave the quiet of town.

“Is this it?” He waved a fistful of spiky purple stalks. I nodded and hurried to join him. “You’re sure this is poison? It looks more like one of Mally’s wedding decorations.”

I crammed the flowers into my pocket. Smashed or not, they’d be effective. “I’m sure. Animals die if they eat it. People, too.” I paused to rub a stitch in my side while Fynn prowled the field.

“What else am I looking for?” he asked.

“Caper spurge. If the serpent gets a taste, he won’t be able to stop vomiting. It’s a tall plant with heart-shaped leaves. It should be bearing small green fruit this time of year.”

Fynn parted the grass, pulling up a reddish stalk of rhubarb. The plant’s leaves contained a mild poison that would do little more than give the serpent a stomachache.

“That’s no good. We’re trying to kill the monster, not give him indigestion!”

Breathing easier now, I combed through a part of the field Fynn hadn’t visited yet. Yellow heads of cushag bobbed in the wind, and strands of delicate bluebells brushed my knees, but a rotten odor lingered beneath their fragrance. My gaze fell on a dead mouse baking in the sun, and my throat tightened. I hurried in another direction.

“How about this?” Fynn held up more flowers for my inspection.

Shielding my eyes against the glare of the sun, I studied the blue petals in his hand. “No, no, that’s gentian. It’s used for healing.”

Fynn shrugged, tossing the flowers to the ground. “I thought all the pretty ones were poisonous.” He cut a path toward me, reaching my side in a few long strides.