The Book Eaters(42)
“All right! I give up. The two of you are so determined to stop, so we’ll stop. Where do we go from here?”
“I know where it is,” Cai said. “Not far. I won’t miss it.”
They set off again, this time through the half-frozen grass and following the line of the fence. Devon walked alongside Hester, while up ahead, Cai navigated terrain that only a dead man inside his skull remembered. They’d know soon enough if his stolen memories were still accurate.
“I’m glad you’re not a Family trap,” Hester said, face obscured by curling hair. “It was a possibility that crossed my mind.”
“The night’s still young,” Devon said with a lightness that belied her own internal cringing.
Hester didn’t laugh. “Killock, my brother, had a theory that you were both a setup. That Cai wasn’t really your child—”
“He’s mine.”
“—and the whole thing was a ploy for the Families to access Redemption.” She flushed. “Anyway, it feels silly, now, to say that. Five minutes around the pair of you and that bond is clear as day. And he’s got your features.”
“He carries the look better,” Devon said wryly. “Can I ask something? A coup I understand, young men are ambitious and like to be patriarchs. But what did your siblings gain by running off to hide in the wilderness? You’re not selling Redemption anymore or making any money, which must be tough. Maybe I’m missing something, but I don’t understand why Killock didn’t just … stay put, and you lot with him. The other Families wouldn’t have really cared about a change of power in your manor.”
“I’m afraid Killock will have to explain that to you in person. It’s extremely complicated and delicate.”
“I guess,” Devon said, annoyed and frustrated. Every time she thought their conversation was going somewhere, she hit walls.
“It’ll make sense when he does, I promise.” The Ravenscar woman stepped over a patch of frozen mud, gaze on the uneven ground in front of her. She said, almost as an afterthought, “You’re not at all what I was expecting.”
“Aye,” Devon said, “and what were you expecting?”
“Another me, I suppose.”
Before Devon could get her head around that cryptic answer, Cai turned around and called over his shoulder, “I think I see it! That place, just ahead.”
They all halted to have a good look. Alndyke Farm sprawled just off the road, only a few hundred meters from the small row of houses. A stone cottage crouched beneath its heavy tile roof like a squat gray turtle-god of darkness. But it was prettily maintained: quiet and clean, with a hint of that British faux quaintness that such places traded in.
The hour was closing in on midnight by the time Devon stalked up the gravel path with crunching footsteps, Cai at her side and Hester trailing a little behind. The entrance wasn’t locked and the lights were still on, but no one was at the desk. Unsurprising, given the hour.
The owner, a small-framed woman called Nadiya, was not pleased to be woken. She was even less pleased to see a gaggle of battered, unkempt people demanding a room. Devon’s bare feet got a shocked side-eye.
But she had no good reason to turn them out, especially when Devon paid double for the hassle. Money had a way of curing human resentment.
Twenty minutes later and a hundred quid poorer, the three of them were piling wearily into a cottage across the courtyard. The room held two double beds, freshly made up and decorated in a pastiche of rustic life that Devon found baffling. Alndyke was already an actual farm. Why pretend to be a fantasy one?
“Who’s sleeping where?” Devon said, even as Cai flung himself onto one of the beds. “Hey, take those shoes off!”
“In a minute.” He melted into the pillow with a groan.
“I can take the couch if you want the other bed,” Hester offered. “You look like you need the rest.”
“Don’t be daft. I’ll bunk with Cai. I’ve done it often enough. I’m calling dibs on the shower, though.” She ducked into the bathroom.
“Don’t take too long!” Hester called from outside. “There’s only one toilet, you know!”
Devon rolled her eyes, then stripped off and ducked under the fall of icy water. Just long enough to rinse the grime from her hair and skin. Her feet were foul, but there was nothing to scrub with except a single bar of dried-out soap that crumbled into gritty chunks when she picked it up. So much for a scrub. She toweled off and climbed back into her dirty clothes with reluctance. Well, she’d worn worse.
Clean-ish, or at least clean-er, Devon stepped from the bathroom, to the relief of a frantic Hester, who promptly took her place and shut the door with pointed force.
Cai lay curled on the bed, fast asleep. His shoes were still on. She pried them off and tucked him in, tattered clothes and all. The boy reeked of sweat and dirt. He’d need a shower, too. Patches of eczema marred the joint between foot and ankle, and also the crooks of his elbows. She wondered if taking Redemption again would help or worsen his skin. Decided it didn’t matter.
Careful, so carefully as to not wake him, Devon tugged up the edge of his shirt, revealing the smooth scar on his abdomen. Barely an inch across, little more than a silver line of skin. No flashing lights or uncomfortable lumps he’d ever complained about; no outward sign of the tiny, surgically implanted device embedded in his peritoneal cavity.