The Banshee's Walk by Frank Tuttle Read Free Book Online Page B

questioning. I lifted my hand for quiet.
    “The Army is nowhere near Wardmoor,” I said. “You know that.”
    “I’m tellin’ you what I seen, boy, not what I know,” snapped Mama. “And I seen Army men and fire and death. Might be what’s done happened. Might be what’s to come. Ain’t for me to say.”
    Gertriss was getting pale. “All right, Mama,” I said. “Fires and mayhem. How original. Anything else?”
    Mama stabbed a stubby finger at me. “I heard wailing, boy,” she said. “Wailing. Like I ain’t never heard before. It was long and loud and, boy, it meant somebody was goin’ to die.” She lowered her hand and sighed. “Just make sure it ain’t goin’ to be you, boy. And make sure it ain’t goin’ to be my niece, neither. You got that?”
    “I got it,” I said. “No dying by me or Gertriss, at least not without your permission.”
    Mama rose and snatched up her empty basket. “You remember who you are, young Miss,” Mama said to Gertriss, with a glare that would have withered ironwood. Gertriss met it evenly and even managed a smile in return.
    “I will, Mama,” she said. “Please don’t worry.”
    Mama grunted and caught me in her famous Hog hex-stare.
    “You mind you keep that there sword close to hand, boy,” she said.
    My yawn wasn’t intentional. But Mama took it as such and whirled and stomped out, cussing and wheezing.
    Gertriss wiped crumbs off my desk and stood up. “Is it true?” she asked. “Do you have a sword in there?” She pointed with a nod toward my rucksack in the corner.
    “Got a horse and a trebuchet too,” I replied. “I’d bring the catapult, but I like to travel light.”
    Gertriss grinned. “So anytime you answer a question with a joke, that’s probably a yes,” she said.
    “Sure it is,” I agreed. I stood and heaved my old Army rucksack over my shoulder. “Where’s the rest of your luggage?” I asked. “We should get going.”
    “Just inside the door at Mama’s. I’ll fetch it and meet you outside.” She was honest to angels excited about going to work. I shook my head at such a marvel, wondered how long it would last.
    She darted away, and I walked out into the light.
     
    It took us two cabs to get to the south end, through neighborhoods that changed quickly from moderately inhabitable row houses to buck-roofed slums and finally to the stink and noise and even worse stink of the cattle yards and slaughterhouses that buttressed the remaining Old Wall on the south.
    Even Gertriss, who’d spent her life doing whatever it is country folk do with swine in their swine-yards, held one of my handkerchiefs tight over her nose and mouth and pulled herself as far away from the windows as the cab allowed.
    “Not much further,” I said, over the din of frightened cattle and furious drovers. “Then it’s sweet country air and wholesome country sunshine all the way to Wardmoor.”
    She nodded, her eyes dubious.
    “There are more than six hundred thousand people in Rannit,” I said. “All of them hungry, all of them demanding leather shoes and leather belts and leather coats. This is the only way to keep them fed and hold their pants up.”
    She may have grinned behind the handkerchief. I shrugged and leaned back until we rounded the last row of stinking slaughter-barns, and I caught first sight of the Old Wall’s gap-toothed bulk over the rooftops.
    “Nearly there,” I said. I shuffled in my seat, ready to get out, even if it meant a long hike. I hoped Gertriss’s new leather boots were a good fit, because blisters or no we were heading to Wardmoor. She was too heavy to carry and it was too far to turn back.
    She must have seen me regarding her boots. “I brought my old ones just in case,” she said, her words muffled by the handkerchief. “You won’t have to carry me, Mr. Markhat.”
    I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn’t said a word aloud.
    Maybe the Hog women do share the gift. That thought sent shivers down my spine.
    If Gertriss saw,