"My friend used to live a couple of miles from here. If that's not changed, we'll see him soon."
Rufus started to follow her again, and Peer saw a flash of drug-fueled jealousy in one of the smoking women's eyes.
"Rufus," she said, "walk with me, not behind me." He smiled softly, but his eyes never stayed on her for long. They were drinking in the surroundings, flitting here and there and back again, and she envied him seeing all this for the first time. For her, returning here from Skulk, Six Step Bridge had a vital freshness to it. She could barely imagine what Rufus was thinking and feeling.
She wished he could tell her. Soon, she thought. Gorham will know what to do and how to get him to the Watchers. Rufus is what they've been watching for forever. Proof of something beyond.
As they left the bridge and started across a large park, the bustle faded away. There were still many people around them, but they were sitting or lying in the grass, eating or reading, staring or loving. The sound of a hooting heron came from the lake on the park's far side, and wind whispered through the numerous barch trees, setting their thin, heavy branches swaying.
In a grove of low trees halfway across the park, as Peer felt more relaxed than she had since escaping Skulk, a man stepped into their path.
Peer froze. Rufus's left hand reached out and grasped her arm.
The man glanced around quickly before moving forward, right hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
There's something… Peer thought, then saw a blur of movement from her right. Rufus dropped to his knees, letting go of her arm and bringing his strange spider-poison weapon up from his side.
More people appeared around them, emerging from behind trees and bushes, and Peer knew them. Watchers. "Rufus!" she shouted, leaning sideways to try to knock him off balance. It almost worked. She heard the gentle cough of his weapon as he fell, and the man before them looked down at the left knee of his trousers.
Peer staggered to the right but kept to her feet.
The others closed in quickly, knives drawn, and if Peer had said something different, perhaps the man would have lived. But her thought then was for Rufus. "Rufus, they're friends!" she said. And as the visitor from beyond Echo City lowered his weapon, she saw the man bending, reaching to his knee, touching the wet sticky patch there and raising it toward his face.
"No!" she shouted, but it was already too late. Maybe all it took was the smallest contact with skin.
He moaned a little, frowned, then started to shake. He stared down at his hand as if it was something he had never seen before. Then he began to scream.
"Gerrett!" one of the others shouted, pushing him so that he fell. "Quiet!" But Gerrett-and Peer remembered him now, a Watcher with whom Gorham had spoken a few times, a man whose children fished in the Western Reservoir and whose wife made the most amazing salted fish rack-was beyond listening. His screams were loud and high, and he was shaking his hand so frantically that it slapped hard against the ground, the crack of breaking bones almost hidden beneath his cries.
A woman clapped her hand across his mouth.
"Don't touch," Rufus said. "Poison."
The woman glanced from him to Peer and back again, then moved away.
Gerrett's screams died down suddenly, as though his throat had been clapped shut. The convulsions started then, and the bloody foam from his mouth, and the darkening of his eyes as something in there burst.
A man and woman beat Rufus to the ground. He let them.
When they came for Peer, they were not so rough, but the gag they forced into her mouth stank of chickpig and tasted of shit, and the blind they tied around her eyes was so tight it made her head ache.
"Gerrett…" one of them said.
"No time."
As Peer was led away, she could still hear the impact of thrashing limbs on the ground.
"They killed Gerrett."
"What?"
"Gerrett died. The one with her, he shot him with something. Some poison."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Gorham walked faster. They'd taken Peer and her companion to a boathouse on the shore of the reservoir-a place with a hidden basement where they'd sheltered people before. But his initial enthusiasm about seeing Peer had been shattered. He had so many secrets to tell her, so many apologies to make-and now it seemed she had the same.
"Has anyone told his family yet?"
"Of course not," Malia said. "I only just found out myself."
"Keep it that way for now."
They hurried along the well-trodden path around the reservoir. It was seven miles all the way around, and it involved crossing the border with Crescent twice, but many people used it to exercise or walk away the excesses of every eighth-day feast. That was the reason why the boathouse was such a good hiding place: It was so close to activity. A row of vacation homes lined the road to their left, owned mostly by rich people from Marcellan Canton and used irregularly. But behind them were smaller buildings, retreats from the busier areas of Course and Crescent, and these were occupied for at least half of the time. Hiding people beneath the Marcellans' noses pleased Gorham immensely.
They slowed as they approached the boathouse, and Malia went ahead, disappearing through the door into shadow. Gorham looked out over the lake, trying to appear calm even though his heart was thumping hard. Peer is back, he thought. The idea seemed so surreal and alien to him, because he'd spent the best part of three years attempting to forget. Whatever confident face he presented to his fellow Watchers and the other people around him, deep inside Peer had always been a shameful scar.
I've got so much to apologize for.
Malia stepped from the boathouse. "Don't stand there with your head up your ass. Come on!" But even her brusque signal that the coast was clear could not raise a smile from him today.
Peer was back, sweet innocent Peer. And he wondered what secrets she had brought.
He went inside and followed Malia into the basement. The first person Gorham saw was the cowering man, tears streaking his bruised face and hands raised to protect himself. He had striking white hair and looked weak and thin, but looks could be deceptive. The three Watchers he'd sent with Gerrett to bring in Peer were there, and the air was loaded.
"Peer?" he asked.
"Here." She was on the other side of the basement, strapped against a wall.
His heart broke for her. She looked just as he remembered-her dark hair longer, perhaps, her face a little thinner and harsher-and right now her expression was one of misery. She looked at him with a naive hope, and something else.
"Peer," he said awkwardly, "it's so good to see you again." He crossed to her and knelt, glancing at her bonds. They were tied well. Her left wrist had bled a little from where the rope had tightened and twisted in, but the dribble of blood was already drying. He scanned her face for any hint of abuse and saw none. Good. The Watchers were determined but not brutal. Not unless the occasion called for it.
"Gorham, what's happening here?" Her voice was soft and uncertain.
"I came to ask the same thing. Your friend killed Gerrett."
"That was an accident. He stepped out in front of us and-"
"You remember Gerrett," Malia said. "We haven't told his family yet. His youngest developed heart canker a year ago. The shock might just kill her."
Peer closed her eyes, and Gorham saw true sorrow there. Careful, he thought. She's from Skulk.
"So who's your friend?"