Free J. H. Sked by Basement Blues Page A

before his mother’s last few days in a fever dream, vanished like smoke, and he had missed it sorely, pining for the soothing purr and the graceful swagger that he could never have himself, even though it made him sneeze if he was lucky enough to stroke it.
     
    He placed the tray, dirty dishes stacked neatly, on the floor beside his chair, feeling them watch him.
    Oh, mam.
    Scrout had whispered tales of what the hawks did to children, to those who would be unmissed.
    None of those tales ever included them feeding their victims first, though.
     
    “My thanks, sers.” he said softly.
    Seiren flapped a hand. “No bother, lad.”
    “What’s happened at home, Ricky?” Amber asked.
     
    She thought the boy had guts – most of his elders would have been reduced to incoherence at being this close to a hawk, never mind actively seek one out.
    He had guts and he had manners, and she thought he would prove reasonably intelligent, once he lost the slightly glazed look of shock in his eyes.
    He seemed to physically shrink at her question, lower lip trembling, mild brown eyes swimming with tears.
    “Are you going to make me dead, ser?”
    “What?” Amber was stunned.
    The other two raised their eyebrows at each other as Ricky lowered his head into his hands and sobbed like the child he really was.
    Amber slid off of the sill and knelt beside his chair, slipping an arm around his shoulders, and felt him flinch, then stop himself.
    “No-one here will harm you, lad. You have my word.”
    “They said if I came to you that you’d make me dead. Because you’d say I was in-invented.”He raised his face to her, blinking miserably through the tears, and she placed her hand on the back of his neck, sending a pulse of calmness and warmth. He subsided against her, still weeping, burying his hot face against the firmness of her shoulder.
     
    Infected. He means infected.
     
    “Were you bitten, Ricky?” Her throat was dry, and she was amazed at how normal her voice sounded. “Or scratched at all?” How calm and normal. Her mind was gibbering like a monkey on a chain, as she felt the boy’s head shake his answer against her.
    She neither felt nor smelt like his mother, nor tai Anna, nor any female he’d met, but right now that mattered not at all, and he stayed there while he hiccupped out the rest of the tale, in hard little words that choked past his throat and hung in the air of the room like poisonous perfume.
     
    The hawk soothed him, stroking his head, and whispering calming nonsense that followed him into the refuge of sleep, rocking him against her shoulder and staring bleakly at her squad mates as the late afternoon sun sent curious fingers into the room.
     
     
    “What do you think?” Ariaan looked at his seconds, unwilling to make the call just yet.
    Seiren laced his fingers together and frowned. “I think it stinks. Like a ten day corpse.”
    Ariaan nodded. “If he’s telling the truth.”
    Amber snorted and tossed her head.“He’s not lying. He’s terrified, poor little bastard.”
    The captain nodded again. “You scanned him?”
    “Aye. Lightly, but it was enough.”
    “He came by himself? All this way?”
    Amber nodded absently.
    “He was terrified,” Seiren said thoughtfully, still staring at his fingers. “But not of us.”
    Amber looked at her captain. “You have to call it,” she said. “We can’t leave this mess.”
    Ariaan stared at down at his hands. “I’ll call it,” he said eventually, looking up at them both. “Tonight after the meal.”
    “Where?” Amber rose and stretched, yawning lazily behind a narrow palm.
    “The closed armoury,” Ariaan said. “We’ll ride at first light; cursed if I want to muck around in there tomorrow morning.”
     
    The closed armoury was a slightly smaller room off of the main arms store, containing specialised equipment that would be needed for jobs like this one. Silver was expensive, and the items were kept in locked cabinets, with a