Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 100 of 150

Ben sat with Chilly Willy at the table for a long minute after the door shut. The purse pressed against his ribs. The crate was gone with a boy he had known for six sentences. Ben stood up. He could not sit here and hope. He needed to see the crate reach the oracle's road with his own eyes. If Picabo dropped it, sold it, or ran, Ben would never know until Cage's men came for him. He went to the shutter and looked at the rise. The wolf and the boy were already a dark shape against the pines. The road to the pass climbed north through switchbacks. He could not run it. Picabo had four days of walking in him and Ben had a bleeding partner on the step. "I have to see it delivered," Ben said. Chilly Willy lifted his head. "You stay. Bar the door." "You'll never catch him on foot." "I know." Ben looked around the room. A cold hearth. A shelf. A plain wooden box on the shelf, the size of a loaf, sturdy and clean. He lifted the lid. Inside, folded rags and a small brass whistle on a cord. Millie had left it, or someone like her had. He did not ask which. He pocketed the whistle and stepped outside. He blew it once, hard. The note ran flat across the pines. He waited. Nothing came. He blew again. On the third try, the winged creature dropped through the branches and settled on the pot by the door. It knew him. It had carried the crate before. "Take me up the pass road," Ben said. He climbed on. The creature lifted. He found them at the second switchback. Picabo trudged with the crate roped to his back. The wolf paced beside him. Ben landed ahead on the road and Picabo stopped without surprise. "You changed your mind," the boy said. "No. I'm coming as far as her door. Then I turn around." Picabo shrugged and walked on. Ben walked behind him with the winged creature gliding low above the pines. Two ridges. Three. The pass narrowed. At dusk they reached a stone gate set into the mountain wall. A woman in a gray robe opened it before Picabo knocked. She looked at the crate. She looked at Ben. "Eleven," Ben said. "The twelfth bought a tunnel. A man named Dover sent it." She took the crate from Picabo's back. She carried it inside. The gate shut. Ben stood on the stone step with the whistle in his hand and the purse still against his ribs. The set was out of the world now. Cage's men would find an empty house and a wounded man and a cold trail. Ben turned and started down the pass. He had coin, no cargo, and one clear road ahead of him for the first time in a year.