Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 137 of 150

The horn sounded again, closer now. Ben stood in the birch with the fox humming in his sack and the big painted vase strapped to his back. The gaudy piece had fooled a farmer, but it slowed him. Bent under bright pottery, he could not run. If the scout came through these trees, Ben would have no room to bolt. He had to shed the disguise fast, before it cornered him. He dropped behind a fallen wall of rotted planks, the ruin of some old shed. He cut the strap and set the tall vase down. His hands worked fast. He pulled the cheap pieces from the sack one by one. A cracked striped vase. A carved wooden word, painted in loops, that read "Tired." A sad-faced figure with slumped shoulders and heavy eyes. Junk, all of it. He would leave it here and become a man with an empty sack. The fox hummed harder. Ben looked at the twelve beads in his palm. The piece he sold was near, and the hum would carry to the scout. He needed to silence it before the horn found him. His fingers closed on a plain wooden box at the bottom of the sack. A keepsake box, clean and simple, with tight-fitting corners. He had carried empty boxes before. He knew what they could do. He set the fox inside and pressed the lid down. The hum stopped. Ben breathed. He stuffed the box into the sack and shoved the bright pottery under the rotted planks. He kicked leaves over the striped vase and the tired figure. Then he saw the last piece near his knee. A tall stone relic, gray and cracked, carved with a jagged grin and two yellow eyes that seemed to watch him. Not his. Left here by someone. He shoved it under the planks with the rest and left it staring. Boots crossed the leaves. The scout stepped through the birch, horn in hand, eyes sweeping the ground. Ben crouched low behind the wall, empty sack over his shoulder, no bright vase, no hum. The scout looked at the ruin. He saw dumped junk and rotted wood. No peddler. No tall relic hunter. He turned and walked back toward the road. Ben waited until the horn faded north. Then he stood. He had shed the disguise and the sound with it. But the box could only hold the fox silent while it stayed shut. And the beads still pulled at the fox, which meant the sold piece kept moving toward him. Ben slung the sack and cut deeper into the trees. He was free of the pottery and the noose again. Now he had to find the piece the hum tracked, before it walked into the scout's hands instead of his.