Ben Dover's Arc

Chapter 64 of 150

Ben woke Amber before the sky moved. The hearth was low. Paige sat in the low chair with the shawl over her knees and her eyes open. She had not slept. He understood without asking that she had counted the hours he owed her and was ready to collect. "Two hours to light," Paige said. "You said before dawn." "I know." "Then know it out loud." Ben crouched by the crate. Joe was already awake against the wall. Lolly slept curled by the hearth, one hand on a wet, dark-furred creature that breathed slow beside her. Water pooled under its chest and did not spread. The animal's ribs rose and fell in a rhythm that made Ben's own shoulders drop a finger's width. He made himself look away. "Two hundred paces of open ground between us and the pines," he said to Joe. "Scouts on the ridge road. New men by first light. If we cross that field with the crate, we're seen." "So we don't cross with the crate," Joe said. Ben looked at the room. A tea canister sat on the shelf above the hearth, pale with painted leaves. Beside it, a red clay pot, still slick from last night's rain off the sill. He thought about doors. He thought about what Lolly had said at the fold, that people searched rooms with doors and passed everything else. "Paige," he said. "The garden bed outside your window. How deep is the soil?" "To my knee. Then rock." "Any tools?" "A spade by the step." He explained it fast. Bury the crate in the garden bed under the herbs. Cover the turned earth with the pot on its side, spilled, like she'd knocked it over and left it. Walk out empty at first light in four directions. No crate to spot. No crate to carry. Paige's mouth tightened. "And when they come to my door?" "They won't search a garden. They'll search rooms." She looked at the tea canister a long moment. Then she nodded once. They worked without talking. Joe and Ben lifted the crate on the canvas. Amber dug. The soil came up black and cold. Lolly's creature watched from the doorway, damp and still, and the scouts on the ridge did not stir. They laid the crate in flat, packed earth over it, replanted three clumps of thyme on top by feel. Ben tipped the red pot on its side against the bed and scattered a handful of dry leaves. Gray light was in the east when he stood back. The garden looked like a garden a tired woman had left untidy. "One day," Paige said at the door. "I'll leave it one day. After that it's yours to find again or lose." "One day is enough." He went east across the field with empty hands. Behind him, Joe went north. Amber south. Lolly stayed with Paige as a daughter might, drying her hair by the fire, and the crate slept under the thyme.