Sméagol's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The dragon flew off, and Sméagol was alone in the mud. The glowing house stood downriver among the trees. Men had seen the fire. They would come with iron. But the thief's trail ran that way, past the lamps, past the spears. Sméagol could not walk it in the open. He would be seen. He would be killed. So he waited for the men to sleep. Hours passed. The lamps went dark one by one. Sméagol crawled along the bank, low and slow, keeping to the shadows. His strong eyes marked every root and stone. He reached the glass house. Vines wound thick across its faceted walls. He pressed himself flat beneath a window and listened. Inside, someone still moved. A cellar door stood open at the back. He slipped through it and down cold steps. The room smelled of dried herbs and old wood. Jars lined the shelves. On a table sat a spray of purple blossoms in a cup, magenta berries bright among them. Sméagol froze. Someone was counting. A soft voice named things one by one, spoon after spoon. A small creature turned from the shelf. Her eyes were huge and blue, her hair pale and wild. She was like him, thin and grey-skinned, but she wore a mended dress and held a jar in both hands. She did not scream. She looked at him the way she looked at her shelves. "You came in through my cellar," Precious said. "I count what leaves this house. Now I must count what walks in." She set the jar down. "Are you the one who took my things?" "No," Sméagol whispered. "Sméagol takes nothing. Sméagol follows a thief. A ring, precious. Gold. Someone carried it here, down the river." Her face changed. She stepped closer. "A ring." Her voice went low. "He wore a ring when he left. Six months gone. I could never say what he took with him." She pulled a chair to the table and sat. "Tell me who you hunt. Maybe he is the same one who emptied my drawers." Boots thudded above them. Men's voices called through the trees, close now, searching for the dragon. Light swept the cellar window. Sméagol dropped behind the table, shaking. Precious rose without a sound. She lifted a floor board near the wall. Beneath it lay a dark space, just big enough. "Get in," she said. "They will search my house. They always do." Sméagol crawled into the hole. She lowered the board over him. Above, the door banged open. Boots crossed the floor. Precious spoke to the men in a flat, tired voice, naming her missing spoons, her empty jars, until they lost patience and left. When the house went quiet, she lifted the board. "They are gone," she said. "You are past them now." She looked hard at him. "But you will not find your thief alone. And I want to know what he stole from me."