Crowbones

CHAPTER 31

Grimshaw

Firesday, Novembros 2

Bertram Roundtree had been elected mayor before last year’s Great Predation and before the villagers realized just how much of their village the Sanguinati controlled. Since being mayor of a village the size of Sproing was a part-time job with a token salary, Grimshaw figured Roundtree wasn’t any better or worse than anyone else the residents could have elected. But now that Roundtree was dealing with the Sanguinati directly—and by extension, the even more dangerous forms of terra indigene—the mayor was way out of his league.

What bothered Grimshaw more than a mayor whose actions might get them all killed was seeing Ilya Sanguinati walk into the police station looking like he’d been dragged over a mile of bad road, which made the cop wonder if the Sanguinati’s leader was facing trouble that was above his pay grade.

If that was the case, the humans were well and truly screwed.

Osgood returned from his inquiries at Pops’s general store, the look on his face all the confirmation Grimshaw needed that there was panic building among the residents and especially among the trapped tourists. Moving casually while he waited for the last two people he’d requested for this meeting, he pushed buttons on the phones so that all the lines were busy, then muted his mobile phone.

As soon as Ineke Xavier and Julian Farrow walked into the station, Grimshaw turned the lock on the door.

“If we’re inviting local businesses to attend this meeting . . . ,” Roundtree began.

“They aren’t here because they own local businesses,” Grimshaw said, not bothering to explain why those two people were there. “Mr. Sanguinati?”

“Contacting police stations in the Northeast should be a priority, to find out what towns or villages have had similar killings,” Ilya said.

“But the problem is here!” Roundtree protested.

“Yes,” Ilya agreed. “The . . . contamination . . . has been tracked to Sproing and isolated here—and the hunt will end here.”

Contamination. Hunt. Gods above and below.

“The prank?” Julian asked. “That would limit the suspect list to Vicki’s guests and the academics at the Mill Creek Cabins.”

“The Jumble!” Roundtree held up a finger as if making a point. “I should have known. All the trouble started—”

Ilya hissed, showing his fangs.

Roundtree darted behind Osgood.

“Victoria DeVine holds an esteemed position in that terra indigene settlement,” Ilya said. “You will not criticize her or try to shift the blame onto her in any way. Not if you want to remain the mayor—and remain among the living.”

Roundtree sounded like a teakettle on the boil. “Are you threatening me? In front of witnesses?”

“I’m warning you,” Ilya snarled.

“Why isn’t Vicki here?” Ineke asked. “Considering The Jumble’s pivotal role between the Others and the village, she should be here.”

“I’ll discuss this with Victoria privately,” Ilya replied.

“So, we’re looking at eleven suspects?” Grimshaw asked. “Vicki’s seven guests and the four men in the cabins?”

“And Ms. Xavier’s guests, and the people renting the campers at the edge of the village—and the nearly one hundred people who have moved into Sproing in the past few months,” Ilya said.

Crap. So more than a quarter of the village was on their suspect list?

“Until the contamination is found—and eliminated—the roads will remain closed,” Ilya continued.

“I’ll contact the police in Crystalton and Bristol and ask them to set up roadblocks at the nearest crossroads,” Grimshaw said. “Some of those big rigs that carry goods won’t have any way to turn around if they reach one of those barricades.”

Well, he was pretty sure a pony named Twister would be happy to play spin the semi, but being that he was the chief of police, that wasn’t something he wanted to encourage.

Ilya nodded. “Smaller trucks carrying necessary supplies will be allowed to approach the barricades. Humans will be permitted to walk around the barricades with packs or horses or handcarts to fetch the supplies. Any human who tries to flee or who assists a human who is trying to flee . . . Well, they’re in the wild country, and the Elders will be watching.”

“Anyone who flees won’t survive,” Julian said, looking at the mayor to make sure the man understood that the Others had a different definition of “meals to go.”

Ilya nodded again. “Until the contamination is found—and eliminated—no one is allowed to leave Sproing or the surrounding area.” He looked at Roundtree. “You can tell the humans that the village is under quarantine until further notice.”

“Quarantined for what?” Roundtree squeaked.

“I’ll leave that up to you.” Ilya unlocked the door and opened it, then gave the mayor a pointed look. “Human stupidity?”

Roundtree rushed out of the station, hesitated, then rushed to the government building next door.

Ilya closed and locked the station door.

“You gave him the official line,” Grimshaw said. “Are you going to tell us the rest?”

“Very few humans have any dealings with the Elders, and even fewer of those humans survive,” Ilya replied. “So you don’t appreciate that, even among the Elders, there is a hierarchy. They are all dangerous, but some are . . . more. When Elders become aware of a problem that might endanger the terra indigene or the wild country, they call on a particular kind of Elder to come and investigate.”

“So that none of them are sullied by human thinking or actions?” Julian wasn’t asking a question so much as confirming a guess.

“That is certainly part of it,” Ilya agreed. “They call on a powerful hunter, a savage hunter, and that Elder comes to that place to find and eliminate the contamination.”

“And the problem has been tracked to Sproing?” Grimshaw guessed, feeling chilled.

Ilya looked at him and nodded. “And the hunter who is here is a primal, ferocious Elder called Crowbones.”