The Deepcombers

Chapter Twenty Eight

The green bird with the orange wing stripe was the only resident of Atarskal to spot the foreigners asleep in the sunflower grove. Perched on a fence post, the tiny flyer issued its oscillating four-bar ovation more as a mocking doodle than a morning alarm. When nobody woke it tried again, and again. The songbird japed until the sea drover finally rose.

Lon heard the warbler's song and smiled. But when he opened his eyes and looked around his happy face soured into a frown. It was still dark and the sunflowers looked like jailers in the dim light. He rose to his feet and found his companions still fast asleep on the ground. He saw the morning glow in the eastern sky and knew he'd lost many hours of precious time, as well as Clyde's map. More distressing was how he'd let his friends down; he remembered how Tharus had looked to him for help from the unseen opponent. He recalled the fear in his face which betrayed how defenseless he'd felt. He'd looked to Lon to intervene, but the sea drover couldn't help. The ambush happened so fast and it was so outrageous that he'd also been overcome.

"Tharus," he said. "I'm sorry."

The swampkin blinked and groaned when he woke. He ran his fingers through the wet grass while he took his bearings.

Lon carefully rustled Jarl awake and braced for his anger.

The big cat coughed and sputtered and sat up quick. "Ack. Lonny. This place!" He surveyed the damp scenery in the darkness.

"It hass itss ups and downss," Tharus groaned. He'd slept awkwardly and now stretched his arm to loosen the joints.

Jarl found his healing cream and wooden sword in the weeds. His cat ears twitched and his eyebrows knit as he recalled all the details.

Lon helped them both to their feet and watched them wipe grass from their pants and straighten their coats. They took stock of themselves and counted their possessions but all three knew what was missing. Clyde's map had been stolen.

"Lon you have to get it back," Jarl said.

"Clyde only just borrowed it." Tharus said.

"We're to leave it above the ensilage forks in the tool shed," Jarl explained, "it's just a loan see, and we're the mules."

"It's okay. I know who took it," Lon sighed. "It was Melcart."

Jarl and Tharus reacted the news with wide eyes and scowls which surprised Lon until he remembered their tense meeting in the cookhouse.

"He's the young brat what marched your death stone to the temple?" Jarl asked.

"The same." 

"Do you need our help getting the map back?" the lionfeigor asked.

"No. I'll get it back."

"We're late," Tharus pointed at the glow in the eastern sky.

"Not yet we're not," Jarl turned and ran as fast as his new boots allowed. He set a course back through the construction site and down the road to the barracks. Tharus followed behind.

Lon watched them go and he turned to saunter away in the other direction. He walked past the bathhouse which was empty and its fire unlit. A calf bawled.  Across the stream he saw Hosni shift animals in the predawn light. The herdsfeigor lead a cow with a hours-old calf up the hill. The newborn animal bawled and he pondered its complaint.

Closer at hand, on this side of the creek the morning air was suddenly pierced by a rooster's shrill cock-a-doodling. A moment later he heard another. Twenty steps farther he saw the chicken coop. A glowing lantern hung on the open door. Laying hens clucked as a farmworker collected eggs in a wicker basket.