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  Tarc did so, letting it stick into the post a little way off-center.

  She flashed him a look. “Where were you aiming?” she asked suspiciously.

  “At the middle of the post.”

  She looked at the post, “You didn’t hit it.”

  He shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed but determined not to show off. “I came close. Not every throw’s perfect.”

  She turned and gave him a dubious look. Then she strode off and retrieved all three knives. Returning, she handed him his, then gripped one of her own. “Like this?”

  Tarc nodded.

  She made a slow throwing motion, stopping with the knife outstretched at the position where she’d release it. “Like this?”

  “Uh-huh. May I take your knife?”

  She nodded.

  He grasped her knife by the blade. “As it leaves your hand, you let the handle slide off your fingers so they block any final tendency for spin.” He demonstrated, pulling the knife away from her hand while pushing down on her fingers so they’d block the handle’s motion in the fashion he’d described.

  “Is it okay if I try another throw?”

  “Sure.”

  She did so. She pushed down a little too hard at the finish of her motion. The knife flew through the air with its point elevated. It struck the post but bounced off. “Shit!”

  Not very ladylike, Tarc thought, struggling to conceal a grin. “Um, you just pushed down a little too hard at the end of your follow-through.”

  “I should try it again?”

  Surprised that she’d ask, he shrugged. “Uh-huh.”

  She threw again, this time not pushing down enough. The blade rotated over to strike the post with the point angled down. Again, the blade didn’t stick. She stalked angrily after her knives.

  When she turned around, Tarc could see she was blushing. When she got back to where he was standing, she said, “Am I hopeless?”

  “Oh no. You should have seen me when I first started.”

  “I didn’t just start,” she said sullenly.

  “You’re just starting this new technique.”

  She sighed, “I don’t think I’m ever going to get it.”

  “If it was easy, anyone could do it. Try again.”

  She threw. It was going to over-rotate, but Tarc nudged it with his ghirit, partially straightening it and pushing it a bit to the left. This time it stuck solidly into the post just a little right of center.

  Tarc gave a little, “Woohoo!” He followed that with, “Nice throw.”

  She grinned, so he helped her a little with the next throw as well. This one also stuck. Though it was at the left edge, she beamed joyfully.

  “Nice!” he said, thinking how much he liked her smile. “Those two over-rotated a little, so guide the handle a little more with your fingers.”

  She eagerly went to retrieve her knives.

  He found himself admiring her stride. To take his mind off it, he said, “Why’re you trying to learn to throw knives anyway?”

  When she turned, her smile was gone. “Because… You probably don’t know—”

  Her mother’s voice interrupted them “Gloria! Who’s tending the shop?!”

  A frustrated look flashed over her face, then Gloria turned to her mother. “Hi, Mom, Tarc’s showing me how to throw my knives!”

  Tarc turned to find Sally Blacksmith giving him a wide-eyed look. “Tarc?!”

  He nodded.

  “I wouldn’t have recognized you!”

  Gloria said, “I wouldn’t have recognized him if he hadn’t shown me one of the knives Dad made him.”

  Ms. Blacksmith took two sudden strides and enveloped Tarc in a tight hug. Bracing him back at arm’s length, she said, “You’re back?”

  “Hi, Ms. Blacksmith. I, uh, just came back for a few days to… work out some business things for my dad. I… lost one of the throwing knives you gave me. I was hoping I could buy another that matches?”

  “You can give us one as an example to work from?”

  Tarc nodded, holding out the one he’d thrown a few minutes ago.

  “Someone from the Norton caravan told me you Hyllises had settled down in Clancy Vail. Is that true?”

  Tarc nodded. “It’s a good place for my mom to do her healing. She likes that better than cooking.”

  Ms. Blacksmith grinned and arched an eyebrow, “She’s an awfully good cook though.”

  “We still have a tavern and she bosses the kitchen, but we’ve got a lot more help so she doesn’t have to be in there all the time.”

  Blacksmith gave him a skeptical look, “Better help than you and your sister?!”

  “Um…”

  She gave him a little shove, “I was just kidding.”

  Tarc shrugged, feeling a little embarrassed. “I’m not much good at cooking. I just do what they tell me.”

  Grinning, “You’re letting a bunch of women boss you around, aren’t you?”

  He grinned back, “Yes ma’am.”

  “Oh! And he’s got a good attitude,” she said as an aside to Gloria. She gave Tarc a serious look, “Let’s go talk to John. About your knife, but also… some serious stuff.” She turned to her daughter, “Gloria, open the shop back up. We can’t afford to pass up business.”

  “Mom! Why can’t I be in on whatever you’re talking about?”

  Ms. Blacksmith rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to arrange a wedding for you.”

  Startled, Tarc glanced at Gloria. Her eyes had widened in horror. She turned toward the shop but he’d already seen a blush rising in her cheeks. He felt the heat rising on his own neck.

  When he turned back to Ms. Blacksmith, she was watching her daughter walk away. “Uh-oh,” she said softly, “I’ve embarrassed her.” She glanced at Tarc, “Oh, and embarrassed you too. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything about the two of you. It’s just that she’s so prickly about any marriage talk and… Sorry!” She suddenly turned toward the forge and walked off that direction.

  Tarc thought her sudden departure was intended to give both of them a few moments to get over the pangs of the moment. He glanced after Gloria, but she’d already disappeared into the shop door. This is going to make any further conversations with her so awkward, he thought. He started after Gloria’s mother.

  Ms. Blacksmith stopped and turned before they entered the forge area. “Once again, I’m very sorry I embarrassed you.”

  “It’s okay,” Tarc said, eyes downcast. “I’m just sorry Gloria’s upset. She doesn’t know me from Adam. I’m sure I’m the last man on earth she’d want you planning her wedding with.”

  Ms. Blacksmith didn’t say anything in reply, so after a moment he raised his eyes back to hers. She was giving him a contemplative look. After a moment, she snorted. “I think you’re actually about the first man on earth she’d want to plan a wedding with. Since I heard her badmouthing you, then found myself telling her what you’d done for this shit-hole town, she’s been idolizing you… Now you show up all tall, and handsome, and kind, and polite… Yet still a ‘deadly as all get out bad boy.’ Hell, I’m drooling, and I’m a happily married woman who’s way too old for you!”

  Eyes downcast again, Tarc scuffed a toe as he felt the heat rising in his cheeks again.

  “Sorry,” Ms. Blacksmith said, “Now I’ve embarrassed you again.”

  “It’s okay. Should we go in and talk to Mr. Blacksmith now?”

  She didn’t say anything, so Tarc lifted his eyes off his shoes again. She had a tentative look on her face. “Before we talk to John, I’d like to… to talk to you about what’s been happening in this town since you left. I don’t suppose there’s anything you can do about it, but I keep thinking of how you and your dad… handled Krait.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I came here first. I hoped you’d fill me in on how things stand.”

  “You just arrived?”

  “Yesterday. But I had to work yesterday so I wasn’t able to come int
o town till this morning.”

  She frowned, “What kind of work?”

  “I’ve been working as a caravan guard.”

  She snorted, “If I was going somewhere in a caravan I’d sure love having you be one of my guards.”

  “Um, I hope you’ll downplay that. The caravan just thinks I’m good with a bow and arrow.”

  She nodded, “Of course.”

  “In fact, since no one seems to recognize me with my short hair, I’ve been thinking that maybe it’d be better if no one here actually realized I’m Tarc Hyllis.”

  “You do look really different, but I’d be afraid someone might recognize you.” She shrugged, “Back to your questions. What’ve you been wondering about?”

  “My dad sent me to find out what’s really going on. When Mr. Norton tried to get some of our savings back out of Harrison’s Bank and get the rest of the money the Watsons owe us for the tavern, both of them said they couldn’t afford to pay us. The bank said they’ve never gotten their share of the loot Krait stole and the Watsons said their business wasn’t going well enough to pay even a small portion of what they owe.”

  She frowned, nodding thoughtfully. “All three of the banks say they got shorted on the money recovered from Krait. As you might expect, there’re a whole lot of people who think they got more than they’re letting on.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I’ve heard Farley recovered ninety-five percent, but only passed on forty percent to the banks.”

  She didn’t tell me what she thinks, Tarc realized. He said, “Norton told us Harrison’s Bank claimed they only got twenty percent.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed, “this town’s full of rumors. Probably the only people who know the truth are the ones who’re being accused of doing the lying.”

  Tarc felt a headache coming on. One that had nothing to do with using his talent. “What about Watson’s tavern?”

  “Well now, there I can at least tell you they’re doing good business. Probably not as good as it was when your mother was cooking, but they shouldn’t be claiming they’re in the poorhouse.”

  “So they should be able to pay something then, right?”

  She nodded, “And Watson was gone for a while. Gossip is he went to visit a bank in some other town. One that’d been holding money for them while they traveled with the caravan. Unless the bank stiffed them, he should be able to pay your family something out of that too.”

  Tarc rubbed his head. He asked plaintively, “But how much? How am I ever going to figure this out?!”

  Ms. Blacksmith gave him a sympathetic look and shook her head, “You’d need to hire a mind reader.”

  A bolt shot through Tarc. What the hell am I doing here without Kazy? he wondered. They didn’t need her to deal with an epidemic in Clancy Vail! Rationally, he knew she would’ve been helpful there, if for nothing else, then just because she was so damned smart, but… And they could use her as another set of hands, he realized. And to help convince people of what needed to be done… But she wouldn’t have been nearly as helpful there as she’d be here! Am I gonna have to go back and get her? Has this whole trip so far been a complete waste of time? Wearily, he shook his head, “Even if I could get access to their records, I’d need some kind of accountant to figure out what they meant.”

  Ms. Blacksmith gave a little laugh, “Well, Gloria could help you with that. She’s a wizard with numbers.”

  Tarc gave her a sharp look. “Really?” Because, he thought, I might be able to get access to their records.

  “Yeah. It’s a real shame she didn’t live back in the time of the ancients. She could’ve gone to university. Math was a real specialty back then.” She got a dreamy look on her face, “My grandmother’s family was supposed to throw off math geniuses every so often. It sure skipped over me though.”

  “Huh,” Tarc said, “The Hyllises are supposed to throw off a math genius every so often too. I’ve got a young cousin who’s amazing with numbers.”

  Ms. Blacksmith grinned at him, “Maybe we’re distant cousins then. My great-grandmother was named Hyllis. We’d have to be pretty distant though, she moved here from up north somewhere.”

  “Colesville?”

  She shrugged, “I have no idea.”

  “Because my dad’s from up north. A town called Colesville that has quite a few Hyllises.”

  Her eyebrows went up, “Maybe we are relatives.”

  Tarc suddenly had a dismaying thought. Gloria’s probably my cousin! How close? he wondered. If Sally’s great-grandmother moved here, the closest Gloria and I could share would be a great-great-grandparent. That’d make us third cousins, he realized with some relief. Which would be okay, but hopefully our common ancestor’s even farther back. He blinked, Am I actually worrying about whether I could marry a girl I just met?! Or, he thought, actually that I’d just “re-met,” since we knew each other when we were little.

  “Tarc?” Ms. Blacksmith said.

  Tarc realized that he’d stopped paying attention during his brief panic about how closely he and Gloria might be related. “Um, sorry, I was… just thinking about whether we might be related. What did you say?”

  She waved dismissively, “Never mind. It really isn’t your problem.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Farley.”

  “Oh…” Tarc said, thinking, Another bad leader to worry about? He took a deep breath and stiffened his spine, “What’s Farley been doing?”

  “Taking advantage of his office to line his own pockets.” She shrugged, “Sheriff Walters did that too, of course. Just not nearly to the degree Farley’s been doing. He’s been taxing us hard to pay all these mercenaries he’s hired to protect the city. He says they keep us from having to train in the defense force. But our men are losing their skills. And, of course, the mercenaries are all loyal to Farley which makes it dangerous to complain about his taxes. Carissa Womble’s organized a big protest in the square tomorrow.”

  Hesitantly, Tarc asked, “Has he been doing anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  Tarc shrugged, “The kind of things Krait did. Killing people. Letting his men rape the women. Taking the property of people who’re killed. Out and out stealing.”

  She frowned, “No killing or raping, but I’d argue he has been stealing. I don’t know what else you’d call keeping the money Krait stole.”

  A sudden clatter, then a clang came from around the corner at the forge. It sounded like Mr. Blacksmith had dropped something. Tarc expected to hear some cursing. From the look in her eyes, Ms. Blacksmith had a similar thought. Silence stretched for a few seconds.

  “John?” Ms. Blacksmith called. There was no answer. She turned and strode for the corner, “John!” She disappeared around the corner, now shrieking her husband’s name.

  Tarc sprinted after. Rounding the corner, he saw Mr. Blacksmith sprawled beside his hammer and anvil. A partially formed knife lay beside the man.

  His wife dropped to her knees, pulled him onto his back and shook him, still shrieking his name.

  Tarc knelt beside Blacksmith, picking up his wrist as if feeling for a pulse. Sending his ghirit into Blacksmith’s chest he found the man’s heart was only quivering. Fibrillation! he thought. Like the man Vyrda, Kazy, and the students dealt with while we were in Cooperstown! His spirits fell as he remembered they’d failed and the man had died.

  Ms. Blacksmith’s eyes rose to see Tarc holding her husband’s wrist. Her eyes widened, “Is…? Does he…?” She apparently couldn’t think what to ask so she trailed off still staring into Tarc’s eyes.

  Oh God! I hate giving bad news! Tarc thought. Remembering his mother’s advice to tell the truth, he shook his head. “There’s no pulse. His heart’s stopped.” Tarc leaned forward and ripped Mr. Blacksmith’s shirt open, sending buttons flying. He leaned down and placed his ear on the man’s chest so his ghirit could better examine the coronary arteries to Blacksmith’s heart muscle. Atherosclerotic plaques, he thou
ght, as you’d expect. One of the coronary branches was completely blocked. The muscle it fed seemed paralyzed—not participating in the twitching and quivering going on in the rest of the heart.

  Ms. Blacksmith wailed, “Does he have a heartbeat?!”

  As if he were having trouble hearing, Tarc barked, “Quiet!” Meanwhile, he used his ghirit to rip out the piece of plaque that’d blocked the artery. He pulled it back up the coronary and into the aorta. Then he guided it past the takeoffs of the carotid arteries—to the brain—then let it fly without trying to guide it all the way to the spleen the way he had in Ms. Albert. It might do some damage, but his first priority had to be the heart.

  There were other partially blocked vessels, but nothing so bad that Tarc felt it needed treatment before he tried to restart the heart.

  Leaning up away from the chest, Tarc looked Ms. Blacksmith in the eyes, “His heart’s stopped. I know a couple of things I could attempt. Do you want me to try them?”

  Though Tarc had expected her to tell him no and send for someone she thought was a real healer, she swallowed and gave a jerky nod.

  Saying, “Sometimes a sharp blow to the chest restarts the heart,” Tarc struck Blacksmith’s chest and did it hard. He paused, using his ghirit to evaluate what might have happened.

  To Tarc’s surprise, Ms. Blacksmith leaned down and put her ear on her husband’s chest, “I’ll listen.”

  Tarc already knew the heart was still fibrillating so it was no surprise when she sat back up and shook her head, tears in her eyes. He said, “I’m going to pump his chest for a bit. That squeezes the heart and pushes blood to the brain even while the heart’s not working.” He started doing the chest compressions Kazy and Vyrda had described doing for their patient. As they’d done, he used his ghirit to see whether he was squeezing the heart enough to move blood out to the rest of the body. He was surprised how much force it took to do compressions that really made his heart pump the blood.

  Watching him with wide eyes, Ms. Blacksmith asked, “What can I do?”

  Nothing, Tarc thought, but then decided it’d be better to give her a task. “Feel for a pulse at his wrist,” Tarc grunted between chest compressions.

  “I don’t know how!” she said plaintively, picking up her husband’s wrist but holding her fingers against the back of the wrist rather than the front.