A Question on the Road

The next morning, I folded the map before breakfast.

I didn’t put it away. I slid it beneath the bread ledger, where I could still feel the edge of it if I reached across the table. The red tower was covered. The smoke wasn’t.

Clara set a plate near my elbow. “The rolls are a little uneven today.”

“They look all right.”

“They’re all right. Uneven is different.” She nudged the plate a little closer. “You can have the small one if you like.”

I took the small one. It was warm in the middle, and the crust cracked when I pulled it apart. I ate it slowly while Clara counted the first batch into a basket. We didn’t talk about Miller or Sootbank. I was grateful, then worried that I was grateful, as if leaving the subject alone meant I’d decided something.

The day kept its usual shape for a while. I stacked paper sacks at the counter and sat down when my ankle began to throb. Clara moved the chair herself, leaving enough room for my splint. A few customers came and went. They spoke to her about flour, weather, and a loose board on the footbridge. Their voices didn’t change when they noticed me. Most of them only nodded.

The bell rang just before noon. I heard the rain on the customer’s coat before I heard his paws on the mat.

“Morning, Clara,” he said. “I’m soaked through. You got anything left that won’t mind a damp bag?”

“Loaves, if you don’t mind waiting while I wrap one.”

“Good. My sister’s got a pot on.”

He sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Clara asked if the footbridge board had been fixed. He said someone had nailed it down, then complained about the nail being crooked. I brought two paper sacks from the shelf and set them on the counter.

He thanked me. Then, while Clara wrapped the loaf, he said, “Oh. I meant to tell you. Perren heard something at the charcoal road.”

Clara’s hands paused on the paper.

The customer went on, not looking at me. “A fellow’s been asking around. He wanted to know if anyone had seen a human boy come through. Perren didn’t know what to make of it.”

The sacks slipped in my hands. I caught them against the counter before they fell.

“Where did he ask?” Clara said.

“Near the charcoal grounds. Couple of the farms, I think. Perren only heard about it this morning.” The customer’s voice softened, though he didn’t lower it much. “Could be nothing. Travelers ask all kinds of things.”

I couldn’t swallow. My mouth had gone dry, and the roll I’d eaten sat heavy in my stomach.