Of Truth and Beasts

Soft knickers greeted him inside, along with the scents of leather, hay, and dung in dusty-smelling air. Pitchforks and hay bundles lined the back wall to the open rafters, but a black gelding and a bay mare stood in the nearest stalls. Both were the youngest and healthiest among six others. He searched until he found harnesses pegged on the front wall and pulled down the newest-looking pair. As to a wagon, he had no such choice.

The only one inside was a large, two-wheeled cart, but it was not large enough. As the only vehicle, it made little sense for a place so near the docks, and there were six horses and multiple harnesses.

Chane stepped back outside and circled the stable all the way to the alley at the alcove’s back. Just around the left side, he found a large wagon in the alley and hurried over to inspect it.

The seat was long and thick. The entire bed was walled with planks that had outer brackets for lashing a tarp over cargo. Folded canvas was stacked in the back. It was perfect, except for two things.

The front left wheel was chained down to an iron ring embedded in the alley’s cobble. Chane decided to wait on breaking that until he was fully ready to leave. The other problem became evident as he walked back to the stable’s rear door.

To harness the horses, he would have to lead them out to the wagon. He had expected to be able to do so inside, and then open the main front doors and drive off. Now he would have to harness two horses, one by one, in the open. If he was seen at this time of night, someone might question what he was doing.

He had no further options except to search elsewhere, hoping for something more accessible, but that seemed unlikely. Besides, once he was off, even if someone found the wagon and horses missing at dawn, they would not likely trace it to a caravan station with wagons and teams of its own. He simply needed to hurry and finish without being seen.

Chane piled the harnesses on the wagon seat and returned to lead the black gelding out. It followed him without protest, and he harnessed the animal quietly. When he hurried back into the stable for the bay mare, she nickered softly as he took her halter.

“Shhhh,” he murmured, stroking her velvet nose.

She followed him out, and he backed her into position beside the gelding. As he buckled down the last of her harness, the barest creak carried through the quiet alley.

“Is someone there?” a masculine voice called.

Chane slipped around the wagon and flattened against the building’s backside.

Footsteps followed, and a stocky man with a dark beard and tied-back hair, both traced with gray, came around the alcove’s corner. He stopped, spotting Chane immediately. At first, he appeared more surprised than concerned. Perhaps theft was not common here.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and when Chane did not answer, his expression clouded. “Don’t you move!”

In another breath, the stable keeper would shout for the authorities.

Chane bolted along the building’s side, but before he reached the corner, the man ducked back out of sight. Chane rounded into the alcove, and the tines of a pitchfork drove for his face. He twisted to the side, though an outside tine slid along his temple.

A slight sting rose as the skin beneath his hair split. He grabbed the fork’s base with his left hand, and another tine’s tip scraped along his wrist. When he struck out, his right fist caught the stable keeper on the cheekbone. The heavy man toppled backward through the open rear door as Chane jerked the pitchfork away.

And the beast inside of him struggled to awaken.

Chane stood staring as the man stirred limply just inside the doorway. All he wanted was another kill, another true moment as it should be. Perhaps it would be his last chance. No one would know, even Wynn, except ...

Even the beast seemed only dully piqued, as if groggy from dormancy. In its strange complacency, reason plagued Chane.

Once he returned to the caravan station, they would not leave straight off. A stolen wagon was one thing; a dead man was something else. It might bring a more thorough search for a perpetrator.

The beast inside of him suddenly became more aware, and wailed in frustration.

Chane bit down, but there was nothing between his teeth. He could haul the body away in the wagon, dump it along the shore where it would take longer to discover, and return safely to Wynn.

He still hesitated, for Wynn had forbidden him to kill any sentient being.

No ... she had forbidden him to kill in order to feed.

Chane had struggled and fought with himself to follow her wishes. Even if he left the stable keeper alive but unconscious, the moment the man woke, he would raise the alarm.

The beast within him wobbled as it rose. Shaking off some lethargy, it lunged to the limits of its chains.

Chane reached down and grabbed the man’s head in both hands. With one quick wrench, he broke the stable master’s neck. The man’s body tensed once all over and went slack upon the stable’s straw.