Vixen Hunted (10 page)

"So you are a
regular visitor here? I just entered the convent a year ago." Sister Tera
adjusted her habit.

"Is Evelyn
well?"

The nun missed a step.
"Evelyn is…she is as well as she can be. Wait! Are you…"

Timothy nodded.

Sister Tera clasped her
hands. Her large brown eyes crinkled with a joyful smile. "God be praised.
Perhaps you can help. She has been calling for her son. The poor woman needs a
little peace."

Timothy sighed. Time
did not touch many things here.

"I have heard all
about you, Timothy. Mother Mae speaks highly of you," the nun said.

"She doesn't talk
about…no, never mind."

"Here is your
room. Please see your mother as soon as you are able. Even the abbess cannot
ease her mind." Tera glanced down at Cat.

"She will go to
the stable. You only need to open the door and point it out."

"Baa!"

"Uh, okay,"
Sister Tera said.

Cat fell in beside the
nun. Sister Tera glanced over her shoulder. "Your timing can only be God's
will. Please enjoy your rest."

The guest room
contained a simple bed and a small table. Dry towels were folded neatly beside
the simple washbasin. Timothy stripped and dried the rain off of his skin,
changing into a set of gray clothes in the wardrobe and hanging his wet
clothing to dry. He flung himself onto the crisp bed. Outside the rain
continued to play the roof tiles. His legs ached from the walk. He yawned.
Maybe a small nap was in order. It felt good to be home.

A knock thumped Timothy
from his doze. The door cracked open, and Sister Tera pushed her head through.
Her eyes held the wooden floor. "Sorry to bother you. The abbess wants to
speak with you."

"I will be right
there." As much as Timothy would rather sleep, he knew Aunt Mae would want
to see him immediately. He stifled another yawn and stepped out into the hall.
Sister Tera waited with her hands clasped in front of her.

"Did Cat give you
any trouble?" Timothy noticed a few other nuns were in the hallways now.
Several familiar faces smiled at him or regarded him with surprise.

"Cat?"

"The lamb."

"No, she did
exactly what you said. I just had to point at the stable, and she scampered
right over. Cat. What a strange name for a lamb." Sister Tera started down
the hall. "This way."

"You don't know
the half of it."

"Good to see you
Timothy!" Sister Margie said. She looked plumper than Timothy remembered.
"I heard one of our guests might be you. Come over and visit, won't you?
We will have your favorite tea. I must know what you have been up to since I
last saw you."

"I will, but I am
afraid I am as boring as ever. Not much happens in a year, Sister Margie,"
Timothy said.

The short walk to Aunt
Mae's office took a lot longer than it normally would. Every nun in the abbey
must have crammed themselves into that hall. But then, it was like that
whenever Timothy visited.

"Even Sister
Margie likes you!" Sister Tera said. "I can't get her to say much to
me."

"That is what
happens when you grow up in a house of aunts." Timothy stopped at Aunt
Mae's door. He tapped the wood. Aunt Mae still got on him if he did more than
lightly tap a knock.

"Come in."

A small fire crackled
in the hearth of the simple room. Timothy froze. Kit already sat at the desk,
sipping a small cup of tea. She wore clothing similar to the nun who shared the
room, the same gray tone Timothy wore. Somewhere Kit found a white head scarf.
Aunt Mae leaned on her worn desk.

"It is good to see
you, Timothy!" She wrapped Timothy in a hug. Sister Tera closed the door
just as Sister Wanda passed in the hall. Sister Wanda would care little if Aunt
Mae wanted to speak with Timothy. The old nun would have hauled him from the
office to pester him about whatever plant she had newly discovered.

"Aunt Mae, it's
been a while!" Timothy returned the hug.

Aunt Mae squeezed
Timothy one more time before pointing a finger at his nose. "Mother Mae,
deary."

She clapped her hands
and pointed to a chair beside Kit. Timothy took his seat, remembering how she
used to do that when he was young and causing trouble.

"So, Timothy, what
brings you to us? Not living in sin with this beautiful girl, are you?"
The corners of her mouth betrayed her stern tone.

Timothy groaned and
turned to Kit. "Just what did you tell her?"

"Yes, yes, deary.
We can't have that. I will just have to marry you right off and work on a
penance besides." The abbess clasped her hands behind her back.

"Aunt Mae…"
Timothy couldn't help a whine entering his voice.

Aunt Mae turned and
held up a finger. "
Mother
Mae. I am of a mind to see you married or
put on the frock. You cause too much trouble otherwise."

The abbess winked at
Kit. "He always had an eye on the pretty girls. He would do all kinds of
pranks to break the modesty of the young nuns."

Kit laughed. "He
is still trying to look up frocks."

"That is why it is
best we marry him now before he causes himself more trouble, yes? He never was
meant for the cloth. You seem a willing one, daughter. From what we talked
about, you seem more than capable."

"Just what did you
two talk about?" Timothy poured himself some tea.

Aunt Mae smiled.
"I am only looking out for the welfare of a wayward son."

"No need to pout,
Timmy." Kit sipped her tea.

"It is sometimes
wise to tell someone no." Aunt Mae sat down at the desk and folded her
hands. "But you never could tell anyone in need no."

"He is too good
natured," Kit said.

"He is." The
abbess held the steaming teacup. "So you have given up shepherding?"

"I wasn't much of
a shepherd." Timothy shrugged and felt the scar on his shoulder pull.

"You always were
more comfortable with books and ink than anything else. I still have a few of
your rather naughty drawings." Aunt Mae rounded the desk and settled into
her chair.

"Naughty
drawings?" Kit perked up.

"He didn't just
want to peek under frocks. He liked to draw as well. I still use some of the
drawings to teach the young nuns about being discrete. The boy was good at
drawing and better at hiding." The abbess opened a drawer and rifled
through it.

Timothy closed his eyes
and took a breath. He knew better than to protest. It only egged her on. He
smiled and shook his head. Some things did not change.

A piercing wail slashed
the quiet.

Timothy's smile died on
his lips. Some things never changed.

Kit's ears strained
against the head scarf. Timothy hoped Aunt Mae did not notice how much the
scarf moved. Kit's red hair stood up in a few places. "What is that?"

"Here they
are." The abbess produced a couple of papers. "Oh, that is just
Timothy's mother, deary." She handed the drawings to Kit. "She does
this most nights. Most of us are used to it now." Aunt Mae sighed. "I
cannot do anything to comfort her anymore. It has been a long time since I
could."

The wailing stopped.
Kit's ears settled. Timothy's frayed nerves did not. He was home, but home was
not always comforting.

"These are
actually pretty good." Kit looked at Timothy. "Considering these are
nuns, they are rather naughty."

"See why we need
to get this poor boy married?"

Kit bobbed her head.
"I do, Mother. Few could handle him."

"Stop it!"
Timothy had had enough. He stood up. "If you just called me here to—"

The wail returned.

"I need to
go," he said. His shoulders slumped. He needed sleep.

"Deary, you can
stay as long as you want. Just be sure to visit your mother before you go. It
will do you both good. And you are welcome to use the library to find this
girl's home. Yes, she already told me that is why you are here." Aunt Mae
smiled. "You always needed a reason to visit, as if visiting wasn't reason
enough. I've missed you, deary. A year is too long."

The lonely, mournful
wail chased Timothy from the room.

Timothy breathed vellum
comfort. The scent of books reminded him of childhood, and the silence calmed.
Kingdoms sold for less than the abbey library's worth—the humble leather-bound
books belied their expense. The vellum had to be dried, the leather stretched.
Then, a scribe spent hours copying the letters. Timothy smiled. He missed
copying books and drawing illuminations. Why did he give books up for
shepherding? Looking back, he felt silly for his wanderlust. But then, he felt
the same way every time he visited this little leather-lined heaven.

Kit snored into the
book she used as a pillow.

A few holes gaped on
the heavy shelves—their occupants probably in the next room, being worked on.
Sister Margerite and Sister Tessa worked in the next room. Despite being old
when Timothy had first left, their hands remained agile, and many of the
leather volumes held the nuns' graceful writing.

Timothy settled into
the familiar wooden chair, its worn cushion significantly thinner than the last
time he sat on it. He flipped the pages of the book in front of him. The
cramped writing certainly was not of the sisters. He yawned. The book recounted
the Inquisition's victories over demons, but did it have to be so boring?
Couldn't the writer tell the story instead of drone? He could almost hear the
stiff voice behind the text.

The abbey owned many
similar proclamations sent by the Inquisition Office. Most of them were equally
dull. The Inquisition liked to brag and have bishops brag for them. He turned
another page and read about the Inquisitors cutting down an entire forest of
demon trees. He wondered if trees could be demonic. If the Inquisition bragged
about that, they would certainly brag about finding a race of fox demons. He rubbed
his eyes and turned the page.

The chair creaked.
Timothy reread the cramped writing. This was it!

But it was also
terrible.

Timothy rubbed his
eyes. Kit cut off a snore and shifted. She had insisted on joining him, but it
seemed she could read very little. Still, to be able to read and write anything
at all amazed Timothy. Where did she learn? Other than nuns and nobles, few
women were able to read even a single letter.

The proclamation filled
half the page. The text claimed that hunters had collected 250 fox tails and
200 pairs of ears. Timothy remembered Sister Sybil clucking her tongue over
numbers. They were almost always padded. He scrawled notes with his other hand
on a slip of yellowed paper. Timothy frowned at the numbers. Even if they were
padded, they made little sense. Why would there be fewer pairs of ears compared
to the number of tails?

Kit darkened the page
under her head with drool, and Timothy shook his head. Was she a demon? She
could be evil at times. No, that was not fair. She was witty and cunning but
not malicious. Strangely, he didn't regret helping her, despite her acid
tongue. Sometimes it was even fun dealing with her quips. In a way, he liked
her.

He leaned back in the
chair and held up the note. How could he tell her? The entire village killed?
Timothy did not doubt the Inquisition tried. Who else would chop down an entire
forest to make sure a supposedly man-eating tree was killed?

Kit's ears flicked
beneath her green head scarf. Today she wore the clothes Abel gave her. Kit yawned,
opening her eyes and looking at the book. "At least it makes a decent
pillow. What is wrong, Timothy? You look pale." Genuine concern filled her
voice.

Timothy blinked. He
expected some smart remark. Come to think of it, she had not teased him since she
had spoken with Aunt Mae. Whatever she and Aunt Mae had spoken about left her
on her best behavior. What could that mean? "It is nothing. I…I think I
have just been reading too much."

Kit frowned at the
ceiling. Rain still pattered outside. "Lack of sunlight isn't good. I am
beginning to believe the dry is better than the wet. It has been three
days."