Page 72 of Beyond the Grave
"As was I," I said. "But I wouldn't of stealed a horse from under your nose now, would I?" I let my slum accent come through, playing it up a little to remind him that I had been no different to those children only a few short months earlier.
Gus was too busy watching the children to notice.
"How up to date is the information about Lela?" I asked Lincoln as we followed the track into the camp.
My first glimpse at the ministry's archives had been a revelation. Centuries of investigations had been meticulously recorded, with anyone suspected of possessing a magical talent noted down and filed away. It wasn't just names and addresses, but also the type of magic they possessed, the names of immediate relations, and a note on how harmless they were deemed to be. Most of the records were old, the subjects deceased, but Lela's entry had been added relatively recently.
"It's several years old," Lincoln said, as he scanned the crude dwellings.
"Do you think she still lives here through the winter?"
"Gypsy groups follow the same pattern of travel every year, going to the same farms in the summer and returning to the same camps in winter. If Lela's still alive, she should be here."
"And if she's dead?"
"We'll have to look for Buchanan elsewhere."
A group of burly men emerged from between the tents like a slow moving tide and blocked our route. They wore long coats that had probably once been black or rich brown but were now faded to gray and a muddy dun. Some were hatless, one wore a cap and another a broad brimmed hat more suited to a farmhand. Bushy moustaches and beards did nothing to hide their angular cheekbones and the undisguised challenge in their eyes.
I shuffled closer to Lincoln and glanced over my shoulder at Seth and Gus. They watched us from the coach, hands hovering near their waistbands where their weapons were stowed.
"We're looking for a woman known as Lela," Lincoln said. He opened his palm to reveal several coins.
One of the men reached for the money but Lincoln snapped his hand closed. He arched a brow in lazy inquiry.
"What d'you want wiv 'er?" the man in the cap asked in a thick accent.
"My friend is missing and I have reason to believe he came here to speak with her."
"He ain't here."
"I know, but I wanted to find out if he ever made it or got lost along the way. You are not under suspicion."
The man spoke to his companions in a foreign language. I wondered if it was one Lincoln understood. He gave no sign that he did, however, and waited for them to address him again.
"Old Lela be tired," the man said. "Come back tomorrow."
Lincoln dipped into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out more coins.
One of the hatless men scooped them up and the one in the cap jerked his head toward a wagon. "In there."
The large wagon was one of the sturdiest and certainly the brightest in the camp. Crimson curtains covered the windows and the door was painted to match. Panels along the side bore a swirling pattern in deep green with hints of yellow that appeared golden in the beams of sunlight filtering through the clouds.
I stood behind Lincoln as he knocked and felt my skirts shift in a direction opposite to the breeze. Without looking, I thrust out my hand and caught the wrist of the little thief.
"You have to do better than that," I told the lad. He was no higher than my waist with black hair sticking out at all angles from his head and serious eyes that held no fear, only defiance.
"How'd you know?" he asked.
"It takes a thief to catch a thief."
The eyes widened and I winked at him. His jaw dropped and he eyed me up and down as if he were seeing me for the first time. "You never."
The door to the wagon opened and a stooped woman, wearing a faded red scarf over gray hair, regarded us. Even though she stood four steps above Lincoln, she was still only his height. She regarded him closely. At least, I think she did. Her eyes were hard to see, lost as they were amid deep wrinkles.
One of the men who'd followed us said something in the foreign tongue, but Lincoln interrupted him in the same language. The woman, who I assumed was Lela, chuckled so hard her entire body shook. She stepped aside and indicated for him to enter.
Lincoln spoke again and I caught my name amid the sharp consonants and throaty vowels. Lela nodded then disappeared inside the wagon. I followed and Lincoln stepped up behind me.
