Page 50 of Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

The walk back, Miran seemed to struggle to keep from crying. Hunched in on herself, shoulders slumped, arms in tight, she looked as cowed as a person possibly could. Enid stayed more than an arm’s length away from her. Escort, not captor.

Enid spotted Dak walking across town. Or they spotted each other. He was too far away to call out but raised his hand in greeting. His smile seemed to waver a bit when he spotted Miran with her. Enid tried not to read too much into that. Tried not to spin ways that Dak might be involved with this whole mess. Either he’d lied about being in town when Sero died, or Ariana had.

She answered his wave with a nod and kept going.

“Lived in Pasadan your whole life, then?” Enid asked. A casual question, but it would sound like part of an interrogation. Couldn’t be helped.

“Yeah, I was born here. Fern’s my mother.”

“I don’t suppose there’s ever been an investigation in Pasadan in your lifetime. You ever even seen one of the uniforms?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding quickly. “I’ve been to the fall market in Haven a couple of times. Seen investigators walking around and things. I heard a lot of investigators live in Haven.”

“I live there,” she said. “In a household called Serenity.”

“You do? I mean, that’s nice. I guess.”

“It is,” she said, smiling. “I think Haven has the best fall market, but I’m biased.”

“No, I think you’re right. Not that I’ve seen that many.”

And just like that, they were at the committee house. Tomas was at the doorway, looking particularly stern and enforcer-like. Miran hung back, and Enid gently urged her forward. “Let’s go in, yeah?”

“Hello, Miran,” Tomas said kindly. “Would you like to sit down? Can I get you a glass of water or something else to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she said, achingly polite, and made her way to the chair Tomas had out waiting for her. Enid joined her, taking a second chair. Tomas remained in the doorway, leaning with his arms crossed, casual-like.

Enid turned back to Miran, pausing a moment to gather her thoughts, to study the woman in front of her. Nervous wasn’t the same as guilty. She was pretty certain Miran hadn’t hurt Sero—she didn’t exactly have the physical stature of someone who could knock over a sturdy man eight inches taller than she was. And her feet weren’t big enough to have made those prints in the ground outside the shed. But she might have seen something. And if she was protecting someone—that was a thread to follow.

“I have a few more questions for you about what happened to Sero. Is that all right?”

She nodded, hugging herself even more tightly. She seemed to shrink even more, if possible. Enid would have to step cautiously.

“A witness saw you at his house the morning he died.”

Her eyes widened; she glanced away quickly. “Who said that?”

“Were you there? Did you talk to him?”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“Not saying you did. I’m just asking if you were at his house, and if you were, what you talked about.”

“We hardly talked at all. I was hardly there—”

“And?” The girl must have been having trouble gathering scattered thoughts. Enid wanted to press, to see what fell out of the confusion before she could get her story straight.

“Fern kept asking me to go there; I’m the youngest, so I get the chores no one else wants. It’s not like anyone else was too busy; it’s just I’m the youngest . . .”

“Why did she ask you to go?”

“She liked his work. She kept asking him to do work. And then when we had extra food, baked an extra pot pie or curry or whatever, she’d send me over with it for him. I was just a messenger; that’s all it was.”

Such a simple, commonplace job should not have inspired so much anxiety, but Miran was twisted up, hugging herself, eyes red.

“Are you sure there isn’t more to it?” Enid asked gently.

Miran bit her lips, took a long, shaking breath. And she said, “I think she was going to ask him to join the house, to join Sirius—she felt sorry for him, being out there alone. But none of the rest of us wanted him. We didn’t want him but she kept pushing, and I even think it made him uncomfortable. But Fern wouldn’t know that because I was the one who had to stand there, and he couldn’t even say thank you, he stuttered so badly—”

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