THIEF OF BREAN (VOL-1)|✓

SCARLET SCREAMS- XXVII

The stack of triangular shaped mirrors stacked like a pyramid crumbled when Carl touched one of the faces.

"Splendid," he muttered.

There was a bowl of ash-like powder next to it. Even from far he could smell its acridness. He poured some of it into his pocket. To the corner of the rickety table were the rushlight and the damned candle lantern that Osanne had been running around with like a lunatic the other night. Carl straightened his head that still felt a bit heavy and sighed.

Seeing that the surveillance put on Balin Grey did not get him any worthwhile information, he had finally decided to question Osanne about the Sentinel. But Osanne was not there. The cabin was left unlocked, allowing Carl to explore the place.

Among other things made of coarse wool and ratten was the wooden chest. Carl worked his paperclips into the padlock hanging at the lock latch and clicked it open. It was same as he had seen the last time, packed with books, iron scripture coins and hemp pouches.

The pouches contained dried leaves that smelt citrusy. Perhaps for keeping off termites, he thought dropping the pouch back and moved to pick his favourite—the green colored decanter. The solution inside gave off a strange grassy smell. He had no idea what kind of cidar smelled like grass.

Carl rummaged inside the chest for free decanters. Finding none, he wandered off to the shelves behind stuffed with more books and rattan baskets, and then to the kitchen. There, he grabbed a small decanter half filled with salt, emptied and rinsed it before filling it up with the cidar.

Hearing voices across the wide window, Carl hurried back to the front room, plonked the green decanter into the chest and shut it close. When he slipped into the neighbouring room the voices reached the front door. Carl peeped out to catch the slightest glimpse of Balin Grey stepping in through the door.

"Os-anne?" he called out.

Carl craned his neck to take a peek again. Balin was pensive, studying the various things lying on the rickety table. Old Efim faltered behind him, watching the young man in worry. Suddenly, as if remembering something Balin went forward, opened the wooden chest and rummaged inside.

Carl inched his head behind the cover of the wall and stood there for some time.

"Os-anne!" Balin yelled again. His voice was inching impatience. "She can't be serious," he grumbled.

The old man wheezed. "Oh yes, she definitely is."

Carl heard the boots clack away toward the kitchen. "I told her not to go. She never listens to me." His voice followed the trail.

"You shouldn't have told her about it in the first place," Efim remarked.

The boots traced back to the front room.

Carl leaned in for a peek. Balin was at the door now, "Alright, I am going to the valley," he told the old man as wrapped something around his gloved palms.

"Wait," the old man struggled to speak. But the young Sentinel dashed past him. "It can be dangerous. You cannot—"

"I have seen worse."

His footsteps rustled away into a wave of gentle breeze across the sursurrating wild thicket engulfing the cabin. Carl hurried out. The old man was standing at the door, holding a vacant stare in the direction of Balin's departure. His mouth went agape when he saw Carl and his caned hand began to tremble. His wheezing quickened and lips began to twitch. But no voice came out of his mouth.

"Good Noon," said Carl, already rushing past him.

He hustled after the Sentinel, who was now bolting against the mild afternoon breeze, keeping his head straight ahead, and never sparing a glance to notice his surroundings. He split his way through the breadth of the orchard, toward the stone-built enclosure of the estate.

Noticing Balin slow down nearing the enclosure, Carl went to the covers of an apple trunk. The enclosure wall was built of black basalt rocks. It was almost three times the Sentinel's height. Stopping at its foot, Balin flung an arm up against the slit between the hewn, Basalt and crawled up. Hoisting himself higher, he thrust another palm between the stones. Barefooted, he clambered up and up, alike a lizard. Carl reckoned it was some skill he was taught as a Sentinel, which a sleuth like him could not pull off without breaking some bones.

With that thought, Carl spun and took off in the direction of the main gate. His muscles had begun to cramp up by the time he had reached the gate. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed himself across the plain path that set apart the estate from the rest of the town. Balin had taken the same path around the estate borders to the main road and was already ahead of him.

Vehicles and people emerged to his eyes as he coursed Balin into a three way junction. The Sentinel was hurrying toward a Bloomander-I tri-wheeler parked to the side of one of the roads.

Carl halted as Balin gotinto the tri-wheeler. Gasping for air, he watched the Bloomander make aright-in to the road leading to the Lucan valleys. There was no time to waste.Carl hotfooted to the junction. Getting aboard a taxi as quick as he could, heset about to follow the Bloomander.