Chapter 7: The Hunter's Trailer

"You are not going into town," Haldane said.

It was five in the morning.

He sat on the edge of the bed in nothing but his bandage, looking at me.

I was pulling on my boots.

"I know that hunter's face," I said.

"You said you didn't."

"I said I didn't know his name. I've been lying here for three hours thinking about it, and I've seen him before."

I tied the lace.

"He had a bluetick hound last spring. Torn dewclaw, bad temper, paid cash. His file is in the clinic."

Haldane went still.

"The man who shot me knew your clinic."

"The man who shot you chose it," I said. "Which means he chose me."

His jaw worked.

"I will go with you."

"You'll tear that shoulder open and spend the day in my uncle's waiting room bleeding on the magazines."

"Tavia."

"I'm not asking, Haldane. I'm telling you where I'm going, so you don't hear it from someone cruel."

A flicker of something went over his face when I used Osmond's phrase.

Then he nodded once, short.

"Osmond goes with you. And you are back by dark."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Do not call me that in this room."

I kissed him, fast and hard, and left before I could change my mind.

Osmond drove a dented green pickup.

"Rented," he said, when I raised an eyebrow. "From a man in Darby who owes the king a favour."

The clinic was dark when we got there.

Mort's truck was gone from the lot.

My stomach dropped, and then I saw the note on the door in his block capitals: AT THE HARDWARE STORE. BACK AT 8.

He had not noticed I was missing.

I did not know whether to be relieved or hurt.

I let myself in, and the smell of floor cleaner and wet dog hit me.

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