“You stay inside all winter?” Gabriel’s voice was politely incredulous, and Isobel could tell from the set of his hip and shoulders that the very idea was near making him shudder. Isobel looked around the town—it was pleasant enough, if quiet, but the flat-log walls they’d passed through suddenly seemed to loom overhead, blocking out the sky. She thought she understood a bit of his revulsion at the idea, though she’d never ventured far from Flood either when the weather turned cold. But then, she’d never ventured much farther than the creek when the weather had been fine, either.
“We’re lively enough, come snow-months,” Lou said as the two men pulled the ropes over their shoulders and began to haul the sledge away, Gabriel walking alongside to ensure the bodies didn’t fall off. “Once everyone’s tucked back inside. And there’s always work to be done. You want a hide or fur, Andreas’s the place to find it. No quality better.” She seemed to suddenly recollect herself and gave an apologetic smile.
“Now your man’s sorting the prisoners, let’s get your animals stabled, and then I can show you the ward posts, yah?”
The stable was more of an open shed, the roof low and the walls slanted, with a coarse rope net in place of a door, but the roof and walls seemed sturdy enough, and it was dry and cool within, with two shaggy brown dogs curled up in the corner who came out, tails wagging, when they led the animals in, showing no alarm at these strangers invading their space.
And, Isobel acknowledged, even though the rope gate wouldn’t hold any of them, least of all the mule, if they wanted out, the entire town was enclosed; there wasn’t far they could get to.
“Just turn ’em loose,” Lou said, making a wide gesture with her arm. “We’ve only a few animals here right now, so they’ve roam of the place.”
Isobel made short work of untacking the animals, stacking their gear on a low wooden platform, then making sure they had fresh feed and water. “Someone’ll come by and haul your gear to wherever you’ll be staying for the night,” Lou said, watching Isobel work. “Come on, then.”
Isobel gave Uvnee a final scratch under her ear and a promise of fresh carrots if she could find any, before following the other woman back outside.
“Nearest one’s this way,” Lou said, and started walking, not looking back to see if Isobel was following. “So, you’re from Flood, hey? What’s it like?”
Isobel shrugged, not sure what the woman expected. “Same as any, seems like. People, buildings, problems.”
“More problems than most, being that close to the Master of the Territory.”
“I suppose?” Nobody had ever asked her that before. “It’s not . . . People tend to be quiet about their problems,” she said. “They come and they go, but you don’t exactly know why they came or what they leave with. That’s their business. And when you live there . . .” She tilted her head, then shrugged. “He’s just the boss, is all.” She’d never known anything else, to compare.
“Ahuh.” Lou didn’t seem convinced, but Isobel pushed the question back to the other woman. “And Andreas? You’ve lived here long?”
“Born here. Left for a bit, did some trapping along the north side of the border, stayed with my father’s people for a bit too, but then I came back. The Territory doesn’t like to let go for long, yah?”
“So I’ve been told,” Isobel agreed, most of her attention turning to the houses they were approaching. They were low to the ground, hewn wood above stone, with a stone chimney rising from the middle of each building, more solid-looking than anything she’d seen before, as though they intended to squat there until the mountains fell down. The chimney reminded her of the homesteading they’d stopped in months ago, where a thick hide covered a hole in the roof where the cooking smoke escaped. If the winters were as harsh as the marshal’d said, she imagined being able to circle around a stove, rather than having it at the other side of the room, would be useful in keeping warm.
The buildings were otherwise unremarkable, although Isobel couldn’t exactly say that Flood had been any prettier; there was no reason to paint or prettify if the wind and rain would take you back down to grey again. In all the places she’d seen, Patch Junction had been the exception, with its paint and flowers and trying to be something it wasn’t.
That thought made her frown. She had liked Patch Junction. It was busy and bright, and full of bustle, built on an old crossroads, Gabriel’d said; the original settlers had cleared the crossroads and built a trading post into a real town, with farms circling around it. So why now did simply thinking of it fill her with unease?
She shook the feeling off with an effort. Too long on the road, too long not seeing anything other than trees and rocks and the back of Gabriel’s head. That was all.
“Back here,” Lou said, leading her between two of the houses. “Here’s the first post.”