Jackson watched as closely as he could from where he hid, scowling as Rodrigo went through all manner of contortions in search of the trail. He edged closer to the hedge as he looked over the tracks. Suddenly he stood up, and looked into the hedge closely, but Jackson had no idea what he was seeing. Rodrigo stood there peering at the hedge, then turned and walked to the other side of the track and looked back. He stood as tall as he could, craned his neck, then sat down on a large rock. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a small flat brass object. He unscrewed a cap from it, raised it to his lips, and drank a quick swallow, his face contorting as he did so. He put the flask away and stared across at the hedge again.
“Jackson. I know you can hear me. I know you are here. Don’t make me look for you, it will just waste time.
“Is this the place where you lost Angstrom?”
Jackson was stunned into silence. How had he given himself away? Or was Rodrigo bluffing? He waited a moment.
Rodrigo was still sitting on the rock, looking at the hedge. It didn’t seem like he was looking this way, so how could he know? He must be bluffing.
With one smooth, fluid movement, Rodrigo straightened, pulled a curved object from his belt, and threw it back down the road. As Jackson watched, the object flew down the road, curved over toward where he was hiding, clipped off a handful of leaves over his head, then continued back to Rodrigo’s waiting hand. It didn’t seem likely he was bluffing. A couple of feet lower and that returning club would have parted his hair permanently.
Jackson waited a moment, weighed his options. It was unlikely he could put any distance between them before Rodrigo threw again, and he obviously wasn’t safe where he was. He stood slowly and stepped out onto the track.
“There you are.” A smile creased his face as Rodrigo looked at his would-be tracker. He had known he was being followed for quite some time, from small irregular sounds he was able to hear between his own footfalls. And he was able to look back and see the clouds of breath in the chill air, faint but there all the same, and always the same distance behind. Who else could it have been?
“Why are you following me? Cranby want you to check up on me?”
Jackson made no answer. He hadn’t thought of this possibility. He had thought he would be undetected and would have the upper hand.
“Fine with me if you don’t answer. I don’t think you came to help me, and I can’t trust you to go away. Tell me where you lost him. I think I see the spot but I don’t see how it happened.”
Jackson walked slowly closer to where the other man stood, holding his club in his hand, tensed but balanced. The truth of it was, he wanted to know what happened as well. He had not had a chance to come back and search for something he might have missed in the heat of the moment. He studied the ground carefully, as Rodrigo had. He marked the tracks, the large and deep ones of the mount Angstrom had ridden, and the smaller ones of the horse he had hired at Cranby’s orders. The larger ones lead to within a few feet of the hedge and then a set of deep impressions and nothing more. It’s as he remembered it, with the horse jumping off into the hedge and the rock wall behind it.
He looked at the wall and the hedge, looked at the ground, back and forth, and then at Rodrigo, with a wild look in his eye. “Do you see? He jumped that way. D’you see it? It’s as I told him, the old fool. He thinks I made it up. What are you going to tell him?”
Rodrigo took a step back and raised his club slightly. Jackson’s eyes glinted, his face hardened, he stood tall, his back straight, and looked Rodrigo in the eye.
“What are you going to tell him? Do you think he’ll want to hear the same story I told him from his new favorite? Oh no, you’ll be on the outs with me, and who’ll take your place?”
Jackson seemed to be raving a bit. He kept looking at the tracks and the wall of rock, and trying to make some sense of it. “What do you suppose happened? Did they go through the rock? There’s no room behind it. I wondered if they had just tumbled over and broken their necks but I see now there’s no room. No room for a horse that size, no room for them at all.”
“Why don’t you head on back, Jackson? There’s nothing more to do here. I’ll look further up the track. You don’t look well. You want to go on back to town. Go on, now.”
“No, I’m fine. I’m just wondering about this. I want to know what I saw. I know what I think I saw but I want to know what I really saw. I don’t know.”
“I’m going to go up the track. Don’t be here when I look back. I mean it. I don’t want you following me. You’re not well and someone is going to get hurt if you stay out here.” He punctuated this last remark by slipping his club into the strap of his knapsack where he could easily reach it. He looked Jackson in the eye and glared at him, willing him to turn and walk away. When he didn’t move, stood staring at the tracks, Rodrigo slowly turned and walked away, listening, watching the shadows on the ground. He heard the scuffle of feet and whirled to see Jackson running away from the wall, then turning to run straight at it. He broke into a run to stop him before he dashed his brains out, and saw him run straight into the hedge, stuck by in the branched by the force of his impact. Rodrigo tried to pull him free but Jackson pushed him away and started climbing to the top of the hedge. The branches were gnarled together and were more likely to trap and hold a hand or foot than offer a foot or handhold. He struggled against the interwoven leaves and branches and inched his way up.
“What are you doing? There’s nothing there. Get down before you get stuck.”
“Go away yourself. You keep looking for them. I know they went this way.”
Rodrigo grabbed Jackson’s foot and pulled it. If anyone was going to deliver the solution to this mystery it was going to be him, not his failed predecessor. He gave a good tug on the booted leg, and Jackson swore and kicked at his head with the other foot. “I’m not coming down. You bugger off. This is mine.”
Rodrigo kept hold of the foot and twisted the other man’s leg, to force the other kicking foot away and to force Jackson to loosen his grip. More swearing as Jackson lost a little more height. He turned his body in the same direction as Rodrigo was twisting the leg, being both feet to face his attacked and slammed his boots together on Rodrigo’s hands. With a yelp, Rodrigo dropped his hands and stepped back away out of range, squeezing his hands between his thighs as he watching Jackson turn and resume his climb. He was close to the top now, reaching for the top branches and fumbling for footing where the branches were thinner and less able to bear his weight.
Rodrigo pulled his club once more and threw it at Jackson’s right hand as he reached for a branch and heard a sharp crack as it hit and bounced free. Jackson threw his arm and slumped over, leaning into the hedge.
“You broke my arm, you idiot. I’ll kill you!” Rodrigo’s aim had been true. The hand hung limply from the wrist and the arm was swelling. He wrenched himself to a sitting position, as best he could, and reached behind his back. The hand came back with a throwing knife, double-ended, balanced and honed to go right through its target. Jackson scrambled to climb backwards and get closer to the top so he could extend his arm fully. Rodrigo dropped into a crouch to make himself as small a target as possible, and reach for his own weapon. A simple club wasn’t going to do it. If Jackson thought this was worth killing over, so be it. He pulled out a short, heavy but razor sharp throwing blade of his own, triangular and similar balanced. Its weight and shape were made for cutting and penetration. As he saw Jackson extend his height and draw back his arm, he leapt to one side and dispatched the blade all in one motion. Jackson’s arm went back and stopped as the bladed crashed into his chest. His feet struggled to keep his balance, he stopped to the top of the hedge, fell backward and disappeared.
One boot, caught in the tangle of branches, fell to the path. There was nothing more.