Chapter Nine

Silo Park had a reputation that was only as good as the day was long. In the bright morning it thrived with parents and their kindlings; starry-eyed human and dragon children, jostling about the flowery walkways, “hand in claw.” But at sundown, hands dealt and claws threatened—fostered by the dim lanterns of Osmond Caswell. At least that was Petra's theory.

True to its name, a forgotten silo stood tall within the park's gates, bearing with pride centuries of "scorch graffiti" and creeping vines. The sun glinted off its silver roof causing Petra to squint through the light. He was scanning the grounds for the mysterious Vida. She'd left so suddenly that he hadn't the mind to ask where in Silo Park she intended to meet. Nor had he committed her appearance to memory.

Just my luck if she chose to take off her green hood, he thought, sourly.

As he leaned his back against the old silo's mossy surface, Petra closed his eyes and tuned into the distant banter of passersby.

Over there:

“He seems nice but his horns are so short—”

And:

“Oh look Margaret! There's a red-crested thistle beak in that tree over there—

And then:

“That guy by the silo is totally gonna get snatched by 'The Walking Bell—” Petra knitted his brow while his eyes remained closed.

Thwimp!

Suddenly, he flinched and looked up. Something like a small pebble had hit him on the head. When he bent to pick it up, he saw that it was an acorn, yet there were no trees above him.

Thwimp, Thwimp!

“Skivv my after!” Petra exclaimed. This time the acorns hurt.

He squinted up at the silo roof, expecting to see a couple of mischief makers. Petra was used to the little pranks played on him by kindlings. In his short time, he'd learned that an officer bore derision like the steady beating of raindrops on the skin.

Most silos had ladders, and this one, though weathered, still held his weight. When he'd scaled the top, he could see no signs of kindlings.

Maybe it's just the squirrels that have it out for me, he wondered.

“Psst! Hey Junior Patrol, in here!” Petra stopped mid-climb and began to question his sobriety. A hand was sticking out of the center hole in the silo's roof and was waving at him.

He'd found her.

Petra peered into the hole. Vida had already climbed down and was sitting crossed-legged on the silo floor. The ground was covered in a soft bed of soil that cushioned Petra's soles when he jumped down onto it.

“Um, might a park bench have sufficed?” he asked. Vida lowered the hood from over her head, revealing a tress of dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

“I'm sorry to put you out of your way—this matter is personal, and I won't take any chances of being heard.”

“It's plenty secure,” noted Petra, easing himself down in front of her. “You could run a fireworks factory in here and no one would notice. I don't understand what's the need for all this secrecy.”

Vida cast her gaze upon a small mushroom poking out of the soil beside her. She plucked it.

“Some life can only survive in the dark. An apothecary grew these. The same apothecary that will take care of your friend.”

“I thought apothecaries only sold cures,” said Petra. “Don't they work differently than physicians?”

“Usually,” Vida replied. “But this one does both. Remedies make him his living, but it's his ability to use them that makes him a rare talent.”

“But Miss Vida, I don't understand how someone as talented as you say could go unnoticed. Here, no less. Our local Whiteflame doesn't seem to know about him, and I haven't heard a breath of gossip at the tavern—till today anyway.” Vida laughed.

“Oh you've heard about him. What do they say about ‘The Walking Bell’”? Petra's eyes widened.

“I've heard The Walking Bell is some deranged shepherd who wanders around the forest at night. And Oldtooth Al, who runs the barter shop across from Crumpettail's, had claimed that a shepherd visits him regularly, but only around closing time.” Vida was listening and nodding along. “Actually, just before climbing up here, some kids were saying I was going to get ‘snatched’ by the Walking Bell—what do you think that meant?”

“That kids are brats, and people fear what they don't understand. Shaemus would never harm anybody.”

“So—this Shaemus, is an apothecary, physician, and a shepherd all at once then.” Vida nodded hesitantly, wondering if she'd let his name slip too soon.

“Listen Petra, I know you have to get back soon, so let me try to explain this story as best I can.

A few years ago, Shaemus passed through my hometown in Southern Mern. I was out in the market with my little sister Elaena; she wanted to look at the flower stands, and I had stepped away for only a moment to pick up a loaf of bread. When I came back—a crowd had formed—and Elaena was on the ground with some scruffy little boy kneeling over her. That boy tried to tell us—” her voice began to waver, “that—my sister had experienced a ‘seizure.’ None of us knew what that meant. Dracians where I live are ripe with ignorance. And as dracians do, they patronized Shaemus and tried to chase him off.” Vida brushed away the moisture in her eyes.

“That must have been hard to see your sister like that. I'm guessing Shaemus still succeeded though, despite their interference?”

“Yes,” Vida rasped. She cleared her throat. “I had to put my foot down about it and that shut them up. Before we all knew it, he'd revived Elaena.”

She turned to Petra suddenly. “He was only thirteen, Petra. It's been four years, so he's about your age now.”

“It's impressive. When I was thirteen, I was still at home doing everyone's laundry. What I would've given to be capable like that—”

“Don't you understand that talent is a burden?” Petra was taken aback. Vida had rounded on him sharply. He thought about his own painful life and wished she realized how much he sympathized.

“As soon as those who witnessed saw that Shaemus was legit, you can guess what they did,” she went on. “They swarmed him, begged him, pleaded, bribed—‘please heal my back, my mother-in-law, my grandpa on his deathbed—’” Vida sunk her fingers into the dirt as she recounted in frustration.

“I know—” soothed Petra. “When people are desperate they only see their own needs.”

“He was a child! Not some miracle worker. When they crowded him he did what any child would do. He ran away!” Petra didn't blame Shaemus. At the moment, Vida was a bit scary and he wanted to run too.

“I think I see the picture now," he said. "You've kept an eye on Shaemus from a distance, and did what you could to help him stay invisible. Spreading rumors included, am I right?”

“What can I say—I never had kids, but he's as much my son as Elaena's my daughter. Shaemus saved my world, it's my duty to preserve his. The quiet world he wants to fill with herbs and sheep.”

Petra took a knee and stood up slowly.

“Something must've changed then. For you to send me to stir up his peace with my problems. What makes you sure Shaemus is willing to go out of his way for us?” Vida stood up too, shaking the dirt off her clothes.

“Cause I can tell deep down that's what he really wants.”

“Someone to help?”

“Yes, but more than that. Someone to love,” she said.

Vida stepped back and bowed toward Petra. “Please forgive me. Its time I confessed to you that my motives were selfish from the start.”

“How so,” Petra blinked.

“I support the life he's living—but he's solitary. Your love for Amber is giving you purpose. That's what he needs. What I need for him—friends who will look after him when I'm gone.” Petra folded his arms.

“I'm ashamed, this really makes me no better than those people I was complaining about. Your needs should take priority, but I just couldn't let the opportunity pass. I thought, maybe this was a chance to help both of you.”

“Vida—

Look at me.

You're not selfish.”

Vida's heart skipped. Petra had a commanding presence that he didn't fully realize. “I can't guarantee that Shaemus will want to be friends. But I promise I will try. Anyone who's willing to help Amber is a friend of mine.”

Vida dried her last bout of happy tears and pulled the hood back over her head.

“All you crazy kids—don't think you'll escape adoption too, Junior Patrol.” Petra chuckled.

“It wouldn't be the first time. I'm blessed to call a lot of dracians family in this town.”

By the end of his break, Petra's mind was fresh with the sequence of directions that would lead to the little house of Shaemus the Shepherd. He felt good. This would work.

“Chawhahaha, you think so? It's my wife's recipe. But my sous-chef, Petra tells me to leave out the peat flakes since humans like the taste better that way. It'll be on the house, pretty lass.”

Petra pushed through the tavern door and stood frozen across from the table in his sight.

“Speak of the devil,” Bronson turned to him. “Petra, why didn't you tell me!” Petra stared at Bronson as if he he'd grown two extra heads. “I may be known to light a fire under the tails of my worthless staff, but I would've given you the day off for the sake of your fiancée!”

At the table sat a girl with cherry oak hair and a cockatrice scar near her eye. She smiled at him, but her eyes were dull with fatigue.

“It's good to see you, dear,” Amber said.