Never trust a dead man

[thuylam]

For Selwyn Roweson , the morning the villagers turned on him started the way the night before had ended : He and his father were removing tree stumps from the bit of land they hoped to plant as an additional field next spring . " Because even if you won't be marrying Anora after all , " his father had said , " you'll be getting married sometime , and you'll be needing the extra land . "

Selwyn was inclined to think his father hoped that pulling and hacking at stubborn tree stumps would be enough to drive Anora from Selwyn's mind --- which just went to show how simple parents could be about certain matters .

" Besides , " his father told him , " a wispy little town girl isn't right for farm life . What you need to find yourself is a big , sturdy woman . "

" Big ? " repeated Selwyn , barely able to spare the breath as he wielded the ax at one of the tree roots , sending wood chips flying onto his clothes and into his hair . " Sturdy ? " He himself was of a small build --- and , at seventeen years old , not likely to gain much more height or breadth . The last thing he wanted was a wife bigger and stronger than he was . " Are we talking about a wife or a pair of oxen ? "

" Well , " his father said , as though giving the matter due consideration , " of course , that would be your choice . Oxen are very good at removing tree stumps . On the other hand , their after-dinner conversation is generally mediocre at best , and they can hardly dance at all . Maybe , instead , you could find a girl who's big and sturdy , but not too big and sturdy . "

Selwyn laughed , though mostly with relief that the ax blade had finally split the root .

He put down the ax and picked up the shovel .

The day was unseasonably warm , being that time of year when the autumn leaves have fallen but the winter snow has not , and Selwyn's shirt stuck wetly to his back . He paused , straightening , for a moment's rest and to blow his hair out of his eyes .

That was when he saw the villagers approaching .

" Father , " he said , never for a moment mistaking their intention to be to help dig up tree stumps , for several carried staffs or clubs , and all looked grim .

The last of the smile faded from his father's face , but his voice was jovial as he called out to the dozen or fifteen men approaching . " What is it ? What's wrong ? Tell me we're not at war again . "

It was reasonable query , for --- of all of them --- only Selwyn's father had gone away to be in the king's army , which was how he came so late to marrying that he was almost fifty years old with a son of seventeen . The villagers had turned to him before for help with soldiers that had crossed the border , or with bandits raiding on the road to Saint Hilda's , or --- once --- with two feuding wizards who nearly leveled Orik's tavern trying to settle their differences .

But his father didn't think this was the case ; Selwyn could tell the lightness in his voice was forced .

And any lingering doutbs were ended when Thorne , who was in the lead , called back , " Put down the shovel , Rowe . "

Which was such an odd thing to say no matter why they were here that Selwyn felt a flutter of dread in the pit of his stomach even though Thorne was their neighbor and had farmed the land nearest theirs for longer then Selwyn had been alive .

His father , who before that had had no reason to hold on to his shovel , looked at Thorne and the oncoming crowd appraisingly . He jammed the shovel into the pile of dirt he and Selwyn had dug up from around the latest stump's roots , and rested his arm on top of the handle , where it was still in ready reach .

The villagers stopped , five or six paces away . A shovel's length away .

" Step over here , boy , " said Linton , the miller's nephew , though Selwyn didn't yet know the significance of that .

" Stay , " Selwyn's father ordered , as though Selwyn had no sense at all .

" We just want to talk to him , " Thorne said .

" Fine . Talk , " Selwyn's father said . " His hearing's good . "

Thorne met his stare for several long moments . Then he said , " Farold's dead . Murdered last night in the mill . "

Farold was another of Derian Miller's nephews , Linton's cousin . Selwyn was shocked that someone had been murdered in their quiet community , but not dismayed that it was Farold . Relieved , in fact , that it was Farold and no one else . Pleased , if truth be told , that if it had to happen to someone , it had happened to Farold . But he knew not to let any such thing show on his face . He tried to think nice thoughts only . Farold wasn't all that bad , exactly , he told himself . Farold was better than ....... Well , he was better than sitting down on a tack . He was better than breaking a tooth on a peach pit .

His father asked , " What makes you think Selwyn did it ? "

So much for nice thoughts . Though , in truth , it was the only reason they could be here , looking the way they looked . How could they think he'd kill someone --- even obnoxious , swaggering Farold ? But Thorne was starting right at him , finally addressing him and not his father , asking him , " Did you ? "