Read Hold The Dark: A Markhat story for Free Online Page A

lives at the sufferance of those who know neither mercy nor shame.”
    Neither mercy nor shame. Hell, that’s half of Rannit. On a good day. And maybe Ethel was merely putting too much stock in a talent he admitted only Hoobin women could truly use.
    But maybe not, whispered the night. You can’t lie in the dark and be rational. No, late in the night, the goblins come out. “What if,” they chant. “What if Ethel did get a glimpse of something, out there in the shadows?”
    Neither mercy nor shame, came the words.
    I thought about all Martha’s things, lined up like little soldiers, waiting for her return. I thought about a tattered stuffed bear, a pillow put carefully under its sad little head. I wondered where Martha was, who kept her there, why they knew neither mercy nor shame.
    Some nights sleep is a long time coming.
     
    Morning came, all rattling wagon-wheels and yelling drovers and sunlight and bustle. I grumbled and stumbled and cut myself shaving.
    I’d barely shambled out to the office when Mama Hog’s short shadow fell over my door. She knocked, once, and then tried the latch.
    “You in there, boy?” she shouted.
    I made it to the door, unlocked it, stepped aside when Mama came trundling past.
    “Where was you last night? I waited for an hour after Curfew.”
    Mama carried a basket. I smelled biscuits and ham and hot coffee, and came to my senses before I made any smart remarks about the Regent’s three daughters and a room at the Velvet.
    “I was working,” I said, motioning Mama to my client’s chair. “Your friends, the Hoobins, found me.”
    Mama sat, plopped her basket down, began to unload it.
    “Figured you was.” She paused long enough to look up at me and grin. “Ain’t them Hoobins a humorous lot?”
    “That Ethel keeps me in stitches,” I said, grabbing a biscuit. “Now why don’t you tell me what you know.”
    There was a biscuit halfway to Mama’s gap-toothed mouth. She looked at me, shook her head and put her biscuit down.
    “I don’t know nothing,” she said, and she sounded ashamed. “Can’t tell you a thing. Don’t know what done happened to that poor little girl.”
    I nearly choked. “What?” I spat. “Not a single cryptic hint? No veiled allusions to fate or destiny?” I wiped my chin. “Mama, do you need a doctor or a new deck of cards?”
    Mama shook her head, sank a little lower in my chair.
    “Hey. I was joking.”
    “I know you was.” She peered back up at me, her tiny black eyes pinpricks behind that mane of wild grey hair. “But the truth is, boy, that I can’t see nothing. Don’t know nothing. I don’t even know if Martha Hoobin is alive or dead. I ain’t never been so blind about anything, boy. Not ever in my whole long life.”
    “You’re serious.”
    “Aye,” she replied. She took in a breath, made herself sit up, brushed her hair back away from her face. “Damned if I ain’t.”
    “If you can’t see Martha what makes you think I can?”
    “Maybe I ain’t lookin’ with the right pair of eyes. Maybe you and your findin’ can go where me and my Sight can’t.”
    I sighed, took a bite, chewed.
    “That isn’t much of a chance,” I said, after a while.
    “I reckon it’s the only one that Hoobin girl has got.” She joined me at breakfast. “You find anything yet?”
    “Just this,” I said, between bites. I pulled the silver comb out of my desk and set it down between us. “Found it in a junk jar on Martha’s dresser. The brothers never saw it before. I think somebody gave it to her, and I think she had reason to dislike him.”
    Mama wiped her lips on her hands and then wiped her hands on a napkin. She reached out and picked up the comb.
    “That’s what you think.”
    I nodded. “Makes sense. It’s an expensive gift. But what’s the old saying? Gold from a pig’s ass will still smell of manure?”
    Mama didn’t laugh. She took the comb in both hands, closed her eyes tight and started shaking and mumbling, right