soon as he found the treasure.
The dead fish scent grew stronger. Yanko half expected to see the carcass of a seal or other large creature washed up on the beach. Only dried palm fronds littered the sand. A door banged against a wall somewhere in the village, and a creaking noise drifted on the breeze.
Dak led the way toward a dirt road that traveled from the pier to the houses. The scent of death increased as they grew closer to the dwellings, and the uneasy feeling that had been nagging at Yanko grew more prominent. He began to grasp what Dak had meant when he said that the villagers hadn’t left.
Dak pushed at a partially open door with the tip of his rifle. Crows squawked and flew out, and Yanko stumbled back, readying his magical defenses before his mind caught up to his instincts.
“Just some birds,” he whispered to himself, but that didn’t make him feel any better. With the door open, the stench of death increased, and he had to fight the urge to gag.
“Who died in this remote hole?” Lakeo asked, curling her lip.
“This person, for one.” Dak pointed his rifle into the house’s interior.
Surprise flashed across Lakeo’s face. Maybe she hadn’t realized how accurate her question had been.
Yanko doubted he wanted to see the house’s contents, but he leaned close enough to peer around the jamb. A gray-haired woman in a dress dangled from a rope tied to a ceiling beam, her bare feet swaying slightly, disturbed by the crows. Her eyes had been pecked out, and her flesh had started to rot.
The stench assailed Yanko’s nose, forcing him back. He gripped his belly. He did not want to throw up, not in front of Dak, and not in front of Arayevo or Minark, either. They were walking up the beach together, and he waved for them to stay back. It gave him an excuse to take several more steps from the house and the sight—and smell—of the dead woman.
Dak walked into the room.
“Turgonians,” Yanko muttered. Death probably did not bother him at all. Yanko wouldn’t be surprised if there was a Turgonian cologne that mimicked the stench of a battlefield.
Dak soon walked out and moved on to the house across the street. Yanko followed him but paused when he spotted a coconut husk doll lying on the clay tile floor inside the threshold. He stopped and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to come face to face with children strung up from the ceiling beams.
Yanko dropped his chin onto his fist, staring bleakly at the packed earth outside of the house, the stink of death all around him. He didn’t know these people, but he couldn’t help but empathize with them, especially when his own village had so recently been destroyed, his own home burned. He had no idea if his brother and cousins and great uncle and father were alive or dead, and he had no way to get in touch with someone who could tell him.
Dak walked out of the house, shaking his head slightly when he met Yanko’s eyes. He did not say a word, but his grim face spoke for him, saying, Don’t go in there.
Yanko could have kept following him and helped him search, but Dak did not request help, and his face darkened more and more with each home he exited. Yanko walked back out to the beach to where Arayevo and Minark had stopped. Lakeo came with him, her face a few shades paler than usual.
“Are you all right, Yanko?” Arayevo asked.
He shook his head. “Better than the people who live here. Lived here.”
“There’s not some disease that killed everyone, is there?” Minark fingered one of the charms at his waist as he watched Dak stalk from building to building.
Sometimes, Dak came right out, but sometimes he remained inside for longer. Once, he folded a paper as he exited a home. He tucked it into a pocket and continued searching.
“Not unless the disease required them to hang themselves as they died,” Yanko said, haunted by the memory of the woman on the rope.
“People have weird funeral practices,” Minark said. “And weird superstitions to ward off death.”
“Someone came here and killed them. I can’t imagine why.” Yanko considered the beach and the village. There was nothing of great value. Who would have bothered killing these people, and why?
“Why is your bodyguard looking in houses?”
“Searching for clues, I think,” Yanko said.
“Why does he need clues?” A dangerous edge came to Minark’s