Page 17 of No Place in Time

Finn checked the pouch at his own belt. It was smaller. Hidden deeper. Still there.

“He didn’t get everything,” Finn said. “But what’s left in my pouch won’t stretch far.”

Cecily’s face reddened. They desperately needed that money, and she had let it slip away. A chorus of noises filled the road—voices, boots, and the creak of carts they could not afford now that her coin purse was gone.

Finn turned away from it. “From now on, we don’t trust anyone,” he said. “And we don’t linger. Understand?”

Cecily nodded, her mouth dry. They turned toward the town and walked on.

Ahead, the road widened toward Faversham’s gate. Soldiers stood there in their leather and mail, stopping carts, checking faces. Cecily had never seen so many armed men in one place. She kept her head down and walked beside Finn in silence, the empty space at her belt where her purse had hung feeling colder with every step.

11

CECILY

1296

They heard the shouting before they reached the town square. It rose above the market din in sharp, angry tones, tinged with fear. Cecily slowed instinctively, but Finn’s hand brushed her arm to keep her moving.

At the edge of the crowd, they saw soldiers. Four of them stood near a wagon, their chain mail dull with grime, their cloaks stained from the road. One held a parchment and read from it in a flat voice, while another dragged a protesting man forward by the arm.

“We’ve naught left,” the man was protesting. “Ye took the grain last month—”

The soldier struck him hard enough to snap his head sideways. The sound cracked through the air with sudden finality.

Cecily and Finn both flinched.

The reading continued as if nothing had happened.

“By order of the Crown,” the man droned, “all who hold land are to give grain, carts, and able men fer the king’s war.”

No one was arguing now.

Cecily’s hands went cold, and she couldn’t quite get a full breath.

“Keep your eyes down,” Finn muttered. “And stop shaking.”

They edged back, but one soldier had already noticed them. He looked straight at Finn, at his height, his shoulders, the strength he could not hide.

“You there,” the soldier said. “How old are ye?”

Finn hesitated only a heartbeat. “Eighteen years.”

“That’ll do,” the man said, stepping forward.

Hands closed around Finn’s arms.

“Finn!” Cecily cried.

He tried to twist away, but the guards held him fast. Another soldier shoved him forward.

“No!” Cecily lunged, but a spear shaft slammed down in front of her, barring her way.

“Back,” a soldier barked. “Unless ye want trouble too.”

“He’s not…” she began wildly. “You can’t—”

“Can,” the man said, already turning away. “And will.”