SILAS HAD BEEN PREOCCUPIED for the previous several months. He had begun to leave the graveyard for days, sometimes weeks, at a time. Over Christmas, Miss Lupescu had come out for three weeks in his place, and Bod had shared her meals in her little flat in the Old Town. She had even taken him to a football match, as Silas had promised that she would, but she had gone back to the place she called “The Old Country” after squeezing Bod’s cheeks and calling him Nimini, which had become her pet name for him.
Now Silas was gone, and Miss Lupescu also. Mr. and Mrs. Owens were sitting in Josiah Worthington’s tomb talking to Josiah Worthington. None of them was happy.
Josiah Worthington said, “You mean to say that he did not tell either of you where he was going or how the child was to be cared for?”
When the Owenses shook their heads, Josiah Worthington said, “Well, where is he?”
Neither Owens was able to answer. Master Owens said, “He’s never been gone for so long before. And he promised, when the child came to us, promised he would be here, or someone else would be here to help us care for him. He promised.”
Mrs. Owens said, “I worry that something must have happened to him.” She seemed close to tears, and then her tears turned to anger, and she said, “This is too bad of him! Is there no way to find him, to call him back?”
“None that I know,” said Josiah Worthington. “But I believe that he’s left money in the crypt, for food for the boy.”
“Money!” said Mrs. Owens. “What use is money?”
“Bod will be needing money if he’s to go out there to buy food,” began Mr. Owens, but Mrs. Owens turned on him.
“You’re all as bad as each other!” she said.
She left the Worthington tomb, then, and she went looking for her son, whom she found, as she expected to, at the top of the hill, staring out over the town.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Mrs. Owens.
“You don’t have a penny,” said Bod. He was fourteen, now, and taller than his mother.
“I’ve got two in the coffin,” said Mrs. Owens. “Probably a bit green by now, but I’ve still got them right enough.”
“I was thinking about the world,” said Bod. “How do we even know that the person who killed my family is still alive? That he’s out there?”
“Silas says he is,” said Mrs. Owens.
“But Silas doesn’t tell us anything else.”
Mrs. Owens said, “He means only the best for you. You know that.”
“Thanks,” said Bod, unimpressed. “So where is he?”
Mrs. Owens made no reply.
Bod said, “You saw the man who killed my family, didn’t you? On the day you adopted me.”
Mrs. Owens nodded.
“What was he like?”
“Mostly, I had eyes for you. Let me see…he had dark hair, very dark. And I was frightened of him. He had a sharp face. Hungry and angry all at once, he was. Silas saw him off.”
“Why didn’t Silas just kill him?” said Bod, fiercely. “He should have just killed him then.”
Mrs. Owens touched the back of Bod’s hand with her cold fingers. She said, “He’s not a monster, Bod.”
“If Silas had killed him back then, I would be safe now. I could go anywhere.”
“Silas knows more than you do about all this, more than any of us do. And Silas knows about life and death,” said Mrs. Owens. “It’s not that easy.”
Bod said, “What was his name? The man who killed them.”
“He didn’t say it. Not then.”