4

With his belly full, Mick left the Sunny Café and headed out of town and to the Tillwright farm, where he found three of the Tillwright siblings already hard at work. Samantha and Jane were in the wheat fields, while Jonathan was working the water pump and filling up a huge bucket. They’d probably been up before the birds. Mick sometimes thought he had it hard, but farmers didn’t rest, not even on Yulthor day.

At the farmhouse door he gave the guard’s knock – three loud and steady raps. Authoritative ones. A huge part of being a guard was projecting authority, and this went all the way down to the little details, like how you announced yourself at someone’s home. Mick had practiced his guard’s knock on his own door, with Ma standing behind it and giving him tips on how to improve.

Alister Tillwright answered the farmhouse door. Now, this was a clever fella, if ever there was one. If he wasn’t a decent sort of guy, you’d have had to keep an eye on Alister. He could tie you up in an argument quick as you could blink. Mick saw him in the library all the time. Usually, he was nose-deep in a book about irrigation or animal husbandry or something like that. Alister’s younger brother Jonathan, was the opposite. He liked to ‘farm by his instincts,’ whatever that meant.

“You left me a note,” said Mick.

“Come in, come in,” said Alister, stepping aside.

It shamed him a little, that people had to leave a note with Connor Perry at the post office to report crimes and other things that needed a guard’s help. The trouble was, Sunhampton didn’t even have a guard station. The Easterly Guard Commission allocated funding according to crime rates, and Sunhampton didn’t even register on the graph. Hence, he was lucky to get even a handful of gold toward expenses.

“Beans or leaves?” Alister asked him.

“I’ll take a coffee, please,” said Mick.

“Sit yourself down.”

Mick took a seat at the farmhouse table. While Alister poured coffees, he placed his notepad and pen down in front of him. He flicked through it to find some blank space.

“Here you go,” said Alister. “That’ll dust the cobwebs off.”

“Thanks. Your note said something about a pig?”

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Alister nodded, his expression changing from one second to the next. Mick had never seen a fella go so pale, so quickly.

“It’s Rohan. He’s gone. Someone’s made off with him.”

“A pig named Rohan?”

Alister nodded.

Mick had never heard of a pig being given a name like Rohan before, but this wasn’t the time to say such a thing. Not with Alister looking so grim. Crimes in Sunhampton were never as serious as they were in a city like Full Striding, but it was important to remember that they were important events in the lives of the poor people they happened to. He always treated every crime and every victim with the respect they deserved.

“What’s Rohan look like?”

Alister described the pig like someone might describe a missing friend. Mick scribbled shorthand in his notepad.

“You keep Rohan in a pen at night?” he asked.

Alister nodded.

“Any sign of damage?”

“He didn’t escape, if that’s what you’re asking. The pigpen was fine. No sign of tampering.”

“I’ll take a look all the same, if you don’t mind.”

“But I just said-”

“Alister,” said Mick, in his most soothing voice. “I know this is stressful, which is why I want to be thorough. Even if it means me raking over old ground.”

“Someone took Rohan two nights ago. I really shouldn’t have had to wait so long.”

“My apologies, Mr. Tillwright.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“You can only spread a knob of butter so thin,” said Mick. “If I had my way, Sunhampton would have a permanent, full-time head of guards. As it stands, I work my arse off at my job, and then no sooner have I put my arse back on, than I work it off again after hours trying to keep our town nice and crime free, like it should be.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just-”

Mick smiled softly. “Don’t worry yourself. Just tell me everything I need to know about Rohan, and I’ll see what I can do.”

It turned out Rohan wasn’t just any old pig. He was a prize pig – or at least, the Tillwrights hoped he would be. They were training him to hunt for truffles competitively, and he was showing real promise. Alister hoped Rohan might even compete in the upcoming Jerkins Farm Games. Maybe even place in the top three and score them a free plow as a prize.

Normally, a savvy person would have insured a pig that showed such potential. Only made sense to do so, Mick thought. The Tillwrights, however, had had a real struggle turning their late pa’s farm around. Alister told Mick that they got their accounts done by Jester Hugill, and he had only very recently started using black ink when totaling up theirs.

Mick hated seeing an honest person take a hit. He would have put all his effort into solving this matter anyhow, since he’d sworn to do so as the head of Sunhampton’s guards. But he liked the Tillwrights, he liked pigs, and he hated folks who thought they could just take things for free. Whatever had happened to poor Rohan, Mick would find out.

After asking Alister everything he could think of, he added just one more line to his notepad.

The Mystery of the Missing Pig

With that, he finished his coffee – cursing himself for leaving it to get too cool – and told Alister he’d call by soon, hopefully with some news about Rohan. He made sure not to promise, however. That was one thing every guard or sleuth in Easterly would agree on. Never make a promise.