The Stables at Night

The passengers returned to the town square at four o'clock.

Their inspection was incomplete; an outlying parcel of crown woodland six kilometers to the north required a personal visit before dusk.

Wallace cranked the engine. It caught on the second pull, and they rumbled out of the town square, leaving a lingering haze of faint blue exhaust over the cobbles.

The six-kilometer run turned into ten.

Fenwick had taken down the wrong landmarks from the town clerk, sending them two miles down a muddy timber lane that dead-ended at an old sheepfold.

Wallace backed the car out using the reverse pedal, grinning over his shoulder at the embarrassed clerk. "They build roads better in the capital, Mr. Fenwick."

"The instructions were poorly drawn," Fenwick muttered, keeping his eyes on his map.

They found the timber lot, completed the measurements, and turned back toward the town as the sky turned the color of bruised iron.