“Andmyanswer is this: the most important thing to know is that no one emerges whole from a harrowing journey when that journey is undertaken entirely alone.”
It was not at all the helpful bit of advice he’d hoped for. It was, however, true to her nature. Still, he had asked his allotted three questions and had answered hers. He felt certain that, were he to not honor their agreement, the consequences would be dire.
“Having obliged me in my requirements, and I in yours, I will release you, and you will permit me to go on my way.”
“As agreed,” she said.
His heart pounded, but he trusted Sorcha’s knowledge of these things. He lowered his arms so theBean-Nighe’s feet touched the ground once more. He released his hold on her and stepped back. She picked up the shroud she had dropped when he’d grabbed her, and she returned to her washing, muttering to herself and not looking at him.
He hadn’t thought to ask Sorcha if he was required to keep looking at theBean-Nigheas he made his way back. It seemed best to do so rather than risk being wrong.
He walked carefully backward away from the loch, over the rise, and out of sight of the Washing Woman. Onlywhen he was certain she could no longer see him, and already knowing he could not see her, did he truly breathe again.
Water from the mouth of the gargoyle in the churchyard at Carrifran.
Duncan did not know where that journey would take them, but he suspected the danger was far from over.
Chapter 12
My family is looking for me.
That single sentence had struck fear deep into Barnabus’s heart, and he was seldom frightened by anything. The Kincaids inspired horror in most anyone who knew them. That they had joined forces with the Mastiff changed everything.
Barnabus rushed toward the DPS headquarters. The Donnellys lived near enough that he could make the journey on foot. His rushed walk took him past the place where most of Fletcher’s urchins spent their days. It was a benefit in that moment; Barnabus needed to get word to Fletcher to meet him at headquarters.
Fortunately, it wasn’t very late in the day, and many of London’s street children were still about. Barnabus kept his eyes peeled, hoping to see one he knew was part of Fletcher’s network.
Fate seemed to be on his side: Henry, an eight-year-old bootblack who often whispered things to Fletcher, stood on a corner, his shoeshine kit tucked firmly under his arm.
“Care for a shoeshine, guv’nuh?” Henry asked.
“If I toss you a half-crown, would you give a shoeshine to a friend of ours when next you see him?”
Henry nodded. “If I think of it.” Though he gave no indication he understood Barnabus’s request, there was no doubt he did.
“Any chance you’ll see our bloke sooner rather than later?”
Henry tossed his satchel over his shoulder. “Could be. He lingers about this corner now and then.”
“His shoes are in urgent need of shining.”
Henry gave a single, quick nod. Though the boy casually sauntered off, Barnabus knew he could be counted on to see to the matter urgently. Barnabus continued his path to the DPS headquarters.
The front door was unlocked when he arrived, a sign that Nolan was at his post. The man lived at headquarters, making his room in what would have been the butler’s rooms if this had still been used as an actual house, but Nolan’s employment didn’t require him to sit all day and night by the door. During his hours off duty, members depended on Fletcher to let them in. Only he and the Dread Master had a key. And no one other than Fletcher knew who the Dread Master was.
Barnabus stepped through the door and into the entryway. Nolan was in his seat. This time, though, he wasn’t sleeping or reading the newspaper. In fact, he had the most recent installment of Barnabus’s own penny dreadful in his hands.
Before Barnabus could decide if he wanted to ask if Nolan was enjoying “Bodies of Light,” the man coughed, and not the light variety arising from a dry throat or a bit of dust causing a fuss. The rumble sat deep in his chest.
“I don’t like the sound of that, Nolan. Are you feeling poorly?”
“I were a couple days ago. Better today.” He’d always been a man of few words but of absolute reliability.
“Are you feverish? Fatigued? Pained when you breathe?”
Nolan shook his head. “Not now.”
Barnabus leaned against the wall near Nolan’s bench. “I mean it when I tell you that you should send for me if you’re ever feeling even a little ill. None of us would want anything to happen to you.”