Mr. Walker digs the gold coin from the hay and waggles a finger at Nicolas as he pockets it. Then he’s off. Nicolas waits until the cart is out of sight and then laces his arms around my shoulders.
“I do not believe I asked whether you are all right after what happened with Norrington,” he says.
“If I was not all right, I wouldn’t have offered what I did.” I lean in to kiss him. “I’m fine. However, there is something I need to tell you.”
I explain to him about the ghost.
He winces. “Oh, I cannot imagine what a terrible thing that must be. Seeing your son destroy the legacy you worked so hard to build. By all accounts, the elder Lord Norrington was a fine man. Firm but fair, and the people mourn his passing still.”
“Especially considering who took over in his stead. No matter how ‘firm’ the elder Lord Norrington may have been, he was undoubtedly a saint compared to his son.”
“True enough.” He frowns. “If his ghost lingers, does that mean he was murdered?”
“Do you know how he died?”
“An ailment of some sort. No one questioned it.”
“Spirits linger for any unfinished business. In his case, it seems most likely that the unfinished business is his legacy and the damage his son is doing to both it and the people here. In any event, he does believe Norrington wants you dead, if you still had any doubts about that.”
“I cannot doubt he has murderous intent after what we believe he did to Andrés and what he attempted to do to us on theTemerity. I knew better than to let him take you alone and let me go ‘free.’ I mistrust anyone who offers to set a man free. It is always a trick.”
“I did hope he was serious, which is why I tried to accept the role of your employer. I did not mean any disrespect by it.”
“You thought that might be my way to freedom. It is not, and so I would ask you not to endanger yourself again on my behalf, please. The kestrel will stay in hiding from now on, watching from a safe tree branch.”
“If you really expect me to do that, Nico, you do not know me at all.”
He sighs. “I know, but I had to make the attempt. Just do not place yourself between Lord Norrington and me, please. He may think you a nobleman’s son, and that may seem to protect you, but I would not bet your life on it.”
“Understood.”
“Excellent. Now, I have a question, crécerelle. Do you have any fear of small places?”
“Not at all. Why?”
He grins and takes my hand. “I will show you.”
22
We are in the tunnels that lead to Hood’s Bay. I have heard of them. I have even, on one occasion, attempted to find them in my world when locals pretended not to know what I was talking about. Of course, I cannot tell Nicolas that I have heard of the tunnels that are—in his time—still in use and therefore still a secret, as their purpose is smuggling. I must act surprised, though I do not need to feign my delight at the prospect of using them to reach the village.
To access the tunnels at the church, one must crawl under a fallen slab that looks ready to collapse at any moment. Nicolas assures me that is an intentional impression. No one is going to look at that slab and say, “Oh, I should very much like to crawl underneath that.”
Before we go in, Nicolas retrieves a small lantern he keeps hidden here. He lights it and crawls under that slab, and I follow to find rudimentary stairs leading down into a room.
“It is the crypt!” I say, peering about. “We are in the old church crypt.”
“Yes, and we may return later for better examination, if you are interested. I spent nearly a week hiding in here, and I consider the residents some of my dearest friends.” He gestures to a moldering set of bones that has fallen from its berth. “That is Peter. He likes tall women and dark ale. Do not get him started on sheep, or he shall never stop talking.”
I smile and follow him through the crypt to the far wall. He bends and unlatches something. Then, with a tug, an entire shelf of bodies comes free from the wall. Behind it, darkness beckons.
“You will need to kneel here,” Nicolas says. “We have to crawl hereafter. I hope that is all right.”
“As I am not wearing a skirt, which would bunch and bind and restrict my crawling, it is quite all right. Onward.”
He drops to all fours and disappears into the tunnel. We enter what becomes a spider’s web of them, crisscrossing with no markers to indicate direction.
“That is also intentional,” Nicolas says. “Many lead nowhere at all. One leads to a bog. Another heads straight off the cliff. One night, I made the mistake of attempting the tunnels with only a matchstick and found myself hanging off a cliffside. That is when I procured this lantern.”