“Nope.”
The harness jingled as the horse moved. Silver bells, of course. Fortunately, no one was asking her to wear them on her fingers and toes. Lori put her foot in the stirrup and swung her leg over the horse’s rump. The saddle had no modifications for flight, such as a seat belt. She urged the horse into a slow walk. The animal moved in a normal way, but something felt off. Or was she was overanalysing?
“What do you think of Cirrus?” BH brought her own horse alongside.
“That’s her name?”
“Yes.”
She patted Cirrus’s neck. “I’m sure we’ll get along fine.”
“She likes you. That’s a good sign.” BH gave a broad smile.
“You can tell?”
“It’s part of my job.” BH urged her horse on. “Catch you later.”
“Right.”
The news Lori would join in the pursuit of Gilwyn had been greeted with varying degrees of surprise. Only Finn displayed outright disapproval, although Shorty had rolled his eyes. BH had been unexpectedly supportive, given their limited previous contact. Maybe she was hoping for a chance to hone her matchmaking skills. She had volunteered to show Lori where the kit was stored, and helped pick out a warm fur lined flying jacket, along with a set of the black leather uniform, complete with knife, pistol, and Silver Raven belt buckle.
Lori’s old jeans, along with the scroll in the waistband, were stored in the chest in her room. She had toyed with hanging on to the scroll, but would not be able to work on the decoding while away. It should be safe, unless a boggart decided to do her laundry while she was gone.
“I should have asked if you’ve ridden before.” Tamsin joined her.
“My parents took me trekking when I was a child.” Crossing the Himalayas by mule as a ten-year-old had been particularly memorable. “I haven’t done much since university, but I’m sure it will come back to me.”
Tamsin manoeuvred closer. “This is your last chance to back out. Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Right then.” Tamsin raised her voice. “Time to move out.” The Silver Ravens followed her through the gates in single file.
She had escaped. Relief washed through Lori in a wave. Until their return, the only things she had to worry about were dragons and other assorted monsters. Catching Gilwyn was another issue, but Tamsin must have some sort of plan. Though, now that Lori gave it thought, how were they going to find him? Where would they start? Regardless of BH’s skill as a tracker, Gilwyn had flown away. Even a real bloodhound would have no trail to follow.
Once clear of the castle walls, Tamsin stood in her stirrups. “First stop, Mud Town. We’ll see what Segann can tell us.” She urged her horse into a canter.
Lori was in the middle of the line, between Widget and BH. How did you do the flying bit? It was too late now to ask. She could only hope Cirrus knew what to do. In front, Tamsin began to rise up, and then Finn in second place.
Suddenly, the vibration of hoof beats stopped and the ground dropped away. Cirrus still moved her legs in a canter, but the action felt as if it was purely for show. Their speed increased, far beyond the limits of an earthbound horse. Wind rushed in Lori’s face. The flying jacket was welcome. Goggles would have been a good idea as well.
The last time she had flown was just two years before, on a holiday to Corfu. But the memories that now flooded back were from her childhood, sitting between Mum and Dad, listening to them make excited plans for the things they would see and do.
Far below, the coastline stretched from horizon to horizon, mile upon mile of bays and headlands. The castle of Caersiddi stuck out into the sea on its rocky promontory, looking even more like a child’s toy than before. The miniature landscape of forests, rivers, hills, and valleys was just like the view through an airplane window. Something she had seen on dozens of flights, between watching films on the seatback screen. But she was not in a plane. There was no TV screen, no window, no comforting shell of the fuselage around her, no seat belt. It was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure—and fun.
The last thing Lori had expected. Fun.
Chapter Thirteen
For a long time, they flew over wilderness, without any sign of habitation. From up high, the differences between a flat world and a round one were slight, yet unsettling, giving the bizarre sensation she was looking at a reflection in a fairground mirror, without anything actually being distorted. The mountains retreated, but did not drop over the horizon.
After four hours, the wilderness gave way to fields in a patchwork of crops and pastures speckled with grazing herds. Dirt roads linked isolated farmhouses. The sea drew close again, now dotted with small boats. Then, far ahead, trails of smoke rose above a dark smudge.
The smudge hardened into a sprawl of buildings as the Silver Ravens started their descent. They landed a short way outside town, on the largest of the roads leading in.
Widget dropped back beside Lori. He made a show of breathing in a deep lungful and then exhaling. “Doesn’t that smell bring it all back?”
“It might, if I’d ever been here before.”
“Your first visit to Mud Town. Ohhhh, you’re in for a treat, pet.”
“Mud Town? That can’t be the real name.”
“The locals have a pretty name for it, but who can be buggered with that, I ask you?”
BH was close enough to join in. “It depends on whether we want King Segann to help us.” She smiled at Lori. “He prefers calling his town Trethbuder.”
“He’s king here? I thought Queen Rianna ruled all Annwyn.”
“She does. King Segann is—”
Widget cut BH off. “He’s a jumped up little arsewipe, but he calls the shots around here, and we’re wanting his help. So yes…” He shrugged. “I guess it’s King Segann and Trethbuder while we’re here.”
“And his title is King of the Bukka,” BH finished.
“Who are the Bukka?”
“Boggarts with sticks up their arses.”
Lori was unsurprised to see the farm workers in the surrounding fields were all boggarts. In Caersiddi, the hard, dirty work was left to them, and she would scarcely expect fay to be tending sheep. But, on entering the town, she saw nothing but boggarts, including some who, if not wealthy, were clearly a few steps above the bottom rung of society.
The outskirts were a shanty town of wretched hovels, well deserving the name Mud Town. Farther on, the buildings became more substantial as they rode along streets of houses, two or three stories high, with half-timbered frontages and slate tile roofs. However the effect could never be described as charming or quaint, and the smell got worse.
The streets and alleyways were filled with boggarts, who flattened themselves against the walls to make way for the mounted humans. They acted in a manner showing neither curiosity nor hostility, but Lori did not feel welcome.
The buildings were crammed together, as if elbowing each other aside for room. They overhung the street, blocking out light. The state of repair was mixed, with some relying more on hope than mortar to remain standing. A few windows were glazed, but most had only wooden shutters. Deep ruts scored the unpaved roads.
Mud Town was a dump—or Trethbuder as Lori reminded herself. Then she made the mistake of looking too closely at the coating of muck on the ground. Actually, Mud Town counted as a polite euphemism. She fixed her eyes on the road ahead.
The boggarts were dressed in everything from filthy rags to well-made garments in the style of the fay. Some even carried a scarf or gloves made from the same shimmering material. Craftsmen worked in their shops. Porters pulled carts piled high with merchandise. Homeowners hung out of windows shouting to those below. There were even children, dashing around underfoot. They screeched at each other, sounding more like angry cats than anything else.
Widget rode beside her. He grimaced at their surroundings. “If you do want to say something tactless, like you think Mud Town is a complete shitehole, you can a
lways switch to English. The boggarts won’t understand a word you’re saying.” He was taking his own advice.
One boggart, wearing a thick leather jerkin and helmet, had the appearance of a guard or policeman. He swung a heavy wooden club in time with his steps as he lumbered along the street. The other boggarts kept out of his way and scuttled past with their heads down.
Or was it a he? “How do you tell males from females?” Lori decided to stick with English.
“Take their clothes off, if you’re feeling brave.”
BH laughed. “Or you could look for rings. Females pierce their ears, males their noses. It works most of the time.”
Shorty was a few yards in front. He twisted round. “And if they’re too poor to afford a ring, nobody gives a fuck what they are.”
Lori looked at the boggart they had just passed. The guard had two gold rings in either ear. A she. Best leave it at that.
The street opened onto a small square. The increase in daylight was a relief. The air was also able to circulate, reducing the oppressive clamminess, though doing little about the smell. The building directly ahead was the grandest yet seen, three stories high and fully glazed.
Tamsin was clearly heading for it, but any hopes it might be the king’s palace faded. The lack of guards, the door propped open, and the sign outside created the nasty suspicion it was an inn. So much for wishing they could conclude their meeting with the king quickly and be on their way. Spending a night in Mud Town was not on Lori’s bucket list.
An archway at the side of the inn led to the stable yard at the rear. Tamsin jumped down and tossed her horse’s reins to a boggart.
Finn did likewise, with a muttered, “And don’t eat it.” Lori could not tell if he was joking.
Getting out of the saddle was a relief. Her legs were stiff and she was yet to warm up. A walk to get her blood circulating would have been nice, although maybe not in the current surroundings, and certainly not alone.
A bobbing, simpering, bowing boggart with a ring in his nose greeted them at the entrance. “Come in, madam. Come in, sir. You would like food, yes? And something to drink? We have good wine, good beer. You would find this pleasing, yes?”
“Yes. And rooms for tonight,” Tamsin replied. “I also want a message taken to King Segann. We wish to speak with him, as soon as is convenient.”
“Yes, yes, I will see to it all, madam. You will have everything you want.”
The boggart scrambled away after another couple of head bobs. He was still abjectly fawning, but his diction and vocabulary was noticeably more advanced than anything heard from boggarts in Caersiddi. Did only idiots go to work there, or did boggarts deliberately act dumb around the fay?
Either way, Lori was unsure about the food. Did she want to eat anything in this inn? Admittedly, the common room, when they entered it, was not quite as bad as she feared, although it would have struggled to rate one star on a customer review website. The windows were too dirty to see through. The tables and benches had been crudely hammered together. Damp patches marked the walls and mould grew in the cracks between the flagstones. The ceiling was so low, Shorty was forced to stoop.
He dropped onto a bench. “Who wants to put a bet on how long before we get to see his fucking highness?”
“Maybe tomorrow, if we’re lucky.” Hippo as ever, sounded cheerfully unworried.
“Or the day after.” Finn did not.
Lori slipped onto the end of the bench, then shunted along when Tamsin indicted she wanted to sit beside her. The resulting flutter in her stomach was irritating, as were the amused looks exchanged between the other Silver Ravens. She tried to ignore both. Her leg tingled where it was pressed against Tamsin’s. The sensible thing was to move away, but she was not going to.
“What did you think of the journey?” Tamsin asked.
“Not as scary as the thought of eating here. Are you sure it’s safe?”
“It’s the same as you had in Caersiddi. All the food comes from around here.”
And was prepared by boggarts. It had not killed her yet. “King Segann, is he a boggart?”
“Yes. But don’t call him that when you’re speaking Hyannish. Stick with King of the Bukka. We want to keep on his good side.”
“I dread to think what his dungeon is like, if this tavern’s anything to go by.”
Tamsin laughed. “No risk of ending up there. He won’t dare annoy Queen Rianna, which is what would happen if he locked us up. But he could give us the runaround, and we don’t want to waste time.”
“He’s a client king under her?”
“Nothing so formal. Queen Rianna lets the boggarts sort themselves out, so long as they send their tithes on time. Segann put himself on the Mud Throne by killing anyone else who wanted the title. He’s done a decent enough job though, and kept things running smoothly.”
Fay lived in luxury, on the backs of boggart workers, and did not even have the hassle of organising them. Easy to see why Rianna was happy with the arrangement. “The tithes they send, is it just food, or does it count the workers in Caersiddi?”
“Everything, including manufactured goods from Wydlow. That’s the other main town Segann controls. It’s where you find the mines and heavy industry, so it isn’t as pretty as here.”
“I don’t think I want to see it.”
“Nope. You don’t.” Tamsin smiled. “I guess Mud Town must be a bit of a shock, after England in the twenty-first century. I did warn you.”
“It’s not so much worse than some places I saw as a child. Though back then I was too young to worry about germs.”
“Where were you?”
“All over. My parents are eternal globetrotters.”
“Jet-setters?”
“No. New Age backpackers who never grew up. They write travel books and articles for National Geographic, and now they have their own environmentalist blog with several million followers.”
“So that’s why you were keen to see more of Annwyn. It’s in your blood.”
“No. I gave up travelling in my teens. My parents wanted me to sit exams, so I stayed with my grandmother for most of secondary school. After that I went to university, then got into computing, and…” Old, awkward emotions bubbled up in her chest. “I’d had enough of life on the move. I like knowing where I’ll be sleeping tonight.”
“How about your brothers and sisters?”
“There aren’t any. To be honest, I think I was an accident. Babies don’t fit the lifestyle.”
Rootless trees don’t bear fruit. Grandma’s voice echoed again in her ears. Dad had been her precious baby boy, and she would never forgive Mum for helping him cut the apron strings.
“Hey. Are you all right?”
Her face must have given too much away. “Yes. I’m fine. Secondary school wasn’t a good time in my life.”
“You must have resented your parents leaving you behind.”
“It wasn’t that.” Or was it? Had that been the start? “The other kids picked on me. They thought I was odd. I knew all about living in a yurt in Outer Mongolia, but I didn’t know the names of pop stars, TV shows, or actors. Then I made the mistake of letting them know I was gay.”
“Ah. That.” Tamsin looked unusually reticent. Her eyes fixed on the tabletop. “BH did mention that you’d said something.”
I bet she did.
“And that you’d split up with your previous girlfriend.”
Yes. She’d have mentioned that as well.
“But you’re not looking for anyone at the moment.” Tamsin raised her eyes, challenging, questioning.
“No, I’m not.” Time to slide along the bench, although Lori’s leg complained of being lost and abandoned, now that it was no longer pressed against Tamsin.
If Tamsin’s leg was similarly upset, its owner showed no sign. Tamsin’s normal easy smile returned. “I’m sorry you had a tough time. But for what it’s worth, where I grew up, things would have turned out far worse if I’d been caught with a f
emale lover. I might even have had a hot date with a pile of wood and a stake.”
So now they were both on the same page. “I didn’t think the laws applied to women.”
“Maybe not. But it was the sort of thing that got you the attention of the Witchfinder General.” Tamsin shrugged. “Any excuse would do.”
The door opened and three boggarts arrived, carrying trays of food. As Tamsin said, it looked identical to the meals at Caersiddi. The interruption was a good chance to change subject.
“What help are you hoping for from King Segann?”
“Boggarts have their own way with magic, though nowhere near the level of the fay. They’re strongest with illusion, and some can manage transformation as well.”
“So this is the last place in Annwyn to take your torc off.”
“Right. With illusion, boggarts have something they call the weave. It’s a shared illusion they all take part in. Who knows how it works, but the king is the one in the middle of the weave.”
“Can the king use this weave to tell us where Gilwyn is?”
“Not directly. Fay are immune to boggart magic.”
“But you still think the king can help us in some way?”
“Yes. Gilwyn won’t be roughing it, in a tent. He has supporters, fellow traitors. They’ll have set him up in a hideout, and he won’t be alone. Boggarts will be there, and they’ll be making their own input to the weave. Segann has followers who can spot them by shifts in the weave.”
“Surely Gilwyn will be aware they can do this.”
“Fay refuse to believe boggarts can do anything they can’t, and since they can’t access the weave they assume it doesn’t exist, especially since it has no effect on them. Even Queen Rianna can be a little too quick to discount boggarts’ abilities.”
It was hardly news the fay held every other species in contempt. More surprising was that Tamsin would send a hint of criticism the queen’s way.
“So Gilwyn won’t see the weave as a risk.”
“He won’t give it a second thought. Count on it. Anyway, no matter what’s at stake, no fay is ever going to empty his own chamber pot.”
Silver Ravens Page 17
