“I don’t understand,” she said doubtfully. “Why would they be following Cas? And what could he possibly be selling?”
Hildy had been silent throughout, but now she made a slight sound of distress and all eyes turned on her. “Clara…” she said faintly. “Do you remember when we tested the new fuel? On Caspar’s autocarriage?”
“Of course.”
“I… told him where to find the black mercury.” She stared at Clara, her face white with alarm. “At the time I never imagined —how could I have?—but in light of recent events…”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence. They all knew Cas too well to imagine he’d have passed up the chance to get some of the new super fuel for his autocarriage; of course he had.
“But how would anyone know he had it?” Clara began—then stopped, remembering Quintus Mielke’s warning. Quintus Mielke, the Starcaster, who’d seen Cas as he cast the stones and had subsequently tracked him down. His intentions might have been benevolent, but doubtless others were less honourable.
As she related this tale, poor Hildy’s expression turned from alarm to pure guilt.
“Clarry,” she said desperately, “I never meant to encourage him! Or I wouldn’t if… I should have realised.”
“It’s not your fault,” Clara said, but a trifle absently. Her mind was busy, turning over all the pieces, trying to build a clear picture. “Can that really be it, though? Surely you would be a more likely target for black mercury, Hild. Everyone knows that you’re heavily involved.”
“Very likely, but where am I all day? In a busy manufactory, surrounded by police and under the eye of reps from more than one government department. Cas is just one man, and he’s out on his own.”
Yes; he was certainly the easier target. Clara took a couple of slow breaths to steady herself, trying to think what to do. Her eye fell on Min once more.
“Min, what did you mean about being chased off?”
“Bunch of them came at me,” Min said, calm now that she’d told most of her tale. “I could’ve handled it, only Cas made me send most of my girls away.”
Something like panic fluttered at the edge of her awareness. Why would crows make a special point of driving Min off? Was it just typical pigeon-crow rivalry, or did it have something to do with Cas? “Where did this happen?”
Min shrugged. “Somewhere. I can’t remember. He’s been roaming.”
“What, just wandering the streets? At night?”
“All day, too. Boy’s got nowhere to go.”
Clara blinked. “He’s got somewhere to sleep, surely?”
Min fixed her with a gimlet stare. “Where’s he likely to go, Clarry? He spent last night in some empty place way out on west side. He was heading back that way when I came for you. Looking pretty blue, I might add.” She bounced. “I bet he’s there right now.”
Clara blinked again as her eyes suddenly blurred. The image of poor Cas trudging across Eisenstadt with nowhere to go was extremely painful, and she quickly dismissed it. “We need to find him,” she decided.
“Instantly,” agreed Hildy, but Til stopped her.
“Stay here,” he said gently. “You’ll feel better if you’re working, and the customer won’t wait for this one. We’ll find him.”
Hildy hesitated for a moment, her eyes straying to Clara’s face. Then she nodded once, her expression resolute, and took up her tools again. “Clarry,” she said. “When you find him, bring him back here.”
Clara nodded, but said, “What about the crows? If they’re tailing Cas they’ll follow us here.”
“Never mind that.”
“Are you sure this is the place, Min?”
Clara stepped with careful distaste through the grubby streets of one of Eisenstadt’s less salubrious areas, following the fluttering figure of Min a few feet ahead. It was still some way short of four in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise; the depth of the darkness in these poorly lit districts made her grateful indeed for the silent presence of Til Mencken behind her.
“Positive,” called the pigeon. “Empty Goldstein property coming up, next street over.”
Clara shuddered at the thought of Cas sleeping in a vacant house in such an area, feeling torn between concern and irritation with his stupidity. What could have possessed him to seek refuge here? Did he honestly think this was better than staying at Lukas’s house—or hers? Some twisted attempt at nobility, she supposed. Stupid.
“Here we are,” Min said. To Clara’s horror, she’d stopped before a building at least as run-down as every other on this appalling street, its windows empty black holes in a crumbling facade. The front door was unlocked, and after a moment’s hesitation the three walked inside.
“I can’t believe it,” Clara said, staring around a shabby front room devoid of furniture. “Why would Cas come here? Why would Max even own such a place?”
Min fluffed her wings in a bird-shrug. “Max owns a lot of stuff, doesn’t he?”
The ground floor was empty. The next floor up bore some signs of Cas’s presence, to Clara’s dismay: a small bag on the floor, with a change of clothes and a hair brush lying strewn around it. In one corner rested a horrible, ancient sofa, its rotting upholstery sagging on a threadbare frame. Was this where Cas had been sleeping?
Clara turned her back on it. “Min, you can search the rest faster than we can. Is Cas anywhere here?”
Min nodded and flew out of the room.
“I don’t think he’s here,” Clara whispered. “Where else can we possibly look?”
Til gave her arm a light, reassuring touch. “Calm. We’ll find him.”
Clara had no answer to make to that. She and Til waited in silence until Min returned with a negative report: no Cas in the building.
“I wish you’d stayed with him, Min,” Clara said. “He could be anywhere in the city now!”
Min strutted up to her, bristling with indignation. “I’d like to see you stand up to a pack of crows, missy.”
Clara just looked at her.
“It’s harder if you’re my size!”
Clara sighed and gave up. To Min she owed all her knowledge of Cas’s exploits; without the pigeon’s vigilance she’d still be completely in the dark. It wouldn’t be fair to be angry with her now.
“Do you know where else he might have gone, Min?”
The pigeon’s indignation disappeared and she looked deflated. “No.” She thought for a moment, and brightened. “But! We know where he’ll be at noon tomorrow.”
“Anything could happen to him between now and noon!” Clara protested.
Min shrugged. “Can’t be helped, can it? Unless you’ve some other way to track him down.”
“Where did you last see him?”
“That’s easy. He was… well, we were going down that big street, the one that smells like horse poo all the time? And we turned right and—no, wait, that’s left isn’t it?” Min turned around a few times. “Not sure. And then, um… hmm.” Min’s recital tailed off into silence as she thought. “I think that was where I left him.”
“Right, or possibly left off the street that smells like horse poo? Great.” Clara sighed. “Thanks, Min.”
“You’re welcome.” Min hopped onto the arm of the half-rotten sofa, fluffed out her feathers and closed her eyes.
Clara eyed her. “You’re sleeping.”
Min’s eyes popped open again. “And?”
“You’re sleeping here? Now? When Cas is out in the city somewhere alone?”
“You worry too much. He’s a grown man, remember? He’s several years older than you.”
“You wouldn’t know it to talk with him,” Clara muttered.
Til grinned. “The bird has a point, Clarry. He’s probably all right.”
“Probably? If it was just the lack of food and a roof over his head I might agree with you, but what about the robberies? The Starcaster’s warning? The crows? He needs help.”
Til’s expression sobered and he nodded. “
But how to find him?”
Clara advanced on Min and stopped directly before her. When the pigeon opened her eyes, Clara made sure to loom as impressively as possible, wearing her most threatening expression.
“Min Featherbrain,” she said formally, “you’d better give me something useful or there’ll be no more bread for you.” She paused for effect. “Ever.”
Min gulped. “B-but…you hardly ever give me bread anyway, Clarry!”
“I won’t buy you any more of the fat seeds either.”
Min blinked.
“And I’m giving your bed away.”
“But—”
“And there’ll be no more egg-sitting either!”
“Egg-sitting?” queried Til from behind her.
“Don’t ask,” she muttered.
Min jumped off the arm of the sofa and began to march up and down. “Then there’s nothing for it but to declare a state of EMERGENCY! But don’t think I’ll forget this, miss,” she shouted at Clara. “There’ll be talk. Later.”
“Fine. Just get on with it.”
Min went into a meditating posture, eyes shut, wings fluffed out. “Let’s see. We wandered a lot, and we were wandering… wandering through the streets… more streets.”
“Horse poo streets?” questioned Til helpfully.
“Yes,” Min snapped. “Then he sat around and stared at his hands like a useless pile of— of—uselessness for a while, and then we—”
“Sat where, Min?” Clara interrupted.
Min glared at her. “On a bench.”
“In a street?” Clara prompted, trying to be patient.
“Hm.” Min pondered. “No, there were too many trees. Yes! It was a PARK.” She jumped up and down a couple of times, crowing. “So I still get bread?”
Clara blinked at her. “So Cas sat in a park? That’s your revelation?”
The pigeon sighed. “I get it. No bread. But it wasn’t just one park, Clarry! We did it all day. Wanderwander, sit on a bench and brood, wander some more.”
“The same park? Which one?”
Min shook her head. “Different ones. Probably went through all the green bits in Eisenstadt.” She tucked up her wings. “It was boring,” she added helpfully.
Clara looked at Til. “If it was you in Cas’s shoes and you didn’t feel you could come back here—or to me, or to Lukas or Hildy—would you head for a park?”
Til nodded. “If the benches were comfy.”
Clara rolled her eyes. “Comfy. I’m sure they are. All right Min, climb up.” She offered her shoulder and Min clumsily settled herself. “I don’t suppose you can guess which one he’d go back to?” she asked her passenger, without much hope.
“Whichever’s closest to wherever he was when he decided to go back to the park,” said Min promptly.
Clara sighed. “Thanks.”
To begin with, Clara was grateful that they’d set out on bicycles instead of on foot. Eisenstadt was dotted all over with parks and green spaces, some large enough for lengthy promenades, others a mere pocket of green surrounded by buildings. Between the three of them, Clara, Min and Til felt able to locate the majority of them.
After considerably more than an hour of searching, however, when Clara’s legs were tiring and her behind ached from its close proximity to the hard leather seat, she began to wish they’d dispensed with considerations of noise, unwieldiness and disruption and just taken Hildy’s autocarriage instead.
She refused either to give up or to slow down, however. As the dark and silent night went on, her concern for Cas grew steadily stronger, and she wouldn’t listen to Min’s complaints.
It was at the fourth—or was it fifth?—stop that they finally stumbled over Cas. Min had the job of scouting; sadly Cas was far from the only person in Eisenstadt reduced to seeking the dubious comforts of a park bench overnight, and Min alone of the three of them could look for Cas discreetly. Min flew on ahead; a startled squawk a few moments later told Clara that she’d found something.
Clara followed at a run, arriving just in time to see Min settle atop a dark form that lay huddled up on a rickety bench. She began to jump on it. “Mr.—Caspar—Goldstein!” she pronounced, fitting one word to each jump, “You—are—more—trouble—than—you’re—worth!”
Clara dropped to her knees beside the bench. “Cas? Is Min just crazy or is that you?”
“Liebling?” Cas said in a sleep-slurred voice. He pushed himself up on his hands, then stopped abruptly, as though the movement pained him. “Um. What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, silly,” Clara said, careful to keep her voice even and her emotions in check. Having a visible fit of dismay wouldn’t help.
“But… it’s the middle of the night.” He eased himself into a sitting position as he spoke; Clara couldn’t help noticing that his breathing was a little too fast, and he held himself upright with great care.
“That’s exactly why we were looking for you. What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“You aren’t alone, I hope?” Cas said, ignoring her question. Then his eye fell on Til and he gave a little sigh of relief. “Not alone. Good.”
Til stood a little way off, his arms folded. “You’ve caused a deal of concern, Cas.”
Cas nodded. “Wasn’t the idea. I can’t say I expected anyone to be combing the city for me at some unearthly hour of the night. Or morning. Is it morning?”
“You thought we’d just leave you to your fate, I suppose?” said Clara, a hint of acidity creeping into her tone.
Cas’s face turned towards her, though it was too dark to make out his expression. “It’s my own fault so I’d better deal with it myself. I thought that’s what you would say.”
“Did you? Really?”
He gave a choked laugh. “You’d be quite right. It is all my own doing.”
She shook her head at that. “We can apportion blame later. For now, on your feet. We’ve strict instructions to take you to Hildy.”
“I’m fine here,” Cas said.
She snorted. “The accommodation is luxurious, as I can plainly see, but if I could prevail on you to come along with us, we might see if we can add food to your list of comforts.”
“I’ve had food,” Cas mumbled.
“Oh? When was the last time?”
“Um.” He shrugged. “I can manage, Clara.”
Clara’s careful control evaporated. “Stupid bloody pride!” she hissed. “We’ve spent all of our resting hours searching half the city for you, you dunderheaded idiot, only to be sent on our merry way because ‘you can manage’?! And this is your idea of ‘managing,’ I suppose— a dirty park bench in the middle of the night? You’ll shut up and get on the sodding bicycle, that’s what you’ll do.”
Cas started to say something, his tone entirely unrepentant, but Til cut him off. “You heard the lady. On the bicycle, please.” He pointed. “That one. Second seat, behind me.”
Cas sat in stubborn silence for a moment longer, then his shoulders slumped and he scrubbed his face with his hands. “I’m not sure I can stay on,” he said in a small voice. He stood up with extreme care, and Clara had the impression it took all his resolve to avoid a cry of pain.
Clara exchanged a worried look with Til. “You are hurt,” she said, aghast. “Where? What happened?”
“Details later,” Cas said tightly. “As to where… stomach, ribs, head. Head’s the worst. Dizzy.” He sat back down again and put his head in his hands. “Be all right in a minute,” he mumbled.
Clara might have been tempted to argue with Til’s decision to put Cas on his own bicycle, but in light of Cas’s condition she had to agree with him. “Til will pedal,” she said. “You just have to hang on to him. I’ll be right behind in case of trouble.”
Cas nodded, though it was a little while before he ventured to stand again. It wrung Clara’s heart to watch Til load him up onto the bicycle’s rear seat, steadying him when he swayed. She hovered on the other side, wishful of doing somethin
g but unable to interfere. As a grown man, and a tall one at that, Cas’s total bodyweight was a lot more than she could hope to manage; he needed Til’s superior strength.
She did help to keep Cas upright while Til climbed onto the bicycle’s front seat. Once she felt that Cas was secure, she hurried back to her own cycling machine and jumped into place. “Go,” she called to Til, who nodded and set off.
Min flew into her usual position in the bicycle’s front basket, clucking under her breath, and Top dived in after her. Where had she picked him up from?
“Crows,” Min muttered.
Clara looked around, but the park was too dark for her to discern any black birds within it. “So they’re still there,” she said. “How many?”
“Too many to easily count.”
Clara shook her head, troubled. They had an audience of crows, then, as they took Cas away; and she’d been stupid enough to say out loud where they were taking him.
Never mind that, Hildy had said when Clara had raised this possibility with her. But how could she be so unconcerned about the prospect of spies following them back to her workshop?
“Min, Top? Are there any other birds around?”
“Sparrows,” Min said drowsily. “Couple of ducks that I saw.”
“Two pigeons,” Top said helpfully, pointing to himself and Min.
“How many sparrows? A whole flock?”
“Probably,” Min muttered scornfully. “Stupid creatures don’t go anywhere without a crowd.”
“There might be enough of them, then, to run off the crows,” Clara said. “Do you think?”
Min made a sound of disgust. “Little pip-squeaks couldn’t run off a mouse.”
“I’d talk to them myself, Min, just to be spared the irritation of dealing with you. But I can’t, so you’ll have to do it.”
Black Mercury (The Drifting Isle Chronicles) Page 14
