“Let me see if I can make out the tracks from where you are,” he said, climbing up behind the detective.
“You won’t be able to,” Dwellings muttered, offering the tracker a helping hand. “It all just looks like uneven ground from up he —”
“I can see ’em fine,” Daily announced, as Wheredad trotted up beside them. Obegarde and the others were following him at a distance.
“You can?” Dwellings gasped, staring at the tracker in frank astonishment.
“No sweat,” said Daily, with a wink. “If we can get on the gallop, I reckon we’ll be a good way along before dark: really all depends where these boys have dumped their cart. I mean, they’d have to be really stupid to keep it, wouldn’t they?”
The detective nodded.
“However, I regularly find that criminals are devilishly clever with the intricate stuff and angelically stupid when it comes to the obvious.” He smiled at the thought. “Can we get going?”
“Yeah,” said Daily. “Let’s just wait a few minutes for the others to catch up, then we’ll dart off at a whip. We only need to stop every few miles, so I can squint at the tracks a bit, see where they’re headed.”
“Sounds good to me, Enoch,” Wheredad admitted, suppressing a deep yawn.
Dwellings beamed.
“You’re a wonder, Daily,” he said, with a grin. “You’re a regular wonder.”
Meanwhile …
The scout brought his horse to a stop on the crest of the hill, produced an elegant spyglass and studied the view very carefully.
“I see them, Master Secretary,” he called back. “They’re just off the main road; looks like they’re heading into woodland.”
“Very good,” Spires shouted. “Now come back down from there; we don’t want to make our position too obvious.” He turned to Burnie, the troglodyte councillor whose horse was riding level with his own. “What should we give them, d’you think? Half an hour’s lead? An hour? Any more than that, it’ll start to get dark and we’ll end up losing them.”
“Agreed,” Burnie sniffled, picking some mucus from his slimy head and attaching it, for reasons best known to himself, to the base of an ear. “It always pays to be cautious, but I think we should stay as close as possible.”
Spires nodded.
“Half an hour it is, then,” he said, turning his attention to the mounted guards. “I don’t suppose anyone thought to bring a pack of cards?”
Twelve
VISCOUNT CURFEW AWOKE, BATTERED and bruised, his ribs sore from Davenpaw’s beating and eyes swollen where the big man had rammed his head against the brickwork.
He tried to raise himself up on his cracked hands, but even when he found his feet, he discovered that he lacked the will to stand …
Better to sleep, he reflected, better to store up as much strength as possible in preparation for the battle ahead.
For most undoubtedly, there would be one …
Part Four
Lostings
One
THERE WAS STILL AN hour of daylight left in the sky when the horse carrying Enoch Dwellings and the tracker, Parsnip Daily, trotted out from the edge of a small wood and emerged on a rise overlooking a wide patchwork of fields.
“It’s very beautiful, up this way,” the detective observed, as Daily leaped down from the mount, snatched a stubby spyglass from his jerkin and scrutinized the landscape. “Don’t you think so, Parsnip?”
“Yeah: I don’t reckon your assistant is too impressed, though …”
Dwellings glanced back at Wheredad, who was fast asleep in the saddle. His horse looked unaccountably moody.
“He must be tired,” Dwellings observed, rather unnecessarily.
“You think?”
“Mmm … are the tracks getting more difficult to follow?”
“No.”
“Good: do you think we’re getting close?”
The tracker didn’t reply, but maintained his study of the land, switching his attention from the tracks on the ground to the spyglass, and back again.
Sensing his companion’s preoccupation, Dwellings turned his horse around and trotted up to Obegarde and Jimmy, who were discussing a famous swordfight they’d seen re-enacted in the town square a few weeks before. Lusa, Enoch noticed, looked bored to tears.
He brushed back a lock of his hair, urged his horse to trot beside Jimmy’s, leaned over to the girl and said: “Excuse me …”
Lusa turned and smiled at him.
“Hiya.”
“Afternoon, Are you enjoying your —”
“Oi! You lot!”
The entire party, including a very resentful Enoch Dwellings, whipped around to face the tracker, who was still staring through his spyglass.
“We’ve got a solitary building at two o’clock.”
“Eh?” Jimmy shouted. “It’s five past six!”
“No, he means two o’clock directionally,” Lusa translated. “You know, two o’clock-clock.” She pointed with her arm to indicate the view-path.
“But it’s five past six,” said Jimmy again, about as quick on the uptake as he was getting out of bed in the morning.
“Hmm … can you see what sort of building it is?” Dwellings asked, as he and Obegarde trotted up to where Daily was standing.
“Yeah,” the vampire added. “Are we talking a cottage or a castle, here?”
“It’s more like an inn, actu’lly,” said Parsnip, folding the spyglass away. “And the tracks are definitely heading that way. Why don’t we find a spot to tether up the horses? If we’re on foot, we can keep to the edge of the woods and get a better view without being seen.”
“You’ve lost them?” Spires exclaimed, sharing a look of disbelief with the troglodyte chairman. “What do you mean, you’ve lost them?”
“Don’t panic, Mr. Secretary,” said Burnie, dismissing the embarrassed guard before he could splutter an audible reply. “It’s easily done, especially in a wood like this. If we look around long enough, we’ll find them.”
“B-but this is ridiculous! This wood isn’t even particularly big!”
Burnie rolled his eyes.
“Exactly, Mr. Secretary. So we’ll find them in plenty of time, won’t we?”
“Really!” Spires snapped back. “Is that plenty of time to save the viscount, or plenty of time to save the morons we’re following?”
The little troglodyte put his head down and ordered his horse to the head of the group.
“We’ll try this way first!” he shouted back to the Guard Sergeant. “It looks like the most … disturbed path.”
Two
THE INN STOOD ALONE in a rough patch of land where no flowers grew. All the trees surrounding the building bowed away from it, as if they didn’t want to get too close for fear of doom.
An aging sign swung back and forth on creaky hinges, announcing: “Welcome to Lostings: drink up and go.”
“Drink up and go,” said Jimmy, peering through Obegarde’s spyglass and reading the sign aloud. “Nice words; they can’t value custom much, can they?”
Dwellings massaged his brow.
“Do you think Curfew’s captors stayed here?” he asked the tracker, hopefully.
Daily put his head on one side, and grimaced.
“The tracks definitely lead up there,” he said. “We should take a look.”
“I agree,” said Dwellings, reaching out an arm to hold the others back. “You should take a look.”
“Why me?” said Daily, resentfully.
“Because you’re the tracker … and no one else will be able to identify the right imprints!”
“Well, can I take someone with me?”
“No, you’ll make better time on your own.”
“But what if I get attacked?”
Dwellings sighed.
“If you get attacked, which is highly unlikely in my opinion, we will see it through the spyglass and we’ll be there in an instant. OK?”
“Hmm … if you say so.”
Daily muttered something under his breath, then turned and idled off in the direction of Lostings Inn. He was back in just under three minutes.
“What was I looking for again?”
“The cart tracks, you moron!”
“Hey, don’t speak to him like that,” Lusa interjected. “He’s human, you know; he has feelings.”
“You don’t understand,” Dwellings warned, waggling a finger under the girl’s nose. “If I don’t speak to him like that, he’ll forget everything I say to him! He has a memory problem, you see …”
“Right,” Lusa said, nodding. “So if he has a memory problem then it’s not going to matter how you speak to him, he’s still going to forget it. So shall we try a little compassion?” She turned to Daily with the sweetest smile from her Kindness Arsenal. “Mr. Daily,” she crooned, “do you think that you could sneak over to the inn and tell us if the cart tracks from Dullitch Palace continue past it?”
“Right.”
“And also,” she continued, “could you pop into the inn and ask them if they’ve had any customers who arrived in a cart from the south?”
Daily nodded eagerly.
“No problem,” he said, running off toward Lostings with renewed vigor.
“Very nicely put,” said Dwellings, sarcastically. “A crown says he’s back in less than five minutes.”
Lusa shrugged.
“Make it two, and you’re on.”
“Deal.”
The five companions stood quietly in the shade of the trees as Daily became a small figure in the middle distance and, eventually, disappeared around the back of the inn.
Time passed …
“Two crowns, please,” said Lusa, winking devilishly.
Dwellings clenched his fists.
“The idiot’s not back yet,” he snapped.
“But he’s been gone six minutes.”
“No he hasn’t; it’s more like four.”
“Actually, he has been gone five minutes,” Wheredad chirped. “I counted.”
“You COUNTED?” Dwellings exclaimed, his respect for the man at an all-time low.
“Sorry, Enoch: I was bored.”
The detective glared at him.
“Find the cart tracks from the palace,” Daily muttered to himself, walking around the inn with his head down and his eyes locked on the ground.
“The cart tracks from the palace,” he repeated. “The cart from the palace tracks: can’t forget that I need to find the palace cart. Hang on a minute — the palace cart? That doesn’t sound right — they’d have a coach at the palace, surely … maybe it’s a coach I’m looking for … but what about the tracks? I was looking for tracks, wasn’t I?”
Daily came to a sudden standstill. Within ten seconds, he couldn’t remember whether he’d just come out of the inn or was making his way inside …
Then he remembered a face — quite a pretty one — and a vampire who was not so pretty, but nevertheless striking …
… and, suddenly, Parsnip Daily knew exactly what he was looking for.
Three
“WELL?” SAID DWELLINGS, WHEN Daily eventually made his way back to the party. “Did you ask them if they’d seen the vegetable cart?”
The tracker shook his head.
“No,” he said, flatly.
“I knew it!” Wheredad exclaimed. “I told you it was pointless getting him to go in — he probably forgot three seconds after you told —”
“Actually, I didn’t forget what you said,” Daily chirped. “I had other reasons for not asking them.”
“You had other reasons?” Obegarde ventured, folding his arms in a disgruntled fashion. “Like what?”
Daily shrugged.
“Well,” he said. “I hate talking to people I don’t know, and I especially hate visiting taverns without buying a drink.”
“Is that it?” Wheredad said, aghast. “Those are your reasons for not asking them about the cart?”
“Yeah,” said Daily, yawning. “Well, that and the fact that the tracks stop round the back.”
There was a moment of shocked silence.
“What did you say?” said Dwellings, checking to make sure his ears weren’t blocked.
Obegarde, Wheredad and Lusa shared a glance. Even Jimmy smiled.
“The tracks stop?” Dwellings prompted. “You mean we’ve found the place where the cart ended its journey?”
“Yep,” said Daily, snapping his fingers and winking proudly. “And in record time, too, ’case you’re interested. I reckon —”
“Is there another cart there, by any chance?” the detective cut in.
“Yeah,” said Daily. “It’s full o’ white sheets.”
“Hey,” Jimmy began, a clueless expression on his face. “If the tracks end there, do you think the owners are inside? You know, having a drink or something?”
“I doubt it,” said Daily, sniffing. “When I looked through the window of the place, there was only the barman in there.”
“OK,” Dwellings commented, scratching the bridge of his nose with a coin. “I think we should go in as drinkers first, look the place over.”
“What, all of us?” said Obegarde, a smirk brewing on his face. “Won’t that look a bit obvious?”
Dwellings shook his head.
“Not all of us,” he said. “We’ll go in separately.”
“You really think that’ll make a difference?” muttered Lusa, pushing her way to the front of the group. “Let’s reason it out, shall we? A tavern in the middle of nowhere that has, at present, no patrons, is about to get five really unusual customers in the space of a few minutes?”
Dwellings shrugged.
“When you put it like that, it does seem a little peculiar …”
“Exactly,” finished the girl, getting into her stride as the group thinker. “I say that one of us should go in through the front door as a distraction, while somebody else creeps in through the back, assuming there’s a back door? Is there a back door, Parsnip?”
“There’s a cellar hatch,” Daily confirmed.
“Right, a cellar hatch. Good. The rest of us should probably stay here and see what happens.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Dwellings agreed, “that, with one minor adjustment, could become a brilliant plan.”
Lusa’s smile floated on her face.
“What minor adjustment?” she asked, sweetly.
“Well, Wheredad and myself will go into the bar, posing as ramblers, while Obegarde and Jimmy sneak in through the cellar hatch …”
“… leaving Daily and myself out here on our own?” Lusa turned to Parsnip with a smile. “Should’ve seen that one coming, shouldn’t we?”
“It’s for the best, I think,” Obegarde added. “It could be very dangerous in there …”
“Yeah,” agreed Daily. “And I’m a tracker, not a mercenary … from what I can remember.”
Four
THE DOOR OF THE inn swung open, and Dwellings strode inside. He was followed, a few seconds later, by a puffing, panting Wheredad.
“Good evening,” he exclaimed, peering around the room and noting a) the crackling fire, b) the incredible lack of clean straw on the floors and c) the brooding innkeeper who looked as if he’d been propped up behind the bar.
“Can I ’elp you?” said the last, placing both hands flat on the bar top in a manner which managed to be both inquiring and warlike at the same time.
“Two ales, please, bartend,” said Dwellings, sweeping confidently to the bar and flinging his coat onto a nearby stand. “One for myself and one for my rambling companion.”
The innkeeper cast Wheredad a measuring glance, then nodded at Dwellings and made himself busy behind the bar.
“We’re not from around here,” said the detective, raising his voice a tone higher for reasons best known to himself.
“I’d never have guessed,” said the innkeeper, belching as he laid two heavy tankards on the bar top. “That
all?”
“Yes,” said Dwellings, smiling. “Unless you do dinners here?”
The innkeeper nodded sullenly.
“We do.”
“Oh …”
“I’ll go out the back and get you a menu —”
“NO!”
The big man paused en route to an inner door, and turned around slowly.
“No?”
Dwellings made an effort to disguise the urgency in his voice.
“I mean, don’t bother,” he said, with a mock laugh. “I’m not really that hungry and I don’t suppose for one second that my friend is peckish either.”
“Well, actually —”
“Quiet, MAN!”
The innkeeper looked from the detective to his assistant and back again.
“You two just escaped from somewhere?” he ventured.
“Ha!” said Dwellings, spilling some of his pint as he raised the tankard shakily to his lips. “Did you hear that, old friend? Escaped from somewhere indeed! Hahahahaha!”
Wheredad added some mock laughter of his own, but the sound soon died away when the innkeeper began to scrub the bar top with a dark, filthy-looking cloth.
Jimmy Quickstint peered around the back wall of the inn, checked that the coast was clear, and made a signal with his thumb and forefinger.
A heartbeat later, Jimmy and Obegarde tiptoed along the length of the wall, sneaked behind the cart (still laden with drop cloths), and crouched down beside the inn’s sizeable cellar hatch.
“That’s one hell of a big padlock,” Obegarde observed, reaching down carefully and weighing the lock in his clawed hand.
“It’s nothing,” Jimmy assured him. “Trust me; I’ve broken bigger padlocks than that in my sleep.”
“Really?” said Obegarde, impressed by the brag. “C’mon, then; let’s see you prove it.”
Jimmy snaked a hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small bunch of thin metal clips. Then he proceeded to work each one into the lock until there was an audible “click” and the padlock came open.
“Wow,” muttered Obegarde. “I can’t believe you actually did that.”
Dwellings Debacle Page 13
