The sailors shouted instructions at one another. Fear was evident in their expressions as they fought to work against the unstable conditions. They worked methodically to free the carriage, unfastening ropes and kicking chocks from behind the wheels. As the ropes fell away, Echo surged against the yoke. The carriage moved forward. The sailors deliberately looked away as they worked. Twenty feet away from Echo, Irridis now stood with his arms at his sides. Above his head the ocelli burned in the sour light like drops of molten silver.
A large wave struck the boat with concussive force. Echo heaved again, drawing the carriage behind him. It lurched agonizingly across the metal plate onto the quay. As soon as it was clear of the boat, the sailors were freeing the ropes from the cleats. Propellers churned and the barge reversed in a cloud of diesel smoke, abandoning the connecting plate, which tumbled into the dark water. The sailors did not turn to observe the calamity of their departure.
The carriage rolled further onto the quay. The suspension and iron-shod wheels creaked ominously beneath the cab. Seaweed trailed from the carved ornamentation. Steam rose from every surface as though the carriage had been lifted from the bottom of the sea. Irridis walked to meet it.
There was no time to run. Moss raised the rifle to his shoulder. He held his breath and took aim at Echo, tilting his head and lining up the sights along the barrel. His hands sweated on the stock and he had to reassert his grip. He put a slight pressure on the trigger. The high, steady tone of his tinnitus was like something threatening to burst from his skull. At his back, an engine roared. Moss ignored it, thinking it an acoustical quirk caused by the retreating barge. Imogene screamed. Lowering the rifle, Moss turned. Imogene's truck hurtled along the road toward them, ahead of a long trail of dust. It was unmistakably Gale behind the mud-spattered windshield. He was steering the truck toward the quay, but he was going too fast. In moments, he would hit Irridis. Moss fired wildly at the truck, but the shot was wide. His second bullet caused the windshield to explode into thousands of granules, but failed to halt the truck's momentum.
"Move," Moss yelled to Imogene. He ran, waving his arms and shouting, but his voice was lost in the sound of the truck mounting the quay. He tripped and landed in stony sand. Imogene disappeared behind a wall of dust. Gale had lost control. The truck skewed hard to the left. Carried by momentum, it rolled onto its side, crushing the cargo cover and sending crates and equipment tumbling into the water. A large section of aged quay, unable to bear the assault, gave way beneath the truck as it came to a standstill, its cab submerged, wheels spinning in the air.
Moss froze. It was Imogene's screams that refocused him. On one side of the ruined quay Echo fought to pull the carriage onto a stable surface. It had pitched at a dangerous angle and for a moment seemed poised to fall into the water. Suddenly it was righted, with a shower of rust from its ancient suspension.
Irridis lay unmoving on the ground in front of Echo. He had been struck by the truck or flying debris. Moss watched in horror as Echo's coat opened and Elizabeth unfurled from a nacreous void within the demon's body. She moved with single-minded purpose toward Irridis. Clutched in both hands was a sword. When she reached him she straddled his legs and tore open his coat. She brought down the blade without hesitation, thrusting it into his stomach and driving it up through the torso as though gutting a fish. Fluid sprayed across her face. Imogene screamed, but Moss could not see her. Irridis thrashed wildly on the weathered stone as Elizabeth thrust an arm into the wound she had created. Moss ran toward them, shouting and hurling stones. Her task complete, Elizabeth staggered away from Irridis, holding a black organ that trailed a convulsing filigree of white tissue in one hand, dragging the sword with the other. For the first time, she looked at Moss. Even from a distance he could see the triumph in her face as she watched him hurl stones, tears flowing down his cheeks. Moss faltered. With the strength of an ape Elizabeth leapt onto the carriage and vanished into an opening in the top. Echo, who had remained motionless throughout, shoved Irridis's body to the side and dragged the carriage around the overturned truck to dry land.
Moss thought only of his friend. Clear of the sand, he quickly covered the distance to the quay heedless of the shattered masonry and jutting rebar. Irridis lay on his side, barely breathing. The ocelli hovered in the air above him, forming a circle.
"Irridis," said Moss. He did not know what else to say. It was obvious his friend would be gone in seconds.
"Moss, I remember everything now. The name she spoke in the Cloth Hall, it made me remember who I was," said Irridis. Moss took his hand, but Irridis pulled it away, pressing it to his wound. "No time for displays. I need your help."
"Anything," said Moss, stung. The hand had been as cold as the sea.
"Take the dark stone to my sister's grave in Little Eye."
"Sister?"
Irridis closed his eyes and shook his head with a barely perceptible movement. "Aurel, in Little Eye. It's very important."
"Irridis, what sister?" Moss yelled, rolling Irridis's head into the palm of his hand. "What stone? I'm confused." Moss shook Irridis, but his friend was dead.
As Moss lowered Irridis's head gently onto the ground he felt movement against his skin. Despite his grief, he snatched his hand back and wiped it vigorously on his sleeve. Something was rising out of Irridis's exposed skin. It was a kind of steam or fine dust. Moss pulled back, but the dust had already settled in the hairs of his hands. It tingled. He could feel it in his eyes, reddening his eyelids, making them sore and heavy. In a few moments, Irridis's body had become less distinct, as if it were expanding outward in the form of fine particles. They entered Moss's windpipe, causing him to choke. In a panic he tried to stand, but could get no further than his hands and knees. When he tried to call out, he found that his voice had vanished.
Imogene ran to Moss, calling his name. Moss scrambled to his feet. Irridis's clothing littered the ground but the body was nowhere to be seen. Nor was there any sign of the mysterious dust. Disoriented, Moss ran to the edge of the quay and frantically searched the roiling waters, but he could only see debris from the truck. He climbed around the rubble created by the crash, supporting himself on rebar that cut into his skin. He shouted the name of his friend until he was hoarse. When he came dangerously close to falling into the water, he clambered back to a place of greater stability. He stared at the sea in disbelief, afraid of seeing Irridis under the surface, afraid of not seeing him. He remembered the way the ghostly powder had stuck to the hairs on his hands. Desperate for any confirmation of what he had experienced, he examined them closely. There was nothing. He turned away, shaking in the wind coming off the sea, which was almost unbearable. Imogene waited nearby, her hair tangled and wet, her face stricken with an expression that mirrored his grief. Without a word he approached her. After a time, she gently pushed him back.
"We've lost him," he said, fighting tears.
"Moss. Look," she said, looking past him.
"What?" he said. Her eyes darted to the side, and she stepped away. Turning his head, he became aware of the dark ocellus suspended in the air to his left. It had somehow worked itself free. Barely breathing, Moss extended his arm, palm up. The stone gently descended into his hand. It pulled against the cage of his fingers, toward Nightjar Island.
INSIDE OUT
Gale was waist-deep in the freezing ocean, mumbling like a madman. His arms were filled with items that had spewed from the truck. Moss had no idea how the man had survived the catastrophic wreck, but wished he had not. He cradled the rifle that he had retrieved from the sand, noting that it still held several rounds.
"There was nothing you could do," said Imogene. She stood on the seawall, with the traveling bookcase at her feet. They had pulled it from the water after a fruitless search for Irridis. Her hair was stiff with brine and sand.
"I know," said Moss. He was deep in thought and had been able to do little in the past hour but stare across the water to Nightjar Island.
"I found
him here," said Imogene. She smiled. "He drove himself here in an old bread van. Can you imagine? He was surprised to see me alone, I think, and he didn't say much, only that he wanted to get to the monastery at Little Eye. He was looking for the tunnel Gale told you about. She stabbed him, you know, after Lamb barged in at the Cloth Hall. He was very weak. I think he knew he had very little time left."
Moss did not respond immediately. "I wonder how he knew about the tunnel?" he said finally.
"It's on the maps."
"What maps?"
"He told me that he went to your old house after he left the Cloth Hall to look at some old maps." Imogene shrugged. "When I told him I'd seen Elizabeth's carriage leave the town by boat, he insisted on waiting to meet it."
"He wanted to confront them?" asked Moss.
Imogene shook her head. "No. That's what I thought at first too, but he wanted to talk to Elizabeth. He had questions he wanted answered about his past. He thought that he could reason with her."
"But why?"
"I tried to talk him out of it." Imogene sat down on the wall, fighting her tears. Moss sat beside her. "I'm all right," she said. "Oh damn, here he comes."
Gale walked up the incline from the water's edge and dropped a pile of items onto the ground.
"A treasure trove," he said. The man's color was not good, his face was drained and his eyes were red with broken vessels. His beard was speckled with algae. The left side of his torso was slick with congealing strings of blood. Moss reached down and picked his shoulder bag from the litter of junk at his feet. It was dry.
"Where did you find this?" Imogene took it from him with both hands and pulled out The Songbirds of Nightjar Island.
"Ah, I found it in the truck," Gale said, panting. "Dry as a bone after all that carry on. You can't have it. It's mine, according to the terms of our deal. Now then, that box, the contents are also mine. We had a bargain. Tell her, Moss." He pointed at the bookcase.
"Go to hell," said Imogene. She moved in front of it. "After what you did? You'll never see them. You get nothing." A quivering smile crossed Gale's lips. His mouth was full of blood-smeared teeth.
"Oh, I shall. We had a bargain. Our bargain. Tell her," he insisted, looking at Moss.
"There was no deal. You made that assumption," said Moss. He moved toward Gale, fists clenched. "All you've done here is make things worse. You're an idiot, Gale. You helped the very people we were trying to kill."
Gale's mouth fell open. "But what about everything I've done for you?" His voice was shrill, pleading. "You'd still be lost in the woods if not for me. At the very least I've pushed things to a head, frightened them off. Surely that is worth the reward." A wave of pain crossed his face. "Oh dear, I must sit down. So dizzy." Gale staggered back a few steps and fell to a sitting position like a toddler. Without warning, he lunged at the bookcase, missing it by a wide mark. "Lovely," he said, pawing at the sand with his fingers. "So lovely." He fell sideways. Sand trickled from his closed fist.
When Gale had stopped breathing Moss crouched at his side and searched through the man's pockets. From inside the blood-stained jacket he pulled a large leather wallet. Its surface was weathered and contoured to the shape of the documents within. He opened it expecting money or personal papers.
"What is it?" Imogene asked, alarmed by his expression.
"He was a cop, a detective. Look." He opened the wallet again and displayed to her an ornate printed document. A black horse, emblem of the City of Steps Police Department, was centered on the paper.
"That means?"
"It means he was playing us the whole time," said Moss. He looked down the dunes, half expecting to see a contingent of police lined up along the crest. "He must have been biding his time, using us to see what he could uncover."
"Or using his investigation as an excuse to secretly add to his collection," said Imogene with disgust.
Moss returned to Gale's pockets. This time he pulled out a black notebook, which was hinged at the top edge and held with an elastic band. He thumbed through the pages, confirming his suspicions, stopping here and there to scan a passage. Imogene moved impatiently behind him.
"Well?" she asked.
"He was making detailed notes. See, it starts here with a statement that the bookseller Oliver Taxali admitted under interrogation that certain contraband, rare books, were sold to Judge Habich Seaforth." Moss moved quickly through the pages. "Here, it says, blah, blah a representative of Judge Seaforth hired Lumsden Moss, a fugitive from Brickscold Prison. Moss operates under the alias of Joseph Woods. Moss appears to acquire contraband antiquities on behalf of Judge Seaforth." Moss put the notebook and wallet in his coat pocket. "He seems to have gotten the wrong end of the stick, as they say."
"Maybe it was Seaforth that was the center of his investigation?" said Imogene.
"Maybe at first. I wonder if he thought he'd stumbled across something much more interesting, something of a more personal interest. He was definitely acting alone the last few days. Like a man who saw something he wanted slipping away."
"No sane person would do this," said Imogene, looking around.
"I wonder at what point he figured out who I was," said Moss.
"Never mind that now," said Imogene. "He can't cause you any more grief."
Moss looked up at her. "I'm not so sure about that. There's no way to know who he's told about us, or if he was working with someone."
"I know," said Imogene. "By now the Red Lamprey has probably figured out Lamb is dead, and the police have no doubt found whatever is left of Oliver. Going back was never an option, was it?"
"Burned bridges," said Moss, quoting her note. He rolled Gale over with his foot so that he did not have to look at his face any longer. "We're going to find Memoria, and I am going to take this ocellus to Little Eye. I owe Irridis that."
"The season is changing. We don't have the right gear."
"Are you saying you don't want to go?" asked Moss.
"Hell no," said Imogene gamely. "You forgot the third thing."
"Third thing?"
"We have a witch to kill." She pointed to the traveling bookcase. "But first we need to burn that, because come what may, there's no way she's seeing that shit again."
They built a fire in the shelter of the seawall using driftwood collected from the shore. Moss opened the traveling bookcase and removed the drawings. These he placed safely inside his shoulder bag along with The Songbirds of Nightjar Island. When this was done, Imogene helped him heave the case onto the fire. He half expected to see a howl of evil spirits rise up in the flames, but in the end there was just a lot of black smoke, and popping. While it burned, Moss collected Irridis's clothing from the quay. He set them on the flames, along with Gale's papers, and turned to the problem of what to do with Gale's corpse.
Burning the body would take too long and require far more wood than they could reasonably collect. In the end, they opted for burial in a remote spot far back from the beach, using a camp spade retrieved from the wreckage of the truck. By the time Moss was finished, Imogene had put together a couple of packs for their journey.
THE HARROWING
Yellow jackets led Moss and Imogene to the tunnel entrance after several hours of searching. Wasps bustled from a hole in the ground, hidden among clumps of goldenrod. Listless in the fall air, they flew only a short distance and scrambled in the surrounding weeds. Investigation revealed their nest to be tucked into a ventilation shaft where an odor of rotten eggs drifted from a grate. Close by, they found railroad tracks under a mat of bindweed. The rails ran between retaining walls to a tunnel mouth. Nightjar, in soot-blackened letters, was carved at the apex of the entrance. A barrier of rebar had once been welded in place to prevent access, but this had been forcibly removed and lay to one side.
Imogene lit a hurricane lantern salvaged from the truck. A few minutes of poking around was rewarded by the discovery of a brakeman's lantern lying on its side against a wall. Moss poured some kerosene from the
ir lamp into the one they had found. The globe was cracked, but when he lit the wick, a red glow filled the tunnel. Looking down the track, they could see circles of daylight spaced along the receding ties. These came from identical shafts to the one utilized by the wasps. Beyond the daylight, the tunnel followed a downward grade and the air became damp and cold. Moss looked at the dripping ceiling and imagined the weight of the sea above.
"Well?" said Imogene, dubiously.
"It's the only way," said Moss.
It was no easy walk. Flooded zones of icy water were common, submerging sections of the track. They negotiated these by using fallen debris as stepping-stones. It was difficult to imagine how Elizabeth's carriage had passed this way. It would have taken great strength, yet the ruts were there as evidence, filled with oily water. Fear of encountering the carriage in the tunnel was the source of a brief argument between them. Their hushed voices echoed off the bricks. Moss wanted to douse the lights and use only a small flashlight from the truck. Imogene was against it. It was decided that without a substantial light to guide them, the risk of a fall or some other kind of mishap would be too great. A compromise was struck and the hurricane lamp was put out. They continued in a bubble of red from the brakeman's lantern.
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