She dared not let it go.
The snowdrifts of the hills retreated as the tracks led them along the coast. By the time Effie spied the mouth of the River Dee, the acrid bite of seawater filled her nose. The bridge rattled as they crossed the water. She peered toward Aberdeen’s large harbor, but it lay in shadows as the late afternoon sun fell to the west. Already the gas lamps of the city’s broad avenues had been lit. Their flickering light caused the granite of the city’s squat buildings to sparkle.
Alighting from the train with stiff legs and the weariness that comes from a long journey, she heard the lamps hissing. It took her a moment to realize why they sounded so loud. The train platform and station beyond held hardly a soul. Those she spied hurried on their way, as if they feared what might happen if they tarried.
“News of trouble in the city seems to be quite understated,” she said. She’d brought Jack Canonbie’s old cane and waggled it at a gentleman scurrying from the station. His shoe-clacks echoed off the stone.
Conall tapped his own cane on the platform. As he scanned about, his brow knotted. “Best we do the same as the locals,” he said. “Until we know the cause.”
A short lane brought them to Union Street, the main artery that divided the city. At its end, the Castlehill Barracks rose up like a prison and blocked the view of the sea. They made their way to a large square spread before the barracks. Normally bustling with activity—hawkers selling contraptions from the south, boys crying out with news from the latest broadsheets, and local tradesmen peddling their services—it stood now as quiet as the station.
Effie’s foot tapped. She had hoped to beg the pardon of a passerby and ask for directions to the address they sought. She had hoped they might inquire an audience with the man before the evening grew too late. Neither now seemed likely.
She cast out her senses. She could feel the denizens of the city tucked within the buildings. It made her frown. Her foot stilled as an anxious twitter began in her gut, one that had nothing to do with Fey Craft. It came rather as a warning from the base part of her.
Conall’s arm shot out. She jumped, nearly dropping her cane. “Do you see it there?” he asked. He pointed at a long shadow in the clouds. It took her a moment to distinguish the form of the airship hanging in the wind off the coast.
“Is it French?” she asked. The twinge in her gut intensified. She peered closer but could barely make out its rough outline.
“It is too difficult to spy,” replied Conall. “But certainly if so, they cannot remain there forever.” He turned around and gestured. “And why here, of all the places?”
A hoarse cry echoed toward them, followed by the clack of several boots striking the cobblestones. Effie whipped her head toward the sound. It came from a street running off the square. The hoarse voice barked again, but this time Effie caught a touch of fear in it. The footfalls stopped, and the eerie silence returned.
“Effie, wait!” Conall hissed the words after her as she strode across the square. She didn’t turn back to him. Tightening the grip on her cane, she kept it from striking the ground. Conall caught up to her as the side street opened to them.
She startled and halted. Down the street, a pair of gothic spires rose at the front of a chapel. Before it, four soldiers surrounded a man and woman. The soldiers had their rifles leveled and bayonets fixed. Their red coats stood boldly against the granite stone of the buildings. Those they surrounded dressed in drab colors of a plain and modest style. The pair shrank toward the chapel, as if desperate to flee into its shadows.
One of the soldiers barked a question. Effie couldn’t make out the words, but the man and woman shook their heads vigorously.
“Effie, this is not for us,” said Conall. He snatched her arm with a gentle but firm hand. The touch jarred her. She hadn’t realized she’d taken a step forward.
“We must aid them,” she said. Heat rose in her chest. Her neck flushed.
“The soldiers or those they detain?” asked Conall. “We have no way of knowing their business, nor any reason to suspect it. The queen’s men are our allies, remember.”
She huffed as the truth of his words sank into her. She had no way to tell which side she should defend. Her assumption of the man and woman’s innocence had come from her long history of mistrusting the crown’s agents. Yet she refused to turn away. Something odd befell the city, and the scene before them stank of the same uncanniness.
“All the more reason we have no need to hide.” She searched his face, wondering if it would’ve been better to come to the city alone. The thought made her twitch with guilt.
“Yes…but…” Conall exhaled a deep breath. Conceding, he nodded. “You are right. We need to learn more about what is going on. Shall we?”
Her eyes widened at his about-face. When she nodded back, he hollered down the street. “You there!” He strode toward the soldiers, clacking his cane against the cobblestones with each step. “I am a member of Her Majesty’s Fey Finders. Tell me what transpires here.”
The potency of his voice surprised her, as did the conviction of his lie. He marched with a stiff posture. It made him appear taller. Effie flushed the thoughts from her head. Striding behind Conall, she focused on the men with rifles.
The soldiers snapped their attention toward Conall. The one who had barked at those they detained stepped forward. As she approached, Effie could made out the blond hair that matted on his upper lip. His cheeks were lined and chapped. They held nothing of the youthfulness of his companions. The chevrons on his sleeve identified him as their sergeant.
The sergeant cleared his throat. He gestured. “Stand there, if you please, and kindly tell me your name.”
“Mr. Conall Murray.” Conall took a few strides closer before stopping.
“Well, Mr. Murray, if there were a Fey Finder in the city, I would know of it. So I will presume you just arrived.” The sergeant’s face remained passive. He knew better than to challenge Conall, but nor did he display any gratitude for the man’s arrival. “The matter here is well in hand. You will find Major Barnes within the barracks.”
It took a force of will for Effie to hold her tongue. Yet it would not be proper for her to speak over one proclaimed of higher rank. It would risk the gambit Conall played. Her gaze ran along the faces of the other soldiers. They were worried, and the way they held their rifles spoke of a preparedness to use them. They were not idle sentries on a routine patrol.
Her flesh prickled as understanding came to her. They hunted. Or something hunted them.
She swallowed. The gas lamps hissed at her. The dancing shadows their light cast over the chapel deepened as the last of the evening’s glow vanished from the sky. She closed her eyes and cast out her senses once more. Before she had lightly grazed to gather an impression. This time she scoured every aura in the buildings along the street.
“You will not mind if I listen to your inquiry. I have a need to know what is being done about this matter,” said Conall. The statement was truthful and sounded plausible enough. Yet he had barely uttered the words when Effie sensed something with fey blood materialize beneath her feet. She gasped and leapt to the side. But the aura was farther down, under the cobbles.
A low wail resounded through the city streets. It carried with it grief and pain, a lament for the dying.