All the soft sounds stopped as she spoke, the rustling ceased, the breeze no longer played in the upper branches. Everything was absolutely still and quiet. But Susan felt something change; something flickered, for an instant, in the corner of her left eye. She turned slowly, ready to bring up her sword.
As she turned, the little noises came back. The breeze wafted through the upper reaches, lifting leaves and branches. Something small and furry whisked through the thick undergrowth. A blackbird called again, perhaps that same hopeful male from the dell, keeping her company.
Two overhanging beech trees, rimed with green, had fallen on each other to form a gateway, a rough path visible beyond that gate. Neither beeches nor path had been there a moment before.
Susan bowed, said, “Thank you,” and took the path. Almost immediately the wood opened up. There were no longer thickets of brambles, the oaks were farther apart, the beeches between them shorter and less grasping. She could even see the sky and the sun. Which looked much higher than it had when she’d last seen it.
Only a few minutes later, she heard other noises up ahead. The crack of a trodden-on stick, the swish of branches pushed aside, the scuff of footsteps . . . there were people coming towards her.
Crouching low, Susan left the path—not without a moment’s hesitation, in case it disappeared—and slid around the trunk of a vast oak, so she could peek around but still be hidden—though the forest was so dense this worked both ways, and she couldn’t see very far.
There were at least two people, she thought. Maybe more. She heard them come closer, then they also stopped, and she caught faint whispers. Susan held her breath, removing even that faint noise so she could hear better. They were moving again, towards her, noisier now, with clumping feet and—
“Susan!”
Susan whirled around, instinctively lifting her sword. Merlin had silently crept up behind her, a dagger in his left hand. She didn’t lower the sword, but he was already disappearing the dagger. Literally, she couldn’t see where it went; it was gone in the space of a single blink. Possibly up the sleeve of his corduroy jacket, which Merlin clearly considered suitable for rural wear, combined with a cream blouse atop a subdued tartan skirt, green stockings and upmarket Hunter Wellington boots with side straps, and what at first glance appeared to be a kind of green beret with a bobble on top. His tie-dyed yak-hair bag still graced one shoulder.
“What is that on your head?” asked Susan. The look of relief on her face made it clear these words were an expression of how pleased she was to see him.
“It’s a tam-o’-shanter, of course,” said Merlin, as if she should already know. He held out his arms and smiled. Susan walked into his embrace, they hugged for a moment, and then both recoiled as if suddenly remembering pressing appointments.
“I was worried,” said Merlin.
“Me too,” said Susan. “Who is that stomping around?”
Merlin looked past Susan and called out, “Vivien! It’s Susan!”
Vivien approached from in front, not bothering with her heavy “for the purpose of distraction” boot stomps. She was wearing jeans, a checked shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat with a crushed crown that had been pushed out, and Adidas running shoes. A British Caledonian vinyl airline bag hung over her shoulder and she was carrying the scabbard for the old sword.
“Oh, thank heavens,” said Vivien. “Where’s the Fenris?”
“Gone,” said Susan. She let out her breath and lowered the sword, her heart beginning to slow down. “Merlin’s sword . . . you wounded it badly but it took a while to take effect. So she . . . it was a she-wolf, diverted to get healing from Morcenna’s Well, down there. Morcenna healed her, but wouldn’t let the wolf take me. So the Fenris turned into a bunch of ravens and flew off to whoever she answers to.”
“Morcenna?” asked Merlin.
“Has to be a water-fay with that name,” said Vivien. She frowned. “Lucky she wasn’t hungry.”
“What?” asked Susan.
“The water-fay are rather arbitrary,” said Vivien. “Kind of a fifty-fifty proposition for visiting mortals. Get helped, or get eaten. Not that they need to eat. But they like to from time to time.”
“I saw her teeth,” said Susan, with a shudder.
Vivien handed the scabbard to Susan, who gratefully sheathed the sword. When the blade was bare she was always uncomfortably aware of its presence and sharpness, as if it wanted to cut someone.
“Do you remember any details about the Fenris?” asked Vivien. “I might be able to identify her. Did she have distinct silver hairs in her snout, or—”
“Morcenna greeted her as the Fenris of somewhere that sounded like One-under Mere.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow and looked expectantly at Vivien.
“Onundar Myrr,” said Vivien. “Lake Windermere.”
“Does that help?” asked Susan.
“It will, I’m sure,” said Vivien, frowning. “But I’ll need to check the references. I don’t recall the Fenris of Lake Windermere being associated with any particular Old One . . . we need to call in, Merlin. Ask Thurston and the New Bookshop team—”
“I’m still not sure that’s a good idea,” interrupted Merlin. “But we certainly have to get out of here, anyway.”
He pointed at a distant speck in the sky, or what was a distant speck to Susan at least. It took her a few seconds as it drew somewhat closer to recognize it must be a helicopter.
“Police helicopter,” said Merlin. “Following the A50. Hopefully not looking for our new car yet.”
“What time is it?” asked Susan, lifting her wrist to set her watch. It was going again, but clearly wrong. “I got kind of confused in the wood, and the sun looks much higher than it did. . . .”
“It’s ten to twelve,” said Vivien, not bothering to consult any timepiece. Susan accepted this as another right-handed skill, and set her watch. “I’m glad you worked out how to get out of the wood; we’ve been wandering the fringes for the last two hours trying to find a way in. Not having the appropriate reference with us to tell us how to placate or pressure the entity concerned.”
“I asked the wood to let me out,” said Susan. She ignored the swift glance between Vivien and Merlin. “Um, why do we need to get away from a police helicopter?”
“Merlin had to shoot a policeman,” said Vivien. “Well, two police officers. But one was killed.”
“What!”
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” said Merlin wretchedly. “But once shots are fired . . . anyway, they fired first. They were under a compulsion. Like those thugs who tried to abduct you, and the ones who killed Mum. Someone . . . something . . . messed with their minds.”
“It’s going to take time to sort that out, and we haven’t been able to call in to the Greats to get that done,” said Vivien. “In the meantime, the Leicestershire Constabulary and I guess every other force in the country will be looking for the two people who killed a cop on the M1.”
“Oh,” said Susan, and then, “Oh! If it’s really ten to twelve, Morcenna said the Fenris would get wherever it’s going within a few hours. The wolf will have told whoever was expecting me exactly where I was.”