Page 3 of The Death Wish

‘Very well, consider the offer always open.’ Silas squeezed his shoulder gently, and let go.

‘What I truly need, what we both need,’ Pitch said, ‘is a decent wash, and a visit to the finest tailor in the dales.’

‘Oh, bloody hell, yes. And a dressmaker who can sew up a corset for you,’ Silas added. ‘Christ, what I would not do to see you caught up tight in whalebone and lace.’ He made a small, irritated sound. ‘Sorry. You have just spoken of being restrained and –’

‘Gods, there is no comparison, take back that apology at once.’ Pitch scowled. ‘I would like nothing more than to have you bind me tight. But I think satin, rather than lace, what say you?’

‘I say I’ll be demanding we stop at the next damned town and taken straight to their seamstress.’ Silas practically glowed with delight. ‘What shade do you think? I’m partial to green of course.’

Pitch hiccoughed a laugh, his ribs protesting distantly. ‘Of course. So I hope you shall not be disappointed if I say peach quite takes my fancy.’

They carried on in that vein a while, inane, silly talk that was like a balm to the soul. Both smiling, laughing, ignoring the bruises and cuts and hurt of the cockaigne. They spoke as though this quest was all but over, the worst of it left behind in the UnSeelie Court’s realm. But Pitch knew Silas was likely doing just as he was; pretending each step they took through the sceniccountryside was a mere joy ride, and not the blasted funerary procession it likely was.

Lalassu jolted him from his dangerously melancholic thoughts with a turn of foot, a sudden lurch into a trot on the widened road that brought them up alongside the carriage.

‘Bloody horse,’ Pitch cursed as he struggled to find his rhythm.

Isaac slowed the carriage. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Buggered if I know,’ Pitch grunted.

But the answer was quite obvious just a moment later.

The Pale Horse threw up her head, so much so that Pitch glimpsed the velvet tip of her nose before she lowered her snout once more. Her mane lifted, and the weaving began. The intricacies of the design spread themselves out, the fanciest he’d seen the mare create thus far; a narrow building, squat and rough in design, two storeys, that seemed to sit directly on top of the arch of a bridge.

‘What is that supposed to be?’ He frowned. ‘Silas, decipher your horse, will you?’

But it was Isaac who spoke up first. ‘I know that place.’

‘You know what that tangle of horsehair and fleas shows us?’

Lalassu snorted, and Isaac scowled. ‘That’s Bridge House at Ambleside. We’re headed for the Lake District.’

Pitch glanced back at Silas. ‘It does not sound like your favourite kind of place, my dear.’

‘I dare say I’ve visited far worse,’ Silas said, giving Pitch a grim, tired smile. ‘Isaac, how far, do you think?’

‘I reckon we’ve got a couple of hours ahead, a little more perhaps. We will be there well before sundown.’

‘Praise the feckin’ saints,’ Tyvain called out. And this time even Jane was relieved enough to join in.

‘Now that is news to my ears.’ The elemental leaned out the window. ‘Sybilla really needs to be lying down, this bumping about is doing her no good.’

‘Don’t be using me as your excuse when it’s your arse you’re worrying about.’

‘It’s my boobies, if you must know. A lady can only take so much jiggling about.’

Sybilla laughed, and though it was weak, and every bit as exhausted as Pitch felt, he couldn’t help but relish hearing the Valkyrie’s amusement.

Her injuries–terrible burns–were a shocking sight to behold. The attack that Pitch had believed killed her, had done awful damage. It was an absolute miracle that she had survived the strike of Gabriel’s halo. Silas had been oddly reluctant to speak of the circumstances in any detail, saying only that they’d talk of it when he was certain Sybilla was not in earshot. Regardless, it was clear that her efforts to save both he and Silas at the churchyard had taxed her terribly. Pitch’s thoughts went to the Dullahan, too. Another who had gone to great lengths to rescue them.

Silas had been right in trusting him, so it turned out.

‘Onward we go then, let’s not tarry,’ Phillipa declared, joining Isaac on the driver’s seat, much to his teeth-grinding annoyance.

‘Watch yourself, ghoul.’

‘How dare you, sir. I am a spectre.’