Page 4 of The Death Wish
‘You’re a boil on my arse. Good thing Ambleside’s got a darn decent alehouse, is all’s I’ll say.’
Isaac clucked his tongue at the pair, and the horses leaned into their braces, working into a brisk walk that took them away, leaving Silas and Pitch to watch their progress.
Neither of them made move to follow.
Beneath the rumble and rattle of the carriage Silas said, ‘Do you think Ambleside is where the Sanctuary is, so close to the cockaigne all this time?’ He stopped short of asking Pitch if he recalled the place; a good thing, for the answer would have been curt, and sharp and unfairly hurtful.
Pitch shrugged, running his hand over Lalassu’s waterfall of a mane, which was now returned to its long, uncomplicated lengths. ‘If we do not believe anything is possible by now, Sickle, then more the fools we are. But it would certainly seem odd.’
Silas hummed his agreement, and still they remained unmoving. Just staring ahead, with the swish of the brown horse’s tail all that disturbed the silence. The day was cool, as all tended to be in December; a fire would be welcome, as would a warm meal and a soft bed full of hardened ankou.
But still, the reins remained loose in his hands. ‘Do you suppose we could walk a while?’
Silas did not falter. ‘Of course. I’d relish the chance to stretch my legs. There is no great rush.’
Which was a lie, of course, and they both knew it, but they dismounted nonetheless, and walked along together, secluded between the horses, as the sun began its lazy winter rise.
CHAPTER TWO
THE VILLAGEof Ambleside came into view precisely two hours and fifteen minutes later, as the day reached mid-morning and all the mist had vanished from distant hills.
They travelled along Stockghyll Lane, a narrow but neatly compacted roadway that eventually brought them alongside the River Rothay. Not so great or wide a river, but its waters sparkled with the coolness of the month, and the gurgling over smoothed rocks could be heard despite the clunk of carriage wheels. All geographical details were supplied by the grunting Isaac, whose clear resentment of them all was superseded by his unexpectedly prideful desire to enlighten them about their surrounds.
‘Caught a decent trout or two in those waters.’ Isaac spoke with the nearest Silas had heard to enthusiasm. ‘And Beatrice cooked them up nicely and served them with an apple mash a man could grow well addicted to.’
Silas glanced at Tyvain who leaned out the carriage window. She gave him a look that told him she was equally bemused to hear the normally sullen Isaac divulging details of what amounted to a life beyond his carriage seat.
‘Ya have a taste for Beatrice’s mash then, eh?’ Tyvain said. ‘Ya sly dog, didn’t think ya had it in ya.’
‘You don’t know anything about me, hag.’
And no one could argue with that.
Ambleside was a quaint village of mostly slate stone houses, interspersed with the distinctive white stucco and tarred beams of several Tudor homes. As they entered into the village proper they came upon the particularly curious structure that Lalassu had weaved in her mane. A small bridge spanned a narrow section of the river, and upon it sat a tiny, two storey building of stone, with a rather worse-for-wear roof.
‘There’s Bridge House, built over the water so as to avoid paying land taxes.’ Isaac’s grunt was approving. ‘Been everything from an apple store, to counting rooms for the local mills, a weavers, and last time I was through here, a cobbler had set up shop there.’
Pitch jerked to attention. ‘A cobbler? Lalassu, halt at once.’
He swung his leg over her neck, dismounting in one fluid movement.
‘Whatever are you doing?’ Silas said.
Pitch made a grand flourish towards his feet. ‘Do you see those atrocities you all deign to call boots? A size too small and mouse-nibbled at the toe on the right? I’m going to bang on that man’s door this instant and have him make me a brand new pair.’
Isaac had provided Silas and Pitch with coats, but he’d been unable to produce a pair of boots for Pitch’s bare feet. That had involved sneaky work on Jane’s part. Phillipa had scouted the village of Newchurch for sign of any boots left on doorsteps. With the morning being so early they’d been in luck, and the air elemental had used a brisk breeze to seconder a brown leather pair. Pitch had been unhappy instantly, of course, for the fit was tight and the colour not one he’d prefer, but the air was cold enough to redden everyone’s noses and Silas had pressed him to wear them. Fire daemon, or no.
Now Pitch was striding off in those very same boots, putting on quite the exaggerated show of being in discomfort. He’d not limped this badly even when his troublesome hip was at its worst. Silas watched him with an exasperated smile.
‘What makes you think we have time for a cobbler to make you a pair of boots?’ Jane stood by the riverbank, her breeze stirring the pussywillow that grew there. ‘That’s a day’s work.’
‘What makes you think I want boots? I shall have the finest shoes, and we’ll stay for as long as it will take him.’ Pitch called over his shoulder, the glorious fuchsia cloak fluttering around him. ‘The lake’s been there for a long while, it can wait a day more.’
Jane looked to Silas, who shrugged. ‘I have no intention of getting between him and a decent pair of shoes.’ And the village looked pretty as a picture…indeed,feltlovely as one too. For the first time since they’d set out from Pendle Hill his prickling of unease had subdued itself enough to allow him to consider taking a proper rest. Silas would breathe easier once he’d seen Charlie’s face again, but Lalassu, and indeed, the scythe passed on no sense of urgency. The mare was calm, the blades quiet. He dared listen to that inner sense that told him…they were safe here.
That this was a different type of Sanctuary than the one they sought, but a sanctuary nonetheless.
A reward, perhaps, for all they’d done to ensure the survival of the Cultivation? Silas clutched at the small hope as though it were the crown jewels. But he was not a fool. He could only pretend to be one, and that would suffice for now. The village was far too pleasant for darker thoughts.