Page 9 of The Death Wish

She shook her head, and two tiny finches darted from beneath her hair. ‘We shall manage. Go on then. You know where we are if you need us. Enjoy, gentlemen.’ She turned to enter the establishment, but paused. ‘Tobias, what of the…’ she glanced at Herbert. ‘Your baggage? Would you prefer it stays with you?’

‘No.’ Pitch needed no time to consider. ‘Leave it lie.’

‘Are you sure?’ Silas said, quietly.

‘Very. I’d…I prefer…’ Never to take in the simurgh again, to be the master of his own body once more. He’d prefer to pretend a while longer that he was free. ‘Not yet. Leave the bag in the carriage. Have Phillipa and Scarlet remain with it.’

Jane nodded. ‘Good care will be taken.’

‘You are welcome to come to the inn, too.’ Herbert was far too occupied with Jane’s beauty for Pitch’s liking. ‘There’s room for everyone.’

‘Thank you so much, but we will let Pitch and Silas settle in on their own.’ Pitch caught himself before he exhaled too loudly with relief. ‘Perhaps we shall come for a drink later on? But bestyou show these fine gentlemen to their room now, they both look dead on their feet.’ She winked at Silas but his smile barely lifted.

‘Yes, miss.’ The boy nearly danced himself out of his own shoes. ‘Right away.’

The fool actually saluted her, before turning on his heels, a set of reins looped over each shoulder, waving Silas and Pitch onwards. ‘Quick, this way. Come on.’

‘Horatio! Damn you, I am not running in these fucking boots.’

Silas laughed, though there was not much energy about it.

Pitch brushed his hand against Silas’s fingers. The ankou’s skin was cool, and he allowed his flame to the surface. ‘Are you sure everything is alright?’

‘As you said to Herbert before, it’s been quite the time.’ He leaned toward Pitch. ‘And I think the past week is catching up with me. I did not sleep well when you were gone.’

It really was nothing to be pleased about, but Pitch could not deny the warmth at hearing it said. To be missed…what a strange, quite lovely thing.

‘Well, that was rather silly. I for one had the most wonderful slumber whilst packed into a glass tomb. Right as rain, I am.’

They both laughed, quietly, at the obvious untruth, and Pitch slipped a single finger into Silas’s hand, who clasped it like a treasure.

Herbert guided them off the North Road, where the Rule sat, and onto the main street. They arrived ten minutes later, with Herbert declaring it loudly, pointing until they had both murmured their approval. The Churchill Inn was pretty, with its lower level pale rendered brick, whilst the upper levels were exposed slate and stone work. Three levels, with dormer windows on the roof, hinting at a usable attic space. Gold lettering across the inn’s middle declared its name. The brownremains of ivy clung around the doorway, but winter had made a skeleton of the plant for now.

‘I can’t decide whether to wash or eat first,’ Pitch said.

‘You could do both, could you not? Sit in the bath and indulge in a tart? Now there’s a sight I shall look forward to.’ Silas’s grin suddenly slipped and he grasped Pitch’s finger tighter.

‘What is it?’ Fucking gods, what now? ‘Is there danger?’

The ankou seemed to gather himself, his hold loosening. ‘Sorry, no, nothing of concern. There was just a very strong waft of the graveyard, it caught me off guard. I just…’ He seemed uncomfortable, furrows creasing his brow.

‘You just what, my dear? Come on now, spill it. I need notice if we are to run again, these boots are torture, and I’m really not dressed for it.’

That smoothed out the big man’s lines a little.

‘Nothing like that. I may have to excuse myself later on and take a stroll.’ He touched at his chest. ‘I think I need…’

Up ahead, Hartford or whatever the blasted lad’s name was, hollered for his father. ‘Some fellows are here for a bed and tarts, pa.’

There was so much to be said about that particular sentence, but Pitch held back the urge.

‘Go on, Silas.’ This feeling of concern that came so readily where the oaf was concerned was bloody annoying. Life was far simpler when one did not give a damn.

‘I need to spend some time there.’ Silas glanced at him and Pitch felt a prick of unease. ‘The graveyard, I mean. It will do me good, I think.’

Pitch stopped, pulling his fingers from the ankou’s hold. ‘Because you are not good now? Are you unwell?’ His own stomach did unwelcome flips at saying it. ‘Silas, don’t fuck around. What is wrong? Out with it.’

‘I am not unwell, but I am drained…’ he paused, and after coming to a visible inward decision, continued on. ‘I’ll be honest and say I feel tired in a way I’ve not know before.’ Pitch must have failed at hiding his concerns for Silas’s expression fell. ‘No, no, there’s no need for concern, I assure you. A decent rest and I’ll be fine. I don’t suppose I can take on the likes of the Herlequin and a goddess, and expect to walk away with little more than a sore thumb.’