Page 131 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

They were leaving the Fulbourn at last.

Silas sucked in the air. Christ almighty, it was an absolute joy to breathe in, even with the sooty harshness raking at his nostrils. It was evening, deep into it he would guess. The storm-flushed sky was heavy, the cloud cover pressing down so low there were no tops to the trees. It was pouring with rain, a curious contrast to the fire that gripped sections of the Fulbourn, but Silas thought he’d never seen a sight so beautiful.

Nor chaotic.

There were alarm bells ringing, and he glimpsed a fire truck racing along, pulled by a team of heavy horses making great splashes in the puddles that soaked the ground. Beyond them, lit by bobbing torches and held lanterns, he spotted a group of frightened patients being ushered towards several omnibuses that lined the road leading out of the Fulbourn. Hardly sufficient numbers of vehicles since the place was overcrowded to buggery. He swallowed down a swell of guilt, seeing all the damage done since their arrival.

Bess left first with Charlie. She had cleared the doorway, and Sybilla was about to follow when she jerked back, cursing, swinging around to shield the man she carried.

‘Sybilla?’ Silas frowned.

‘Too much tongue,’ she snapped. ‘I can’t abide it.’

What the blazes was she on about?

An enormous hound bounded through the open doorway. Shaggy, dripping, one eye a red glowing ember, the other like the sliver of a candy apple.

‘Forneus!’ he cried.

The beast nuzzled at Sybilla’s leg and was shouted at before bounding towards Silas.

The skriker bared its teeth all the way to the very last molar. He shrank his head low between his shoulder and growled as he approached.

‘Forneus? It’s me…Silas…’ He clutched Pitch closer to him. The creature had not been overly fond of the daemon to begin with, but Pitch had told him what Forneus had done at Gidleigh House. Surely this aggressive greeting was not aimed at the daemon?

The skriker growled.

And the teratisms released shudder-inducing howls in return.

Forneus barked, a whopping sound not unlike anything the storm was releasing.

The teratisms quietened. The hound dashed past Silas, snapping his jaws.

‘No, Forneus, they are not our foe.’

The skriker took heed at once, closing black lips and letting a growl rumble softly, but he nudged his snout forward, tossing his head. The teratisms backed up in one swaying mass of unsightliness, huddling like sheep against one another. The skriker barked again, this time sharper, and the teratisms lowered their heads, bunching in closer.

Silas’s laugh popped from him. The hound was keeping them in order, like a farmer’s dog handling a flock.

‘Silas,’ Sybilla urged. ‘Can we save the show for later?’

‘When did the skriker arrive?’

‘Before us. He is the reason we found you. Well, he and the girl.’ Silas frowned, but Sybilla shook her head. ‘Later, I’ll explain. Come on, Silas, get in the carriage.’

‘But they can’t. Get in the carriage I mean.’ Silas was bright with an idea. He turned to the hound. ‘Can you keep them safe, Forneus? I may have need of them.’

The hound cocked his head, eyeing Silas. He whined and Silas thought he detected agreement.

‘Good.’ He looked to the teratisms, a huddled mass of distorted flesh and wronged matter who had been saved by a whistle.

Hiswhistle.

A few notes that had ended the ceaseless attack at the monopteros. Desperation had brought the brief tune to him there. Now he was only anxious that Pitch be tended and have a roof over his head that did not threaten to cave in.

Would that suffice?

Silas drew in a breath and let go of all but his need to convey a message to these creatures.Hiscreatures. He pursed his lips and did not think too hard on what might come. He whistled, a wandering, airy melody, the type of tune that might be sung as one lay upon a hill in the warming breeze of a summer eve. Silas wished for the teratisms to calm, to know an iota of peace, and his wants were there in the melody that left him.