Page 59 of The Fulbourn: Pitch & Sickle

‘No,’ Pitch said. ‘That’s quite enough…Come along, Mr Knight, we are through here.’

But Silas was already on his way with the doctor.

‘There you are, the last one on the left,’ Dr Severs said. ‘There’re no other patients down here at the moment. You can’t miss him.’

Silas reached the room indicated and peered through the viewing pane. He went perfectly still.

‘This isn’t the lieutenant,’ he whispered.

‘No?’ the doctor replied. ‘Then who is it, Mr…Knight? Do you know them?’

‘He should not be here,’ Silas shouted, rattling at the door. ‘Release this man at once.’

Pitch raced to his side, shouldering past the doctor.

Through smeared glass, he saw a figure seated at the centre of the cell, wrapped in a straitjacket, his ankles bound to the legs of the chair. There was a strip of leather across his brow, pinning his head back against the high-backed chair, another across his mouth, stifling anything he might have tried to say had he been conscious. His eyes were closed, but there was no need to see those cornflower blues to recognise who sat there.

Charlie was a very unwilling guest of the Fulbourn.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SILAS POUNDEDon the viewing pane, only stopping to thrust his hand into his pocket. Going for the bandalore no doubt.

‘No.’ Pitch grabbed at him. ‘Stay calm…keep your head.’

‘Stay calm? Do you see who they have in there?’ Silas was frantic. ‘Where is the key, damn you?’

‘Do you know this boy, Mr Knight?’ Dr Severs was a winter frost. And evidently a stupid one at that if he did not already know the answer.

‘Of course I bloody know him.’ Silas glowered. ‘And you had best not have harmed Charlie in any way, or so help me –’

Pitch dug his fingernails into Silas’s arm, hoping the sting might reach the ankou where he was drowning in anger and fear. It was too late to pretend they didn’t know Charlie, but until they had a finer understanding of the doctor’s agenda, the less else they gave away, the better.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Silas squared his shoulders and took a threatening step towards the doctor. ‘Release him, right now. You have no right to hold him here.’

Rightly so, Dr Severs was backing away, but Pitch thought the man should have been far more fearful than he was. He looked more like a man who had struck gold.

‘You know him. So it is you for certain.’ Tilting laughter came from the doctor. ‘Silas Mercer comes to the Fulbourn.’

Silas was far too riled up to have the sensenotto react when his name was called. The ankou’s face was a calamity of confusion. The doctor took a few more steps backwards. He pressed his hand to one of the crude bricks, and a harsh scraping announced the slide of a barred door across the passageway.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Pitch lunged for the shifting metal, but he was too far away and the moving parts too quick. The surge of his temper threatened to bring the flame to hand. He shut down the glow at once. He did not intend to give away that advantage yet, not until they knew Edward’s whereabouts.

The metal latch clunked into its lock.

The bars shutting him in were mere inches from his face. Pitch stared at the tiny rounded etchings carved into the dark iron.

Fuck. This was maleficium. He’d recognise the markings anywhere. The gods knew he’d stared up at similar etchings long enough at Gidleigh House. These sigils were faint, barely a shade lighter than the metal, and covered every inch of it from base to roof.

By Enoch’s shrunken cock, the Fulbourn had the Morrigan’s claws upon it, and they had just sauntered across the fucking threshold.

Pitch’s pulse quickened, his throat barely capable of allowing his words to escape. ‘Believe me, Severs,’ he said. ‘You have chosen the wrong side if you stand with the Morrigan.’

He heard Silas’s sharp intake of breath. ‘What?’

‘Silas, our dear doctor has chosen poorly. There are sigils carved into the bars. I think he’s hoping to extend our visit somewhat.’

‘Shit,’