Page 13 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

Silas’s struggle weakened.

He did not recall which way was up now, even if he could fight his way free. A fool. He was a fool to have done this alone. But surely this could not be his new grave? His hourglass could not have run out so ingloriously. Not right now. With so much left undone. Unsaid.

A spark of indignation tried to catch in the dampness. No. He’d not bloody well die here. He’d made Pitch a promise. Told the prince he’d not navigate his fate alone.

Silas bucked about, his whole world oozing back and forth as breathing became a distant memory. Surely Forneus at least would sense his distress? What good having a fae dog if the bloody thing ignored you when you were clearly in desperate need?

A press at his neck came as tendrils of milfoil wrapped there like ugly, slippery scarves. Silas’s eyes flew open as he reached for the slimy noose.

He came face to face with living horror.

A creature swam towards him, illuminated by its own dull light. Large as a badger, it had eyes like saucers, black as the darkness that clawed at Silas’s feet. The head was too inflated for its own body, with a skull that was cratered at the top, as though a huge weight had been dropped upon the bone but not killed the unsightly thing. A mosslike substance clung to the rim of that crater, delicate as the lace on a widow’s veil.

As Silas struggled against his binds, a huge tongue shot from the creature’s mouth, a glint of quicksilver brightening the sombre surrounds.

Silas threw back his head. The creature’s tongue sliced against his neck, and Silas feared it was his own blood that would muddy the waters next. Instead, the strangling hold of the milfoil eased.

He’d been freed.

A second creature, smaller than the first but with the same misshapen head and gleaming snakelike tongue, darted in at his side and made quick work of the mare’s tail that embraced Silas’s waist. Severed chunks of weed floated around him. Spindly arms reached for him, grabbing Silas’s shoulder and hauling him upwards. They moved at a startling pace and burst through the surface.

Silas’s inhale was like the screech of an ungodly spirit. His ribs flared as though they wished to split his skin wide open and search for yet more air.

The creature still held him, though it stayed hidden just below the surface, only some of its thin arm visible. Where a man would have skin, this strange beast had algae, all shades of green and dirty browns. Silas was propelled towards the shore, coughing and spluttering like the near-drowned man he was.

His throat stung as though all the grit in the pond had streaked it as it drove into his lungs.

The creature’s grip was at Silas’s collar. He could feel pressure beneath his chin as his head was kept raised from the water. They were moving along at a great clip, fast enough to create a bow wave as Silas’s body was pushed through the water and lilies. At his side the water rippled with the presence of the other bowl-headed creature, cruising along like a seal.

Distracted by his swimming companions, Silas startled when the bottom of the pond suddenly pressed against him. He was in the shallows, returned to the gap in the bullrushes where he’d entered the water. Silt forced its way in at the waist of his trousers as he was hauled along the bottom. The hand clenching his shirtfront released him, the ripples spreading away as the creatures turned back towards deeper waters. Silas rolled over. His buttocks sank into the mud, which squelched between his toes and fingers as he sat up, seeking to see who had rescued him.

And that is when the tune began. A slinking, weaving melody that ebbed and then flowed. Subtle, and quite pleasing to the ear.

Water elemental. Undine.

Had he just met Matilda? The last of Holly Village’s elementals he was to be acquainted with was not quite what he’d been expecting.

‘Noble, but there are warmer baths to take, Mr Mercer.’

Silas jerked about.

A dark-haired woman stood not far from where he sat, and she was every bit as drenched as he was. The long lengths of her hair hung like a small cape over her shoulders and down her back, all the way to the backs of her knees. Her plain cotton gown, a startling white that would challenge a summer cloud, was clearly without corset or crinoline beneath. The material clung to her willowy figure, to the point of indecency. The low cut of the bodice, loosely laced, highlighted the path of water that dripped in a near constant stream from the tip of her aquiline nose to the shallow, exposed valley between modest breasts. Her saturated nature did not seem to faze her in the least. She stood with hands at her sides, quite relaxed despite the downpour.

Here was the undine the notes sang of.

‘Matilda?’ Silas drew himself onto his knees, trembling like a rain-struck leaf. Thankfully it was mostly cold and not fear that bade him do so. ‘It is wonderful to meet you at last. I have much to thank you for.’

‘Yes. You do.’ The undine’s eyes, a fetching shade of blue a few hues lighter than Charlie’s bold cornflower shade, flicked down to Silas’s chest. When she did not look away as quickly as was mannered, he glanced down at himself.

‘Oh my, I’m terribly sorry.’ The top buttons of his shirt must be buried in the mud, for they were certainly not at their posts. A good portion of his chest was bare, the curls of dark hair stained with all manner of pond unpleasantness.

‘What for?’ Raindrops dripped from her lashes, splashing against her cheek in great pronounced displays. ‘The view is hardly terrible.’ Matilda’s way of speaking was deadpan, to say the least. And her words rather embarrassing.

Silas pushed to his feet, gathering his shirt folds, covering himself. ‘You must be wondering what on Earth I am doing–’

‘No. I am not wondering that at all.’

‘Oh…very well, then.’ Silas cleared his throat, wincing at the reminder that a short moment ago he’d been drowning. He glanced over his shoulder. The pond’s cluttered surface held small patches of lacework where ripples disturbed the surface as the rain continued to fall. ‘There are creatures living in that pond who–’