Page 44 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE TRAVELtrunk at the back of the carriage was filled to the brim with blankets, clothing, and food. Plenty of sugar-rich cakes and honeycomb, Pitch had been told. Though eating was the last thing on his mind. All in all, enough supplies for a good week if they were careful. But no one seemed to know how careful they needed to be, because no one had a fucking clue how long the ride would take.

And it was beginning with Silas in a sulk.

The ankou was still attentive to Pitch’s needs, of course, aiding him up into the driver’s seat when he refused point blank to ride in the carriage where he’d be knee-to-knee with Edward. But that was not to say the ankou was in a fine temper.

Silas handed Pitch a blanket, one foot upon the pedestal step, the other still firmly on the ground. His gaze fixed on the cabin’s open door where Charlie knelt upon the floor, his feet sticking out and revealing well-worn soles on his boots. He and Sybilla were busy making Edward comfortable inside, but Silas had taken great issue with the way the lieutenant had been moved from bed to carriage. Charlie had carried the man alone and manoeuvred him in through the narrow doorway single-handedly.

‘You can stop glaring at me, Silas,’ Charlie said from inside the cabin. ‘I am coming with you and that is that. We are almost ready to drive on, do get in the seat.’

‘Do you have any idea how dangerous this shall be?’ Silas said.

‘Have you forgotten I was at the Fulbourn? And set upon by ash men with you? But you saw me just now. I seem to have the strength of an oak. I told you I can be helpful, now you see it.’

‘He has you there, my dear.’ Pitch added his contribution to the pointless argument. Charlie had emerged from the Fulbourn as changed as the rest of them, and the lad was utterly set on travelling with them.

‘I cannot allow this.’ Silas, bless him, thought he still had a chance.

‘Do you think yourself my master, Mr Mercer?’ Charlie returned with steel of his own. ‘Let me disappoint you right now with the truth.’

Pitch had to grin at that. And the horror on Silas’s face at such an accusation. But Pitch’s amusement was short-lived when he caught sight of Old Bess in the upstairs window, arms folded tightly across his chest, his hair askew. His despair reached all the way down to where Pitch sat.

‘Silas, enough.’ Pitch tugged at his cloak, a hooded black affair he wore over the top of a dull beige herringbone tweed coat. It had killed him to don such a plain ensemble, but they needed to be the height of uninteresting for the journey. The corset hidden beneath would keep him sane. ‘Get in the seat and drive, man.’

‘But it’s not right, it is far too dangerous.’

‘Driving a carriage? You said you know you’ve done it before. Another of your hidden talents. Much like your tongue upon my arsehole.’

He was vulgar with the intent of drawing the ankou’s attention away from the blasted vagabond and onto the road ahead. Northwest were the scant directions provided. Told to Charlie, of all people. Whispered through dried lips by Edward when the lad lifted him from his bed.

‘Arsehole,’ Tilly declared, swinging her legs where she sat upon the skriker nearby.

Fuck.

But Pitch had Silas’s attention at least. Even if it was a glare. Pitch shrugged. ‘What? Everyone has one…’

‘Tilly, please go inside.’ Silas took his foot from the pedestal and moved to the child’s side. ‘Stay with your mothers, and listen to Bess. He will look after all of you. You will be safe here.’

‘I help.’ Tilly splayed her chubby little fingers, brandishing them towards the house.

There had been no ivy upon the walls when they first arrived. None a day ago. But there certainly was now. Swaths of it covered the red brickwork in vines of the brightest green, as though summer and not the dullest, dreariest winter’s day surrounded them.

‘That is very helpful.’ Silas knelt on one knee, like he were in the midst of an inappropriate proposal. A giant alongside the petite dryad. ‘Take care, little one.’ He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and she pressed her hands to his cheeks.

‘Bye-bye, Sy.’

The ankou enveloped the little girl, his solid arms wrapping her gently. All Pitch could see of Tilly was her tiny hand patting at Silas’s back.

It hurt his eyes to watch. He looked away.

The cabin doors clicked closed, almost in unison.

‘We are ready,’ Sybilla called.

‘Bye-bye, fire man.’

Pitch glanced down. The hug was done with, Silas rising to his feet. The changeling smacked her hand over her mouth, then released it, blowing Pitch a sloppy, irksome kiss. If she were wanting one in return, she’d be waiting for some time. If Pitch so much as moved an inch right now, he might break, like the man he’d killed upstairs.