Page 69 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6

‘I can take them both.’ The Valkyrie was decisive. ‘They are lithe enough. But you, Silas, shall take some figuring out when I return.’ She jerked her head towards the carriage. ‘And he may require another knock to the head to put him out for the journey. I know his aversion to flying.’

‘It is far more than an aversion,’ Pitch called out from somewhere in the depths of the cabin. ‘It is against my religion, or creed, or whatever it need be.’

They both ignored him. ‘Silas, you’ll take him on Hastings for now. She will be able to follow my lead.’

He nodded.

‘Speaking of your horse,’ Matilda still crouched in her rivulets of black-and-crystal-blue water. ‘Best you put her back to rights. The White Horse and a snowfall will work together nicely. Time she shows her true colour.’

‘Agreed.’ Sybilla’s gaze went to her mount. Hastings stood so still that she appeared as though a statue, the snow piling on her haunches, dulling the strong grey of her dapples. No. It wasn’t the snow at all, Silas realised. The dapples were fading.

‘Right, I’m about done with standing here now.’ Matilda coughed again, and the sound that came was the rather unpleasant gurgle of a blocked pipe.

‘Are you all right?’ Silas blinked snowflakes.

‘Be better if I’d never agreed to join the Order, but there we have it. Now get on with you, the lot of you. I’ll do what I can but I’m about run dry. Get them where they need to be, Valkyrie.’ Matilda stood up– and continued on up, rising as the snow fell. ‘Good luck to you all. And prepare for some bad weather.’

Her form whittled away until there was nothing to see of her at all. From the south came the ominous roll of thunder.

‘Bad weather?’ Pitch said, incredulous. ‘Does she think this a lovely fucking day?’

As though winter itself heard him the skies released. And what had been a fluttering of icy flakes became a downpour.

CHAPTER TWENTY

NOT JUSTsnow but a biting wind. One that pushed itself up Pitch’s trouser legs and etched its freezing self into his skin.

‘Shit.’ He clung to the doorframe, not daring to test his ankle too much just yet. The pain was not quite so intense as before. That had to count for something, surely? And his headache had definitely improved. He sneezed, something he’d been doing too frequently for his liking, and discovered he was wrong about his headache.

‘Charlie, make sure the bays are untacked. Let them go free,’ Sybilla shouted from somewhere in the white blur of the outside world. ‘Silas, remove Hastings’s saddle. It will be easier for the two of you without it.’

The ankou called back, though his exact words were stolen by the wind and another of the ceaseless murmurs of thunder.

Pitch shrugged on his greatcoat with inelegant aplomb in the confined space, fighting down the ever-ready panic that choked him. If they forced him to fly, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just crumble altogether. He felt sewn together with weak threads.

‘All is well, all is well,’ he muttered like a loon while he dressed. ‘Keep your wits, keep your wits.’

Edward was huddled in the corner of the seat, layered up with so many blankets that the poor sod looked as though he were part of some strange burial rite. As Pitch fumbled with his buttons, the lieutenant stirred. His eyes opened.

Pitch could not help shrinking away, pressing himself back where there was no room to do so.

‘Tobias. It’s me.’ Grey eyes soft, Edward regarded him.

There was space to breathe again. ‘Well, that’s…how are you?’

‘Not so terrible as I might appear.’

Was the fool man trying to smile? Amidst all this mayhem?

‘Edward, we are to separate. Sybilla will take care of you and–’

‘I know. I understand. Tobias, we are so close.’

‘To the Sanctuary?’

‘To everything.’

Pitch was in no mood for cryptic speech. ‘Fine. Great, wonderful. I have to go.’