Page 3 of The Simurgh

That hardly seemed possible if the visions he’d had, whilst toppling from the carriage as they’d begun their ill-fated journey, were indeed from Pendle Hill as Sybilla suggested. Silas had witnessed an endless, awful sacrifice. Teratism after teratism upon an altar, each being devoured by ravens.

‘Nothing of note…certainly not a sorcerers’ den. Hardly a trace of maleficium at all. Nothing of the Blight.’

Silas sagged, reconsidering his decision not to partake in a drink. What had he seen then? And where? Sybilla had only assumed it Pendle Hill from his description, but the landmark was, he was told, quite unique. He poured himself a brandy absent-mindedly.

‘Are they absolutely certain?’ he asked.

‘I am absolutely certain.’ The Lady worked the fishmonger’s jaw, tight flexes of muscle. ‘I placed myself there after you told me of the things you’d seen. Even if Tobias was not taken there, what you saw was cause enough for concern. But if the Morrigan were at Pendle Hill once, they are not now.’ The fishmonger slumped into their chair and sat forward, elbows upon the table, fingers dug into their unkempt head of mud-brown hair.

‘Satine?’ Mr Ahari frowned, reaching across the table, but stopping short of touching the man.

‘I’m fine. I’m fine. But I cannot be placing myself in every nook and cranny we deem a possible hiding place. It is too much, and my strength must be kept for the lake.’ They raised their head, and Silas noticed for the first time how utterly exhausted the man appeared. ‘Blood Lake’s tides and currents fight the seals with greater and greater ferocity. The Blight pulls upon them like a full moon that grows ever larger.’

‘Then leave this with me.’ Mr Ahari gestured at the layout on the table. ‘I shall keep watch and summon you should anything of note arise. Keep to your waters for now. His Majesty and I shall oversee things here.’

The fishmonger’s frown seemed set to signal a protest, but his feature’s smoothed and he nodded. ‘Very well.’ The burly man looked to Silas, who stood with brandy in hand, the faint trembling in his fingers evident in the shift of the liquid. ‘For the love of all the gods and their tits, don’t do anything foolish, Mr Mercer. I know you are mighty, I know your love for him has deepened. It is a formidable pairing, but keep your head. You need to focus on the bandalore, if you truly believe it with him. Find a way to–’

‘I’ve tried to find him. I am trying. Christ, did you think I’d not bloody bother?’ Silas took an angry sip of his brandy.

‘Of course not. But perhaps your head is not as clear as it might be.’

Silas glowered. ‘It is clear, Satine. But I feel nothing of the scythe, Ihearnothing…’

A silence that terrified him like no other.

‘Well, it is not singing his death note, then. Take comfort in that.’ Silas nearly choked on the mouthful, the horror of such a thought squeezing his throat thin. ‘What I mean is, we have no reason to assume he is dead.’

‘Jesus bloody Christ. He is alive.’ Silas spoke through clenched teeth. ‘He is alive.’

‘So best you remain the same way, or as close to as your kind can manage.’ The Lady was absorbed in the runes. ‘There are dangerous players afoot. No small angel brought Sybilla down. You are not to go running off half-cocked and get yourself into a bind. Do you hear me? Lalassu will not take you when I have not allowed it, so forget those plans of yours I see rattling about behind your eyes. Stay. Wait.’

Silas remained silent, holding the other man’s gaze, unafraid and unbowed by the power behind them. He was furious at the Lady for daring to even suggest Pitch’s demise.

He is alive.

He is alive.

The mantra nailed itself into his psyche. And would remain there until he had the prince once more.

‘Do we understand each other, Silas?’

The silence stretched taut before he nodded. ‘Oh indeed we do. Perfectly well.’

A quirk came to the fishmonger’s lips. ‘That sounds more like the horseman I recall from times past. A lovely, stubborn fool.’ Lady Satine looked to Mr Ahari. ‘Try to keep Lucifer from killing everyone he deems of interest, won’t you?’

The kitsune gave her a tired smile and nodded. ‘Of course. Conserve yourself, my dear. And best of luck in all this.’

‘I dare say we need a tad more than luck, old man. But the same to you.’

The fishmonger shivered as though struck by a sudden icy breeze and crumpled, his face planting with a worrisome thump on the table, making the runes jump.

‘Oh blast.’ Mr Ahari leapt to his feet, grabbing at the man’s hair to lift his head. ‘A broken nose I’d say. Calliope,’ he called out over his shoulder.

A woman dashed into the room. She was clad in the black and white of house staff, her mousy hair cinched tight beneath a frilly, starched white cap.

Silas barely paid heed to her melody, which named her a brownie. It did not matter who was within these walls…only who lay without.

With Mr Ahari and Calliope tending to the unconscious fishmonger and his bleeding nose, Silas slipped from the room. He intended to be right there when Lucifer interrogated Ernest Weatherby. Right within range should hint of Pitch’s location be drawn from him.