“There actually is an entrance, isn’t there?” I say indignantly, stopping and turning to face him.
He laughs. “Yes. ’Tis the back door, so to speak.” His brow furrows. “And you say the door was open?”
“Yes. I could smell the most delicious scent. It smelt like…” I trail off as I remember my first thought after catching the scent.
“Like what?” he asks curiously.
“Home,” I whisper.
He pulls me close. His eyes are bright gold. “Oh, Cary,” he breathes.
I flush, and he takes pity on me and starts to walk again, taking a path by the beach. We pass the huge modern structure of the Tate, and it glows warm in the stormy light, its curves echoing the sea.
Along the front, strings of coloured Christmas lights sway madly in the wind. The sea pounds against harbour walls and the streets glisten with rain. Boats bob in the harbour, straining against their ropes like dogs on the end of a lead.
We pass a bundle of clothes by the harbour, but I startle when the bundle suddenly moves. I blink as it stands upright and walks towards us, a figure forming as it moves. It’s an old lady, her hair long and grey and blowing in the wind, and green smoke drifts around her feet. As she gets closer, I see that her eyes are as green as grass. They’re cunning eyes, gleaming with slyness.
“Dragon,” she hails Sigurd in a raspy voice.
Sigurd stops, pulling me close. “Mistress Agnes, how are you?” His voice is as warm as ever, but I detect a measure of caution.
She sketches a bow that manages to be polite yet mocking. “Scratching a living as usual. Time is not as it once was.” She looks to me. “And who do we have here?”
Somehow, I think she already knows. Sigurd’s hand tightens on mine. “’Tis a friend of mine. Cary, meet Mistress Agnes.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I say politely.
“Ah, one with manners, I see. How unusual.” She edges closer to me, her eyes flaring with amusement as Sigurd movesslightly in front of me. Usually, I’d be offended by that sort of posture, because I can take care of myself, but there’s something about her that makes me wary. “You have no idea how rude humans are now,” she continues chattily.
She raises her hand, and I see she’s holding a big, knitted bag. The fabric is rough and weathered like coils of old sailing line. “This was once such a place,” she says absently, her attention on the contents of the bag as she rummages through it. “Ships coming in and sailors everywhere. So much business for me and my sisters.”
“Sisters?” I ask.
She nods and gives a shrill whistle that echoes around the harbour. Instantly, two other bundles move and rise, forming into the shapes of old women with the same sharp features as Agnes. One has yellow smoke around her feet, while the other has blue smoke.
Agnes calls out to them. “Come and meet the dragon’s?—”
“Friend,” Sigurd says quickly. “Cary.”
Agnes’s eyes gleam like a cat’s. “Ah, yes. I had heard.”
The women crowd around their sister, staring at me for so long that I shift awkwardly.
“Hello,” I finally say. “Nice to meet you.”
“Ooh, he’s a pretty one and so polite too.” It’s the sister with the yellow smoke. She’s short, and her eyes are a strange, yellow-brown. “I am Nan.”
Agnes chuckles. The last sister has a thin, hungry look about her and eyes of a blue so dark they look black. She displays no interest in me but turns to Sigurd. “I hear there is trouble under the sea, dragon.”
I turn to look at Sigurd, and he squeezes my hand. “I know not what, Mistress Margaret. Doubtless, I will find out.”
“Ah, there is the peacemaker,” Margaret says mockingly. “I remember different days.”
Sigurd just shrugs, not rising to the jab. “As do we all. As do we all.”
Agnes suddenly exclaims in triumph and removes an object from her bag. “There it is,” she says. She catches my eye, sly mischief written all over her face. “Come see this, Cary,” she orders.
“What is it?” There’s a tug on my senses and then I gasp as I take a step forward against my will, my limbs moving like a puppet’s. Sigurd’s grip on my hand tightens and stops me from moving further. The air shimmers with a heat haze.
