Crinan takes a good gander at us, from our cloaks to our makeshift shoes. I’m happy to see Claret has hidden herknife inside her cloak again. No need to worry this poor man …
‘Gruoch, huh?’ Crinan spits on the ground. ‘That bitch who married her husband’s killer while his corpse was still warm? Yeah, we haven’t forgotten about her. She’ll get what’s coming to her all right, just like that usurper husband of hers.’ He unsheathes a knife from his belt and points it at us. ‘And you two, play nice, or I’ll see you get the same fate as them.’
‘Oh, finally,’ Claret says. She smiles, ferociously, as her own knife comes out to play.
Crinan circles his knife comically, pointing at Claret. ‘What are you gonna do with that shiny thing, little lady? Cut yourself? Be a good girl and give it here now.’
I should warn him, not that he deserves it. But before I can tell him that he’s bitten off more than he can chew, chosen prey that bites back, a second man arrives, lantern in hand.
A man who’s marginally cleaner, a lot more handsome – and more dangerous than any fox trap snapping shut.
How did he find us here?
I want to scream and yell and possibly take Claret’s knife, plunge it to his heart.
But his brown eyes, intense, unwavering, tell me to wait. ‘I say,’ he begins, setting the stage for my recapture, ‘we have been extremely fortunate tonight, just on our second night of searching through these woods. For these are indeed the women I’ve been looking for, my late wife’s cousins, who were supposed to meet me for her funeral …’ He sets his lantern down, carefully, granting us a smile that’s half panic, half faked sorrow.
Crinan is as confused as we are. My hatred parts, onlyslightly, for the smallest ray of admiration to seep through. His companion is nothing if not able to think on his feet, spin tales in the time it takes for someone to toss a coin in the air. But Crinan recovers quickly, turning his knife to him instead. ‘You were looking for these two? These whores who claim to be friends of Gruoch’s?’ He doesn’t spit again, but the way he says her name … it’s close. I shudder to think that she is not as loved as I’d hoped. ‘Well then, bully for you. I planned to honour our agreement, despite you being an English toff and all, only take the money we’d discussed, but now …’ Crinan’s knife glints in the lantern flame, his eyes hungry. ‘Hurry up and give me all that’s in your purse, if you love your life.’
Thunk.
A sound then, like time has run out, like a woodsman’s axe has found fresh tree bark, ripe for logging. Claret’s knife flies through the air, landing in flesh.
Will Shakespeare’s hands fly to his heart.
34. Claret
My knife strikes true, right in the sternum.
That nasty Crinan fellow stumbles and falls, eyes wide open in surprise. His lantern falls with him, but thankfully the snow cushions the fall, propping it upright so its flame still burns.
‘A debt repaid,’ I tell the Bard who stands stunned beside him. ‘For when you saved my life, back with those waves.’ The man just stares at me, his usual eloquence evaporated. Doesn’t he remember how he waved his torch, forced the daughter-shaped apparition back into the waters before it could grab me? That particular adventure wasn’t long ago, but Shepherd’s realm seems to distort time, so I’m uncertain. Maybe he barely recalls who I am. I notice his hands, then, still hovering over his heart, trembling, as if trying to keep a bird from flight. ‘Did you think I was aiming at you?’ I chuckle. ‘Maybe one day.’
But not until I learn why Anassa brought us here, and why he turned up like a bad weed, immediately after, and what transpired between them while we were separated. I walk to Crinan’s body, place my foot on his chest for purchase, and remove my knife. It comes out with a wet squelch, coated in blood. I can’t see his own knife – he must be lying right over it. I could roll him around but … I sniff; the man already smells, having soiled himself in death. ‘We should bury him,’ I tell my two companions who remain motionless, as if struckby Medusa’s gaze, eyes wide in shock. ‘Or burn him. The ground may be difficult to dig in this cold, but we shouldn’t leave his body to the wolves.’ No one deserves that.
‘I … I …’ the Bard stammers, his gaze flitting between the dead body next to him, Anassa, and me.
‘You what?’ I bark, losing my patience. It’s too damn cold to sit around like this.
‘I … thank thee, of course.’ He bends his head in an awkward bow. ‘For saving my life. It was … unexpected. But I’m most grateful. Most, most grateful.’
‘You knew this man.’ It’s not an accusation, not exactly, but the Bard takes it as such.
‘A fleeting acquaintance, to be sure! A means to an end. I arrived here yesterday, you see, dreadfully lost, and this old chap that I met at the tavern, over drinks, claimed to know these woods. He said he could help me search for you two ladies, for a price.’ The Bard approaches Crinan’s body, his nose twitching at the odour. ‘I suppose it is a good thing I did not pay him all the money in advance … We could use it to get you two a room tonight.’
His blabbering hides truths that need to be delved into, that much is clear. But before I speak, Anassa’s voice comes from behind me, as soft as snow and yet just as lethal.
‘I’m not going back. I have a mission to fulfil, an innocent to save.’
I turn to look at her, my corvid queen puffing her chest, making her plumage bigger to scare off bigger predators. She is magnificent and prideful and so fragile, and I would murder any fool who looked at her like Crinan did, twice. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask her.Did watching me kill someone change how you see me?‘I’m sorry if I scared you, but there was no time to discuss. That man was dangerous.’
Anassa gives me an odd look, her forest-green eyes searing. ‘The man you left alive is much more dangerous. His pen, mightier than any sword …’ Her voice fades like a gust of wind between tree branches. Then her gaze finds the Bard and the muscles in her neck tighten. She takes a deep breath and yells, ‘I won’t go back to rot in your garden. Tell Shepherd to come and look for us herself, tell her to come on all fours and start sniffing the snow for our scent, for all I care, because I’m not returning there! Not without saving Gruoch first.’
Frustration fills me, burning back some feeling in my limbs. Why is Anassa so cavalier towards Shepherd? And who is this Gruoch she keeps mentioning? My head pounds. This wretched snow keeps falling, making it hard to think. It’s all I can do to keep my teeth from chattering, my body from earthquaking. ‘Will you two stop speaking in riddles, for a while? We need to get out of the storm. You,’ I point at the Bard with my knife, ‘pour the oil from this lantern over him. He won’t burn fully in this cold, but his gods should at least acknowledge him. And you,’ I turn to Anassa, ‘no one will force you to go anywhere. Not while I’m around.’
Unless, of course, Shepherd does come, and melts us all to embers with her wrath. But that is a divine threat for later. For now …
‘You mentioned something about drinks? And a room?’ I ask the Bard. ‘Somewhere safe from this cold?’
