“I like it just fine.”
“If you collect a bottle of that glitter from her wings, I’ll give you a hundred gold shillings.”
It was impossible to hide my shock. That was more than many bounties, and just to collect some glitter? My jaw dropped and my eyes widened. “A hundred? How big of a bottle?”
Peter mimed out a bottle the same size as my hand. “I’ll pay the same anytime you get me a bottle like that, no questions asked.”
“For every time I get a bottle filled with that dust, you’ll give me a hundred gold shillings?Gold?” It seemed too good to be true. He might as well be just as wealthy as the Employer. “How do you have that much?”
“No questions,” he repeated. “Nosy questions always lead to dangerous answers.”
I was looking back at the pixie, already planning out how to extract dust from her, when she turned. Her wings had distracted me from the rest of her body, and now the bulge in her abdomen became painfully obvious. She trailed her slender fingers across it and smiled at the man, who looked just as elated and placed his hand over hers.
Peter wanted me to rob a pregnant woman? I opened my mouth then remembered what Peter said about nosy questions and clamped my jaws shut, feeling rather like Ambrose when he nearly asked me about the bounty I wanted to place.
So instead, I tilted my head to the side to consider. The dust was just swirling away, lost to the wind. Peter was right; she was wasting it. I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong to collect something she was just throwing away, whether or not she was carrying a child.
The man turned, and something metal at the end of his arm caught my eye. “He only has one hand,” I mused. “I wonder what happened.”
Peter didn’t answer. I looked around to see that he had locked his jaw, staring hard at the hook that replaced the pirate’s left hand. There was a strange look in his eye, like a mix of anger and immense sadness all at once.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching out to nudge his elbow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Peter hadn’t taken his eyes off the couple, who were browsing through booths set up in the market. The woman had picked upa tiny, crocheted baby hat and showed the man, who promptly paid the shopkeeper without even haggling over the price.
Peter gave an odd jerk of his head. “I’m fine. Just thinking is all. So do we have a deal? A hundred for each bottle of her dust?”
“Sure, if I can find a way to get it,” I told him. “Can’t you just ask her, since she’s throwing it out anyway?”
“No. I promise if you ask, they will immediately become uncooperative and hostile. Don’t let them know you’re collecting it.” Seemingly without realizing he was doing it, Peter reached up to trace the scar on his face, still fixated on the couple as they moved on to another booth, unaware that they were being watched.
“If I get some, where would I find you?” I asked him.
Both Peter and I slowly stood up and he nodded to the side. “Down that dirt road over there. Walk for about an hour and make a lot of noise. I’ll come find you.” He threw another shrewd look at the couple slowly becoming lost in the crowd. “The offer stands for any of her dust.”
“See ya!” I said, waving to Peter as he started down a lonely-looking path in the forest. “Hopefully I’ll come with it soon.”
“Stay out of trouble, Gil,” Peter called back. “Or else you’ll end up like me.”
CHAPTER 5
Iwaited in the market’s shadows until Peter was long gone and the sun was beginning to set, then began tracking him through the woods. His footsteps were easy to follow; it wasn’t a well-traveled trail. I stayed quiet, gently setting each foot down heel to toe and avoiding any sticks on the path, blessing the fact that it was summer. If it had been autumn, I’d have to contend with the crunching leaves underfoot and less foliage to hide behind.
After almost an hour of walking, Peter’s footsteps vanished. I studied the ground before seeing a few snapped twigs among the brambles to my right, along with a green thread snagged on a tree several paces beyond the trail.
I grinned, tugged my dark cloak’s cowl up to hide my blonde hair, and draped the scrap of fabric over my face that I’d sewn onto the hood so only my eyes were visible in the growing darkness. Now it was going to get fun.
Tracking in the dark was much more difficult than during the day, but I was less likely to be spotted this way. Every few paces, I’d pause, listening and watching for any sort of hint that I was closer, but it was the scent that gave away where Peter was.
The heavenly aroma of some sort of roasting meat reached my nostrils. Whatever Peter was cooking had to be good. I tried to ignore how my mouth watered as I crept toward the smell. Soon, a thin beam of light could be seen from between the trees and I crouched down, moving so slowly and quietly that several birds fluttered down to land near me, unaware or uncaring that I was there.
The ramshackle house that emerged from the darkness was barely holding itself together. The roof had more patches than it did original shingles, and the grimy windows were cracked, with dilapidated shutters hanging from the sills, swinging sadly on the breeze.
Voices floated out of a cracked window. One was Peter’s, playful and boisterous, and the other was gruff and deep. Threadbare curtains hung on the inside of most windows, and when a large figure wrapped in furs passed by one of them, his silhouette momentarily blocked out the light.
That had to be Roderick Vane.
I carefully adjusted into a more comfortable sitting position, one that I could keep for many hours if needed. The last thing I wanted was for my legs to go numb or develop a cramp.
