Shrike raised his hands in surrender. “Forgive me—I didn’t mean to affright you.”
But the moment Wren’s eyes alighted on Shrike’s face, his heart-wrenching look of fear had changed to one of determination. “Felix has arrived?”
“Aye,” Shrike admitted, and told him all he’d seen. “What of Miss Flora?”
Wren grimaced. “I’m afraid I rather showed my hand with her. Still, she had but one opportunity to steal the manuscripts—and not a very convenient opportunity at that. If by some chance my papers are in her possession, I can only assume she must hold them at Felix’s behest. Overall I think it much more likely that the manuscripts are now in Cemetery Gate, having arrived alongside Felix. We cannot now search with both Tolhurst and Felix in—”
Wren’s speech cut off as suddenly as if his throat were slit. His eyes widened and fixed on some point over Shrike’s shoulder.
Shrike turned, one hand on the pommel of his dagger whilst the other held his cloak out to shield Wren from the view of whatever now pursued them.
A mortal man of middling age, black-robed and white-collared, had entered the cathedral from the doorway beneath the organ-pipes. He wore a curious expression and ambled towards Shrike and Wren with his hands folded before him.
“Let’s be off,” Wren said in that queer clipped tone he took on whenever he and Shrike stood together in mortal view.
Shrike relaxed his warrior stance and followed Wren’s swift yet measured retreat.
Wren didn’t say a word all the way from the cathedral down the winding pathways of Rochester. Only when they reached the stable-yard and found themselves alone—save the horses—did he pause and turn to Shrike.
“Forgive me,” said Wren, surprising him. “I ought to have asked before we started out, but, are you recovered enough to make the journey back?”
“To leave iron behind altogether is far easier than going from iron to iron.”
Wren didn’t appear as though he entirely believed him, but nodded nevertheless. He joined Shrike in climbing the well to balance on its rim. Shrike held out his hand. Wren clasped it.
And together they leapt down into the unfathomable depths of the sea between realms.
The crumbling ruins of the Grove of Gates had never before seemed quite so welcoming as they did now. The moment their boot-heels struck solid ground, Wren cleaved to Shrike, using their clasped hands to twine their arms together and urge him on with the same fevered pace he’d kept up all day.
“On the subject of the missing papers,” Wren said as if their discussion had never cut off. “If Tolhurst doesn’t have them, and Miss Flora doesn’t have them, then Felix must have them. Secreted somewhere on his person or in his baggage. It’s a small enough packet. He could hide it in a few issues ofMaster Humphrey’s Clock. Lord knows Mr Grigsby has enough of them about the office. He’d be only too happy to lend them out.”
Shrike supposed Wren would know his master’s habits well enough.
Wren spoke on, words falling from his lips in an ever-rising torrent. “Felix isn’t high-minded enough—or moral enough, for that matter—to take my manuscripts to the magistrate. More likely he’s keeping them as collateral against the next unreasonable request he intends to make of his trust. As such, I’ll have some warning of his intentions until he reveals all and ruins me.”
“And you are content to wait for him to make the first move,” Shrike concluded as Wren fell silent.
Wren grimaced again. “I haven’t any choice otherwise.”
“You could leave.”
Wren ceased walking. Shrike, entangled arm-in-arm with him, likewise stumbled to a halt. Wren stared up at him in confusion which Shrike knew must mirror what Wren saw on his own face.
“Leave?” Wren echoed. “Impossible. I cannot.”
“Why not?”
“Mr Grigsby is entirely and utterly dependent on me. He’s treated me far better than anyone else in all of England—far better than I deserve—and while I might not deserve his kindness, I will do my damnedest to repay it. I’ll not abandon him.”
“If Mr Grigsby is so fond of you,” Shrike reasoned, “and so dependent on you, surely he would not wish to see you in chains.”
“No,” Wren conceded. “I suppose he would not. Though he wouldn’t like to employ a sodomite, either. I doubt he’d feel half so fond of me if he knew me for what I truly am.”
“Has he said so?” If he had, Shrike would have strong words with him, if not strong blows.
“He needn’t say a word,” Wren replied, taking no notice of Shrike’s resolve. “Every gentleman in London thinks it.”
“Then I have a quarrel with every gentleman in London.”
