Wystwood

51. Beneath the old compass

Flakes of ash fluttered off of Ada's cloak as she drifted down the cobblestone streets. She and Raeph walked ahead, scouting each turn through the city and straining to catch any potential rattle of chains. Behind her followed Armestrong, who had wrapped Min in her apron and was cradling her so closely the child could have passed for a sack of spring vegetables. Lark had wordlessly taken his place at the rear of the party, his limp less noticeable now as they kept a wary pace.

Ada couldn't explain to the bandits exactly why she was so certain that the old compass would lead them to the Stone Circle. She had only seen it once before—with Solen translating the words in Old Fae wreathed around its face—but something about it haunted her mind, as though the compass had a spectre of its own that was imbued with the spirit of a near-forgotten past. It was an object that murmured of magic, even if that magic was of a more subtle and sensory kind.

She had told Raeph where they were heading, as she had little idea of the quickest route back towards Wysthaven's tower. Ada's first thought had been to trace their steps back along the canal, but the risk of being seen was too great. A shudder skimmed her spine as she thought of the matchstick houses. Their cindered streets would make easy hiding for the Hounds clad in black.

The bandits had little energy left, and Ada could only hope that their trudging made them plain, as their ash-streaked faces invited attention. Even Raeph looked exhausted. Whenever they paused to peer around corners, he slumped back against the brickwork before declaring the next alley clear. Little energy meant little strength, and little strength made easy targets. But still, they walked on.

When buildings eventually rose up, they seemed bizarre in their sudden height. Ripples of mortar ran around wooden window boxes, each one stuffed with pink and yellow tulips. Silver bells sung from their strings, ringing out the triumph that their streets had not been chosen by the Hounds, that their pavements weren't lined with skeletal timber and carpeted with ash. It all washed across Ada's eyes, dreamlike in its strange reality.

Before fae came fragrance; sage and cedar, lamb shank laid in mint. The faint scents swelled from open hearths and chimney pots, sickly in their sweetness. A char clung to Ada's nostrils. She wondered when Min had last eaten, but found herself too timid to turn and see just how thin the child had become. Armestrong hadn't yet stopped to rest her arms, which said more than Ada's eyes would reveal anyway.

The bandits skirted around marketplaces and trading houses, keeping to the alleys that Ada had learnt to recognise. They were all back streets and cul-de-sacs, worn cobbles shadowed by swinging store signs. Ada distracted herself by thinking up window displays for the odd shop titles; Hamish's Hattery would have lime-green bowler hats feathered with peacock plumes, and The Night Nectar would be a perfumery stocked from floor to ceiling with bottles of essence absolue. It was better than imagining their path's end. Whatever end it was that awaited them.

At the turning from one alley to the next, they passed by a group of washboard women, all dressed in frayed aprons and dresses. They giggled together, suds soaping up their arms and bubbles bursting from their fluted boards. The sight of them brought back echoes of Ada's entrance into Wysthaven, and her first encounter with the fae-folk. They had paid little attention to her then, simply seeing another hooded stranger slip through the streets. Though when the women looked up now, their eyes lingered not on Ada, but on Raeph.

One gasped, fingers flitting up to stifle her own breath. The others cast their gaze away, laughter drowning in their water tubs as Raeph stalked past. He didn't spare a glance towards them, striding on ahead until Ada had to quicken her pace to catch up. When the bandits reached the end of the alley, Ada looked back and saw that the women had hurried away.

The bridge back into the inner city felt a mile long, with every step sounding a creak that Ada was sure would draw the Hounds. Fewer fae milled amongst the streets by the canal, though that didn't help to calm the bandits' nerves. A silence had settled in the air, an absence of noise so similar to the burnt-out houses across the city. It was the sound of people refusing to acknowledge destruction, a quiet so awful it set Ada's heart hammering.