SEVENTEEN 13 страница

‘Yes, I thought I might be able to live here. That’s to say, we might be able to live here in peace. ’

‘But that didn’t prove possible? ’

‘I thought, perhaps naively, that free from my father’s disapproval, we might be accepted as equals. Mixed marriages are unusual in this part of the world, and they’re certainly frowned upon, but they’re not unheard of. ’

‘Your fiancee is black? ’ Pyke asked, trying to muster the appropriate level of surprise and even consternation.

‘Mulatto actually. ’ Malvern smiled dreamily. ‘I suppose you think less of me now? ’

‘What a man does in his private life is none of my concern. ’ Pyke waited for a moment. ‘But you were saying something about not being accepted as equals? ’

‘The prejudice is as much on the blacks’ side as the whites’. They wouldn’t leave her in peace. Things happened. She became unsettled, frightened even. ’ Malvern stopped, perhaps sensing he’d said too much, especially to a prospective buyer of the estate.

‘Frightened? ’

‘It’s nothing that should concern you. ’ Malvern tried to smile but Pyke could tell he’d realised his mistake.

‘I’m thinking about making you an offer for the estate. Anything and everything about the place concerns me. ’

Malvern picked up his coffee and took another sip. ‘There’s this primitive slave religion called Obeah. It’s superstitious nonsense, you understand; a kind of black magic. Obeah men and women are said to be able to summon the spirits of the dead. One of these figures set out to ruin the happiness I was beginning to enjoy with my fiancee. I could see that it was all in her mind, but eventually it got too much for her. They’d leave bloodied feathers, chicken legs, parrots’ beaks in her bed, that kind of thing. I tried to make her see it for what it was but even though she’s educated and has read more widely than I have, she told me she couldn’t stay here. That’s when we first talked about settling in England. I tried to talk her out of it, of course. I know the place. I was schooled at Harrow and spent much of my adolescence there; a cold, dreary country, nothing to recommend it. But she’d read about England in the novels of Jane Austen – that’s what she imagined it would be like, and who was I to try to convince her otherwise? ’

‘And so you decided to send her ahead of you to London, ’ Pyke said, trying to keep his tone neutral, ‘to stay with your family perhaps? ’ But he was thinking about what the captain of the Island Queen, McQuillan, had said about Mary Edgar: that she had the ability to commune with the dead. Would such a person, in turn, really be frightened of a parrot’s beak or cat’s paw?

This made Malvern sit up in his chair. ‘My family? ’ His face was damp with perspiration. ‘Whatever gave you that idea? ’

‘I thought you told me that your father and sister had relocated to England as well. ’ It was something Malvern had mentioned the previous night over dinner.

‘Mr Squires, I mean Monty…’ Blood was vivid in Malvern’s cheeks. ‘My father helped to build this estate into what it is today and, in the end, he earned the respect of the slaves who worked here. In turn, he came to appreciate their grudging work ethic and loyalty. But do you really think he would ever consent to me, his heir and only son, marrying a mulatto girl? Enjoy carnal relations with her, perhaps, but marry? Never. He’d string me up before allowing it to happen. ’

Pyke considered what he’d just been told and whether it implicated Silas Malvern in Mary Edgar’s murder. What if the old man had found out about the proposed marriage? What if he’d told Elizabeth and she’d tried to frighten Mary off using Jemmy Crane? What if all of that had failed?

‘Then surely you’re taking a risk, ’ Pyke said, as though the thought had just come to him, ‘by planning to marry in the city where he now lives? ’

‘But he doesn’t know about the engagement. He doesn’t even know Mary is in London, ’ Malvern said, puzzled. ‘I’m hoping that when we finally do marry, he’ll come to accept us. I mean, he’ll have to, won’t he? ’ Malvern’s naivety was both endearing and pathetic.

‘So you’ve made arrangements for her to stay with friends until you’re able to conclude your affairs here and join her in London? ’ Pyke did his best to suppress an urge to ask Malvern directly about William Alefounder, whether he’d stayed at the great house and, if so, whether he’d shown any interest in Mary.

Malvern looked at him quizzically, perhaps taken aback by the personal nature of the question. ‘My godfather was happy to take her in and will look after her for as long as is required. You see, Uncle William lives on his own in a large house in Mayfair. ’

Pyke took note of this detail. It explained why Mary had asked McQuillan about that part of the city but didn’t begin to shed light on why she’d also taken a room at the lodging house on the Ratcliff Highway. ‘I’m pleased for your sake this man is more enlightened than your father. ’

‘He just wants me to be happy. I wrote to him and explained the problem towards the end of last year. Indeed, it was his idea. And I know for a fact he won’t say a word about it to my father. ’ Malvern looked over at Pyke, frowning. ‘Anyway, why are you so interested in my personal affairs? They have no bearing on the status of Ginger Hill. ’

Pemberton had just stepped out on to the veranda.

‘If I’m buying anything – a horse, a house, an estate – I want to know exactly why the seller is willing to give it up, ’ Pyke said. ‘In this instance, if my questions have been of too personal a nature, forgive me. But for my own peace of mind, I needed to ask them. ’ He stood up and left the two men to discuss their affairs.

Pyke found his horse at the stables. It had been fed and watered after the long ride up from the town and, having saddled it himself, he mounted the docile creature and urged it into a canter with a kick of his boots. From the stables, he followed the flint track down the hill to where a stone bridge crossed the river; there, next to the river, was the boiling house, a larger building than he’d been expecting. It looked deserted but Pyke didn’t stop to check. A little farther up the hill on the other side of the river was the grinding house, a slightly smaller building, again made of stone, which was connected to the boiling house via a wedge‑ shaped trough. As Pyke understood it, the freshly cut cane was ground using vertical iron rollers powered by a waterwheel. The cane juice then ran down the trough into the boiling house, where it was rinsed, skimmed and emptied into copper vats; there it was boiled down into raw sugar and the skimmed molasses was turned into rum. But there was no one working in either of the buildings, and the whole place felt like a cemetery. As he rode up the hill into the fields on the plateau above the river, Pyke thought about the dilemma facing Malvern – pay a higher wage or risk losing the whole crop – and wondered why the planter hadn’t compromised in the short term. It seemed Malvern had been badly advised, and Pyke wondered whether the attorney really did have his best interests at heart. He also thought about what Malvern had just told him about Mary Edgar, and how distraught the planter would be when he learned about her fate.

There were more clouds in the sky than there had been the day before and the air was more humid. Pyke had ridden deep into the cane fields and the ripe canes, seven or eight feet tall, swayed in the gentle breeze. About a mile or so farther along the track, he heard some voices and then caught sight of Pemberton slouched on his grey horse, staring idly into the distance. Pyke didn’t think the attorney had seen him and climbed down from his own horse, tying the reins around a cotton tree. He hadn’t seen a single field hand anywhere during his ride and was therefore surprised to see a crew of about twelve men, all black, sitting under the shade of a giant mango tree, talking freely with one another and laughing. Pyke didn’t want to draw attention to his hiding place and so didn’t risk getting close enough to hear what they were talking about, but in all the time he watched them, they didn’t move from their spot, and Pemberton, for all his rhetoric about ‘nigger knocking’, didn’t make them. Certainly no one seemed too interested in the ripe cane plants and, from what Pyke could see, none of the surrounding fields had been harvested.

Back at the stables, Dalling was waiting for him. He was leaning against the gate, with a blade of grass in his mouth.

‘I was wondering if you’d thought any more about the conversation we had last night? ’

‘I don’t carry that amount of money around with me. ’

Dalling offered Pyke a lazy smile. ‘Don’t insult my intelligence. You strike me as a resourceful fellow. Go out and be resourceful. ’

Briefly Pyke ran through his options, or lack of them. Dalling already knew he wasn’t who he claimed to be and Pyke had as good as confirmed it. But Dalling wouldn’t go to Pemberton or Malvern with his suspicions until he was absolutely convinced that he wouldn’t be paid. Until then he would keep his mouth shut, which, in turn, meant Pyke could ask him a question.

‘You must have known Mary Edgar, or at least you must have seen her around the great house. ’

Dalling’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘What has she to do with anything? ’

‘Did you get the impression that she and Malvern were as devoted to one another as he’d have people believe? ’

That drew a snort of derision. ‘If you count fucking one of the field hands as devotion then maybe they were. ’ Dalling’s nostrils were black with snuff. ‘Of course, given that he used to fuck his own sister, he isn’t exactly a saint, either. ’

That stopped Pyke dead. ‘Charles slept with Elizabeth? ’

‘You know her, then? ’ Dalling smirked. ‘Well, if you want to know more, you’re going to have to pay more. ’

‘Look, I’ll get you your hundred and I’ll give you another hundred on top of that if you tell me what you know about Charles, Mary and Elizabeth, the lot of them. ’

‘Is that why you’re here? ’ Dalling’s eyes narrowed.

Pyke’s head was spinning with possibilities. ‘Did Charles know that Mary was sleeping with another man? ’

‘Course he knew. That’s why he sent her away. ’

‘What was the man’s name? ’

‘I’m not that stupid. If I tell you, you won’t have to pay me. ’

‘Two hundred for everything, ’ Pyke said.

‘Gives you a thrill, does it? Imagining the brother and sister going at it under the sheets? ’

‘I can get the money by tomorrow night, ’ Pyke said, his throat dry from the heat. ‘But I’ll need the name of the field hand now. ’

‘If you try to double‑ cross me, I’ll go straight to Pemberton. Is that understood? ’

A silence hung between them. ‘Well? ’ Pyke asked finally.

Dalling picked another stalk from the ground and made to leave. ‘His name’s Isaac Webb. But these days you won’t find him anywhere near Ginger Hill. ’

Pyke found Charles Malvern on the lawn in front of the great house, standing over what turned out to be a camera obscura and a small copperplate. Malvern called him over and proceeded to explain how the process worked; he didn’t ask about Pyke’s tour of the estate or the strike or whether he was still interested in making an offer. He just wanted to talk about daguerreotypes and, in that sense, he reminded Pyke of a young boy who’d just found a new hobby.

‘You see, ’ he said, pointing at the camera’s lens. ‘The light pours through here and projects an image on to the copper, here. But the plate has already been soaked in iodine and in about five minutes a very faint image will begin to appear. When that happens, I’ll take the plate inside and develop it over heated mercury; what happens is that the mercury amalgamates with the silver to make the image. ’ He stood up, apparently pleased with himself.

Pyke glanced down at the camera and concluded, from the direction it was pointing, that the image would be of the house. ‘I’m surprised you’re able to keep abreast of such developments here. ’

‘Actually I have my sister to thank for it. She’s been an enthusiast ever since she read about it in a newspaper. She sent me all I needed to get started and now I import the copperplates and iodine directly from a manufacturer in London. ’

Pyke tried not to show his interest. ‘She sounds like a forward‑ thinking person. ’ He was thinking about her attachment to Jemmy Crane, about his interest in daguerreotypes, and whether the two were connected.

‘She is. ’ Malvern stopped what he was doing and looked up. ‘We used to be very close as children and our bond has remained strong. I’m not afraid to say I miss her dearly. ’

Pyke looked searchingly into his face for signs that what Dalling had intimated was, in fact, true. ‘Then you must look forward to being reunited with her in London. ’

‘Indeed, ’ Malvern said, as though the matter were an awkward one. ‘I just wish…’

‘Yes? ’

‘It’s nothing. ’ He smiled weakly and turned his attention back to the camera.

‘When was your sister last here at Ginger Hill? ’

Malvern screwed up his face. ‘A couple of years ago, I’d say. ’ He looked around the garden. ‘Lizzy loved this place as much as I do. But she’s also devoted to our father; she has been ever since our mother passed away. When he announced he planned to retire in England, I rather hoped she might stay with me at Ginger Hill but in the end she chose to settle in London. I’m sure it was the right decision. ’ He smiled awkwardly. ‘After all, this is no place to find a husband, is it? ’

‘You found a wife here. ’

‘I did, didn’t I? ’ Malvern looked up at Pyke, almost sounding surprised. ‘And I miss her terribly. ’ He waited for a moment, as though distracted. ‘I wish I could show you a daguerreotype of her, so you could see how attractive she is. I developed a number of images but they were stolen in a burglary earlier this year, together with some coins and bonds. ’

For a moment Pyke wondered whether he was referring to Elizabeth or Mary.

‘Really? ’ Somehow it seemed amiss: coins and bonds could be fenced, but who would want to buy a collection of copperplates?

‘The Custos never did find the person responsible. ’ Malvern looked up and saw a servant coming towards them. ‘I tried to persuade her to pose for me again but this time she refused; said something about it bringing bad luck. ’

The servant, Josephine, told Malvern it was time for his afternoon sleep. She spoke with a faint French accent and later Malvern explained that she’d been born in Martinique and had looked after him ever since he was a child. Pyke might not have been there, for all she noticed him. ‘Massa need his sleep now, ’ she said.

‘Were all the daguerreotypes stolen? ’

‘Yes, all of them. ’ Malvern looked at him. ‘Why do you ask? ’

But Josephine had already threaded her arm through Malvern’s, and before Pyke could answer, she was leading him across the lawn to the house.

That night, Pyke ate with Malvern and Dalling as the Pembertons had been invited to dine elsewhere. The conversation was stilted and awkward. A few times Pyke tried to steer it towards the subject of Malvern’s family, hoping to learn something more about the mother’s death, but Malvern was morose and seemingly incapable of speaking more than a few words at a time. Dalling appeared bored without Hermione Pemberton’s chest to gawp at and managed to restrict himself to a few barbed remarks about Pyke’s or rather Squires’ background. The first time it happened Pyke let it go; the second time, when Dalling asked him where he had grown up, Pyke announced he needed to take the air and waited for the bookkeeper to join him on the veranda.

‘I thought we had an arrangement, ’ Pyke said, after making sure Charles was still sitting at the table.

‘We do, but I’m just making sure you know I’m not to be underestimated. ’

Pyke stared out across the lawn in the direction of the stone counting house. ‘How do I know that what you told me about Charles and Elizabeth is the truth? ’

‘You don’t. I don’t even know whether it’s true or not. I’m just telling you what I heard. ’

‘So it’s only a rumour? ’

‘I’m not saying another word until you’ve paid me what we agreed. ’

Pyke hesitated and then pointed at the counting house. ‘I’ll meet you there tomorrow night at seven. ’

‘With the money? ’

‘With the two hundred. ’

Pyke had expected Dalling to object to this arrangement or at least argue for a more public meeting place but the bookkeeper simply said, ‘I’ll be there. If you’re not or if you don’t have the full two hundred, I’ll go straight to Pemberton. ’

Back at the dinner table, Charles hardly seemed to have noticed his absence and made no comment when Dalling failed to return to his place. ‘I’m afraid I’m rather melancholic tonight, sir, and hence not good company. You’ll excuse me if I turn in early. ’ He smiled. ‘The servants will take good care of you. ’ Malvern stood up and shuffled past him, but as he did so, he turned suddenly and grabbed Pyke’s arm. ‘You will buy the estate, won’t you? I’m not sure I could take the disappointment if you didn’t. Name a sensible price, sir, and Ginger Hill will be yours. There’s five hundred acres, less fifty acres of the worst farming land that my father has earmarked for other purposes. I won’t haggle. I won’t even ask for what I know a place like this is worth. Make me an offer, sir, that’s all I ask. ’

Before Pyke could answer, he had headed off across the polished floor in the direction of his bedroom, leaving Pyke to ponder the reasons for his outburst. Later, over the sound of a stiffening breeze in the trees and the shutters rattling in their fastenings, Pyke thought he could hear Malvern sobbing, but when he tried to investigate, Josephine appeared suddenly from her quarters carrying a lantern. She didn’t say anything and remained there until Pyke turned around and headed back to his bedroom.

He removed his shirt and took off his boots, hanging the former on a hook attached to the back of the door.

In his undergarments, he went across to the bed and pulled back the fresh white sheet.

A hot spike of bile licked the back of his throat.

It wasn’t a human eyeball. From its size, it had once belonged to a goat or a sheep and it lay there like a hard‑ boiled egg, just the faintest trace of crimson visible on the otherwise spotless sheet.

That night the rain was like nothing Pyke had ever experienced before; bullets of water hammering into the shutters and pounding the roof until he felt certain that either the roof would fall in or the shutters be ripped from their hinges. The storm lasted for two or three hours, and during this time Pyke drifted in and out of sleep, moths throwing themselves at the glass of the whale‑ oil lamp next to his bed. When he woke up, his back was drenched in sweat and his throat was dry and scratchy. The rain had stopped and the air around him felt damp and cool. He lay there, disoriented, wallowing in the strangeness, and when he woke again, bright sunlight was flooding in through the shutters. It was at such times that he missed Emily the most; when his longing for her – her company and her presence next to him – caused him a physical ache. He stood up, and tried to put the thought of her lying bleeding in his arms out of his head.

From his small balcony there was little evidence of the previous night’s deluge; just a few pools of water glistening in the red clay. The sky was a piercing blue, the air smelled of jasmine and cinnamon, and the still‑ wet foliage of the nearby orange and mango trees sparkled with renewed vigour. Pyke dressed and went downstairs, where a pot of coffee and a plate of fresh fruit and pastries awaited him in the dining room. He ate his breakfast and drank the coffee, which was delicious and strong, then asked one of the servants where he could find Malvern, Pemberton or even Dalling. Malvern, he was told, was unavailable, while Pemberton and Dalling were attending to matters on the estate. He finished his coffee and wandered across to the counting house and, from there, to a potting shed on the other side of the overgrown lawn. He found a shovel and a pick and entered the tropical forest via a gate and a set of stone steps at one end of the lawn.

The spot he was looking for – a small clearing no more than five or six hundred yards downhill from the counting house – took him ten minutes to locate. Setting the shovel and pick down on the ground, he removed his shirt and draped it over a tree branch. It was cool and shady under the foliage of the cotton, coffee and logwood trees and in the distance he could hear the river, with the croaking of bullfrogs and buzzing of mosquitoes. Looking around, to make sure he was alone, Pyke took the pick and set to work.

It took him an hour and a half to dig a hole big enough for Dalling’s body, and by the time he’d finished, a pile of red earth thick with ants sat next to him. Leaving the shovel and pick next to the hole, Pyke ventured farther into the forest, towards the river, and found a bathing pool under the shade of a large mango tree. He left his clothes on a rock and dived into the clear, cold water. Coming up for air, he looked up into the trees, and his thoughts turned to Mary Edgar; whether she, too, had swum in this spot and whether there was anyone else on the island, apart from Charles Malvern, who would mourn her death.

Lunchtime had been and gone by the time Pyke returned to the great house, but as far as he could tell it was still deserted. In fact, none of the servants appeared when he called, and he decided to take the opportunity to give the rooms a quick search. He started in Malvern’s study but didn’t find anything of interest in either his davenport or the chest of drawers in the corner of the room. From there, after he’d made quite certain it was unoccupied, Pyke moved to Malvern’s bedroom, where he found a bundle of letters in the oak davenport: none, as far as he could to tell, from Elizabeth or Silas. There was one letter that took his interest, however. The seal, embossed in red wax, had been broken, and Pyke was about to read its contents when he heard footsteps, and so he slipped the letter and envelope into his pocket.

Outside in the passage, Josephine must have seen him come from Malvern’s bedroom because she stood there, arms folded, perhaps trying to decide what to do.

She was a slight person, less than five feet tall, and shuffled rather than walked, but her physical presence was sufficient to make Pyke jump.

‘What you doing in Massa’s room? ’

‘I went in there by accident. ’ He tried to smile. ‘A house this size, it’s easy to lose one’s bearings. ’

The old woman wetted her lips with her small, pink tongue. ‘You going to buy Ginger Hill, be the new massa? ’

‘I might. ’ Pyke looked into her small, shrivelled eyes. ‘I’m sure you could tell me quite a bit about this place. ’

‘I seen folk come and go. ’

‘Like Silas’s wife, Bonella? ’

Her irises, green and rimmed with circles of black, contracted slightly. ‘I see you talked to folk already. ’

‘What happened to her? ’

‘Curious sort, you. Too much curiosity can be a dangerous thing. ’

‘I heard she fell down the stairs. ’ Pyke waited. ‘Or was she pushed? ’

‘Ask a lot of questions, too. ’

‘You’d probably know all about Charles and Elizabeth when they were younger, wouldn’t you? ’

They stood there for a short while, contemplating each other’s expressions. This time, she didn’t answer him.

‘Last night I found a sheep’s eyeball in my bed. Was that your handiwork? ’

Her face remained unreadable. ‘Why you think that? ’

‘Tell me what it’s supposed to mean, then. ’

‘Finding an eyeball? ’

‘Yes. ’

‘Maybe someone trying to conjure a bad spirit, scare you a little. ’

‘But why an eyeball? Why not a cat’s paw or a rabbit’s foot? ’

‘Paw, foot, eyeball. All you doing is offering a sacrifice. ’

Pyke allowed a short silence to settle between them. ‘What if the eyeball belonged to a human? ’

Josephine looked at him and then gathered up her linen skirt. ‘I should go. ’

‘One more question, ’ Pyke said, before she could get away from him. ‘Why is Charles frightened of you? ’

‘Frightened of me? ’ She seemed amused by this idea. ‘That boy jump at his own shadow. ’

Later, in his bedroom, Pyke put on a fresh linen shirt, found the bottle of rum that Harper had given him, uncorked it and took a long swig. The fiery liquid scalded the sides of his throat. He poured some into his cupped palm and splashed it over his face and neck, to try to ward off the mosquitoes. From his window, which faced westwards over fields of sugar cane towards the conical‑ shaped mountains in the distance, he watched the bulbous orange sun sink down over the horizon. As the breeze picked up once more, Pyke listened to the great house creak on its foundations and thought about the secrets it held, the things that had taken place within its walls.

Somewhere out there, William Dalling would be preparing himself, too.

Pyke’s linen coat was hanging from a hook on the back of the door and, when he put it on, he found his sheath knife in one of the pockets and the letter he’d taken from Malvern’s bedroom in the other.

Taking the envelope to the lantern next to his bed, he turned it over and inspected the wax seal. It looked genuine enough. Pyke removed the letter and scanned the contents. The writing itself was full of old‑ fashioned loops and flourishes. It was short, barely even a page, and its author apparently wanted to reassure Malvern that all the arrangements – whatever these were – had been made. It was signed ‘Uncle William’. Pyke looked at the top of the letter where the address had been transcribed: Norfolk Street, London.

But it wasn’t this which caught his attention.

It was the name. Lord William Bedford.

SEVENTEEN

It was almost dark by the time Pyke slipped unnoticed from the house via a back door and crossed the lawn, the counting house silhouetted against the dense jungle of vegetation behind it. The night air was warm and moist and up above, the inky sky was washed with streaks of moonlight. Underfoot, cockroaches and other nocturnal scavengers feasted on the dirt. Moving quickly across the lawn, the blunt edge of his knife pressing against his skin, Pyke could hear the clucking of hens from the nearby chicken coops. Near the counting house, the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle grew stronger, and Pyke thought again about what he was going to do, whether he really could kill a man in cold blood, not because he absolutely had to but because his cover would be blown if he didn’t. He could still taste the fiery sweetness of the rum; he tried to swallow but there was no moisture in his mouth. Passing the counting house, he looked around him, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness. He took a few more steps and whispered, ‘Dalling? ’ According to his watch, it was exactly seven o’clock.

Something or someone moved out of the shadows. Pyke felt his body his stiffen, his fingers brushing against the knife in the pocket of his coat. Dalling stepped into the moonlight about ten yards in front of him. Pyke had been expecting him, of course, but the bookkeeper’s sudden appearance startled him none the less. They stood there for a moment, each waiting for the other to speak. It was Dalling who broke the silence.

‘Have you got my money? ’ he whispered, glancing up at one of the windows of the counting house.

Pyke jangled the purse in his coat pocket. In fact, there was twelve rather than two hundred pounds in it, and immediately Dalling said, ‘That sounds a little light. ’

Pyke took a step towards him but Dalling retreated slightly, holding his hands up in the air. ‘Hold on there, sir. ’ He seemed jumpy and again looked up at the window of the counting house.

The sudden powder flash lit up the immediate area and the simultaneous blast shattered the tranquillity. The shot had come from the same window Dalling had been looking at and it tore a hole in his chest and sent him reeling backwards into a nearby bush. Following Dalling’s gaze, Pyke had seen the barrel of a pistol poking out of another window and had luckily managed to throw himself to the ground just as a second blast ripped through the air, a ball‑ shot fizzing just above his head. He heard voices in the counting house: Pemberton, saying, ‘Did you get him? ’ and a voice he didn’t recognise replying, ‘I reckon so. Or I saw ’im go down. ’ Not daring to move, Pyke waited until he heard Pemberton and the other one stumbling down the steps from the counting house, then jumped up and ran in the direction of the forest. Dalling lay unmoving in one of the flower beds. Pyke didn’t need to be told he was dead.

Without the moonlight to guide him, it was almost too dark for Pyke to see, and he had to move carefully through the trees, his hands stretched out in front of him. Certainly running was out of the question at first, but after a while the shapes of the forest began to slip into focus and he could move more quickly. Behind him, he could hear voices, and in the distance he could already see the flame of torches; his pursuers wouldn’t have the same difficulties negotiating their path through the darkness.