Jack calls twice more. Nero caws an makes a fuss. Good. It sounds like he’s tryin to flush out a smaller bird to make a meal of it. Agin, no cause fer suspicion. So. Jack sees Nero, he knows I’m here, but I ain’t sendin no answer. By now, he’ll know fer sure somethin’s up. I hope he don’t think I’m in trouble an come in search of me. Can I ditch the boys? I only need a few minutes. Jest long enough to find him an set another meet.

Nero lands on a branch by my head. A bark roll’s tied to his right leg. I catch Lugh’s notice with a click of my tongue. As he glances back, so does Tommo. I kneel an gesture that my boot’s come undone. That they should go on, I’ll be jest a moment.

I wait till they’re outta sight. Then I seize Nero an check out Jack’s message. He’s sent two rolls. One with X to abort this meet. The other says to meet him at Deepwell Tower. That’s our nearest meet spot to here. Not far, jest beyond two leagues northeast. An he’s marked it as urgent. Urgent. He’s never done that before. My heart stumbles over all the possible urgencies as I quickly retie both rolls to Nero’s left leg. That’s my reply. Unnerstood. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Then I throw him in the air an he flaps off to deliver it.

I pull the unused bark rolls from my pocket an tuck ’em into my little leather bag. I won’t be needin ’em now. I could of spared my poor nerves all this frazzle. I know better than to fear that Jack might reveal hisself to the boys by mistake. He’s far too canny a fish to go blunderin into a net.

He’d been waiting and watching since the day at the bridge. Hoping she’d make a mistake. But through all her shadowy travels, her comings and goings, and the secrets that hollowed her night by night, she hadn’t made a slip, not one. Until today. When Nero showed up just after they’d left the Lanes, she gave a little start of surprise. Barely noticeable. But he felt a tug on his line. She took Nero in her arms, held him close for a moment, then let him go. Nothing unusual there. Apart from a one-handed fumble. She was quick about it. Most people wouldn’t have noticed. But he did, waiting and watching as he was.

In the woods, she was edgy. Tension tightened her, crackled all around her. Then the sudden flurry in the trees with the birds. Then the stopping to tie her boot, telling them not to wait, just as Nero landed on a branch above her.

The blood roared in his head. She was up to something. Was Jack here? He had to find out. Time was short. He might never get another chance. As they headed back to their horses in the mossy dell, he cracked a few twigs to mark the way.

They’d mounted up, were just about to move out.

He jumped down, checking the ground all around, his pockets, his bag. Oh no, it must have fallen. He thought he knew where. He had to find it, couldn’t leave it, he wouldn’t be a moment.

He hurried back the way they’d just come.

He moved quickly, quietly, following the trail he’d marked. To the spruce where she’d knelt to tie her boot. Easy to spy its twisted stunt among the other, straighter trees, its paleness in the darkness. He didn’t know what he was looking for. He didn’t expect to find a thing. But he couldn’t leave without checking the spot. Just in case. On the off chance that she’d left a clue. Anything. That she’d made a slip, a mistake.

He crouched low. He dared to light a pocket spill. Dangerous. But just for a moment, just long enough to play it over the ground where she’d been. Just in case on the off chance. And there it was. A curl of cherry bark. Gleaming. On the dark of the woodland floor. There weren’t any cherry in this wood.

She had. She’d made a mistake.

As his heart drummed a warning of new darkness, his fingers unrolled the barkscroll. It had markings on it. A deep V. A small square. A full sun. He’d suspected. Now he had the proof. They were using Nero as a go-between. That little leather bag she’d started wearing at her waist, the one she never took off. It was perfect for carrying a stash of messages.

He doused the spill. He tucked the scroll deep inside his pocket. Carefully deeply safely in his pocket. As he stood up, a sweat of fear seized him. Weakened him. He leaned on a tree till it passed.

Then he hurried back to rejoin them. He’d study the message later. He’d figure out how their code worked, what it meant. Then he’d use it against Jack. And his deal for the future would be done.

From the top of a grandmother fir, Emmi watched them to-ing and fro-ing. She’d slung her boots around her neck and cat-climbed to the highest boughs to get a view. Reading its rough skin with her bare feet, like Creed would.

Nero found her right away, but she shooed him off. When he started dipping in and out of the trees, she inched even higher to find out why. She clapped her hands to her mouth. Her shout would have shattered the sky. His name leapt from her as he raised his head and the moon snatched the silver from his eyes. Jack. Not dead at all, but in New Eden. He must have been helping them in secret all this time. Probably nobody knew but Saba. She wouldn’t breathe a word. With him on their side, they were bound to win. Jack always made everything okay. Oh, to be able to rush to him, to hug him. She hugged herself. Tears heated her eyes and fierce joy ached her heart. Just to know he was alive, that was enough.

And she knew this too. This was the place of the something. The something she could do that no one else could. That would let her stand tall among the living and the dead. She’d find out what it was in the morning. She’d work it out. Then she’d do it.

After they’d all gone off, she pulled her coat tight around and snugged into her sweet bough cradle. Nighty night, little bird. She whispered goodnight to her mother and father. The two bright stars above the Hunter’s sword. Side by side, they’d shine guard on her till morning. Then she let herself sink to the nightsongs of the wood. The root-tangled, deep brown murmurs of long memory. They hummed her eyes shut and wove her to sleep and sang her through to the dawn.

We’re nearly across the Slabway. A flat plain of granite open to the sky. Our horses begin to whinny an shy. Nero dives at us, screamin. A sting pricks my face. Then another. A salt-sleet’s about to hit us.

We’re on the ground. It’s a drill we know well. Grab the stormsheet, shake open an throw. Cover the horse, nose to tail, cords through the loops, pull an tighten. Nero, c’mon! He flies to my arms an we duck unnerneath. I grab the bridle. Hang on, I gotcha, I tell Hermes. I bury my face in his neck. An brace myself fer the hit.

A saltsleet comes with short warnin. It slams us with a shriek from the belly of hell. The world explodes all around. It’s the bone of fury, the white eye of rage. A screamin madness of winds that whip. They batter the stormie. Snatch an savage it. In no time at all, we’re soaked. Despite our covers, wet through. My clothes hang heavy, clagged with salt. Hermes quivers. I rub his neck with my cheek to soothe him, soothe myself. Nero trembles aginst my heart.

A saltsleet never lasts long. It’s over in minutes. Gone as quick as it came. We creep out, white-faced an breathless an amazed. Hell’s left some kinda heaven behind. The sky rises clear to the moon an beyond. Stars of salt, millions upon millions, glitter the cold body of the granite. Like a carpet of tears, flung from edge to edge of the night earth. Our feet crunch as we turn an turn. As we stare an stare in silence. A warm wind brushes our skin.

Then on we go. At the Shingle Cut crossways, jest shy of middle night, I part company with the boys. They’re used to my to’s an fro’s at all hours, but I tell ’em I got somewhere I need to be. That I’ll see ’em back at the Lanes.