nape of her neck as she took each breath. He kept stroking her hair as a stirring grew in his loins, and her breathing grew deeper. It seemed to take an age to meet her gaze, each of their heads creeping round until he stared down at her, and she up at him.
“It’s dangerous out here,” she said.
“Yes.”
Her hand left his arm and reached up to his cheek. Her voice picked up a smooth bass. How she managed to look so alluring from behind those gawky glasses was beyond reckoning. “We should go back.”
His hunger peaked, and their lips met in a blur of skin and muddied clothes. He dropped his rifle to the ground—if they were sprung now, then so be it—and held onto sense just long enough to check the ground for shrapnel. Then he was lying her down in the grass, and soon lost all hope of telling her skin from his. For a time, they pushed back the darkness.
SECOND INTERLUDE
James returned to the square, but jubilant clattering and laughter still emanated from Malverston’s house. It didn’t sound like it was going to be over anytime soon.
He wandered towards the edge of town and headed up onto the nearest grassy rise, looking over the surrounding lands. Newquay’s Moon was set to the north of the remains of the coastal city of Newquay itself, on the northern shore of England’s Cornwall peninsula. Up here, a few miles from the seagulls, sand dunes, rotting caravan parks, quaint cobbled streets, and cottages, the hills afforded a good vantage point in every direction. It would be almost impossible to sneak up on the town.
James loved visiting here. After some of the scant horrors of northern England, and the squabbling bands of proto-societies in the South, this county was a haven. It was hotter too, warmed by the Gulf Stream, and so exotic foodstuffs could be grown, with the right care and attention—on occasion they succeeded in growing things that used to be imported from the tropics, before the End. It was only from here that the British Isles could source fresh strawberries, tea, peaches, and maybe even a few miniature bananas.
Consequently, places like Newquay’s Moon, though they looked dirty and hard pressed on the surface, had grown fat and wealthy on the profits of their labour. Coupled with the relative peace they had found, the persistence of some kind of law, and the lack of barbarous raiders prowling the countryside, James was sometimes at a loss to explain how it had survived. An island of civility on the edge of a country set to tear itself apart.
That was why they were here, now. They needed Newquay’s Moon on their side before it was discovered. Because, eventually, somebody with truly bad intentions would stumble across places like this. And when they did, one of the Old World’s last echoes would vanish to the sound of screams and trickling blood.
James took a deep breath of the coastal winds and surveyed the orchards in the valleys afar. Was Beth down there?
A cooing brought him back from scanning the rows of peaches. Instinct brought his arm up to shoulder height. A moment later a fluttering beat about his head, and a wood pigeon alighted upon his elbow.
“Morning, Chuck,” James said. He took note of the other pigeons in nearby trees, perched upon rooftops, and circling overhead. They always managed to find him. “Mail?”
Chuck cooed. Tied to his leg, tucked neatly in a leather slot James had crafted himself, was a tiny scroll of paper. James tweezed it free and unfurled it, reading Lucian’s sloppy handwriting upon it:
Come at once, need you both. L.
He frowned, tucked the scrap into his pocket, and looked over his shoulder. The door to Malverston’s was still shut fast. He couldn’t just go barging in on them; Alex’s way was always a delicate one, and interrupting was bound to scupper his wily words.
But Lucian wouldn’t have sent a message unless he had to. The others needed them.
A few years before, perhaps he would have gotten itchy feet. But he’d been in too many scrapes for a few words to faze him. They were always at the crux of some kind of crisis. Instead, he took a handful of seeds from a pouch at his belt and offered them to Chuck, who obliged by digging in.
What could be going on back home that was bad enough to send word all this way? Even if they rode hard, it would take over a