travel by coach.”
“Good, Bram, very good. Now this is important, so think hard. When did they leave Dublin?”
I forced the thought into Ellen’s mind. If she resisted, I did not sense any pressure. The answer came back swiftly, plucked from a fast-moving current. “Saturday night, by boat, to Liverpool. Private coach then. Many horses. Fast. So very fast. Dark. She expects them some time tonight, late into the night.”
“You are doing very well, Bram. I want you to attempt one other thing. I know you can do it, so just allow your mind to relax and accept that you can. This task will be no more arduous than looking from right to left or taking a drink of your tea, do you understand?”
“Yes.” I heard my voice, but it sounded distant, like I was across the street overhearing myself respond.
“You said Ellen was watching us. You even said she was watching us right now. I want you to look through Ellen’s eyes and tell us where she is. What is her view of us, from what direct—”
My eyes snapped open as a sharp pain sliced through my brain. It rolled forward and felt as if someone had squeezed my eyes in their hand with all their might. A moan almost escaped my lips, but I bit it back.
“Breathe, Bram, breathe,” Vambéry intoned, his voice at my ear. “It is over now, relax.”
I blinked back the light. Even with the storm clouds overhead, it seemed immensely bright. With my elbows planted on the table, I rested my head in my hands.
“She blocked you. Ellen caught you poking around in her mind and locked you out. This was to be expected. Did you learn where she was?”
I thought about this for a second. “No. Still close, but she might be in any one of these buildings.” Hundreds of windows surrounded us from all angles, from storefronts to houses to our own inn and the abbey perched opposite it on the cliffs. I had no idea where she was.
“This is still good; we have learned much. I do not believe this is her first visit to Whitby. In truth, I think she has been coming here for some time,” Vambéry said.
Matilda had rested her hand on my shoulder. “What makes you say that?”
Vambéry gestured towards the harbor. “For the past few years, there have been sightings of a phantom hound, large and black, prowling the moors. The locals claim the beast is far larger than the typical dog, wolf-like in its appearance. In the past few weeks, these sightings have increased in number and frequency. It was seen as recently as last night.”
“And you think this wolf is Ellen?” Thornley asked.
“I have reason to believe so, yes. There is more.” He nodded towards the abbey. “Another local legend tells of a woman in white seen in the windows of the abbey, high up in that tower. The keeper of the abbey assures me that this particular tower is inaccessible, yet even he saw her as recently as this week past. While the descriptions vary, I believe this specter, too, may be our Ellen Crone.”
“I have been drawn to that place since we arrived here,” I admitted. “I’m not sure if that is where Ellen is now, but there is a familiarity that cannot be denied.”
“She used Patrick O’Cuiv’s grave to conceal possessions; maybe she has done the same here,” Matilda said. “For someone who has defied death, it seems fitting to hide possessions in some forlorn grave, someplace the locals have long forgotten and will never disturb. It would be an all too fitting refuge in which to hide her maps.”
“But how can she enter there in the first place?” Thornley pointed out. “Is it not designated a holy site?”
Vambéry smiled at this assertion. “I asked that very question at the Whitby Library and learned a very interesting fact about the abbey’s history. The first monastery was built more than a thousand years ago by King Oswy of Northumbria and sheltered both monks and nuns. A Saxon princess named Hilda served as abbess. In 664, a synod was convened—”
Matilda frowned. “‘A synod’?”