the splitting of wood beneath my feet with every step.
At the top of the stairs is another open space, though this has a lumpy-looking bed near the window, a wooden crate upended to become a table beside it. The layer of dust on the mattress and the tabletop is thick, and the only footprints on the grimy floor are mine. It’s creepy, and isolated, but it’s indoors, and no one has been here for a very long time…
Making up my mind, I edge down the stairs and start a small fire in the hearth, pulling the shutters over to hide the glow. I pray the chimney isn’t blocked. Then I head back outside, leading the horse behind the cottage, where I tie her up, murmuring an apology for leaving her outside. For her part she doesn’t seem to mind, nuzzling at me until I give her an apple and some of the water from my skin. I hate leaving the tack on her, but there’s nowhere to hang it, and I didn’t think to take a comb or brush to groom her either. I loosen what I can and apologize again, and she watches me with liquid brown eyes, snorting warmly into my shoulder.
Then I return to my temporary home, bolting the door behind me.
I toast some of the bread and cheese, washing it down with the milk, enjoying it more because of where it came from; then I unpeel my towel bandage and examine my hand. I use a little of the water to clean it, then tie it back up. It still hurts, but I’ll bet it’s not half as painful as Unwin’s face. I play the moment again in my mind. I hope his nose heals crooked, and every time he looks in the mirror he remembers me.
When my eyelids start to droop I toy with the idea of sleeping upstairs, but decide I don’t want to cut off my exit. Instead I wrap myself in my cloak, leaving my boots and clothes on, using the satchel as a pillow. I watch the fire as it smoulders, red and black, and I close my eyes. Please let my luck hold. I’ve had precious little of it lately. I don’t know who, or what, I’m praying to, but I hope they’re listening. Let me get to Scarron and find the girl. I’m not asking for a miracle. That’s all I need. Just please, please let me find her before Silas does.
I dream of the man, but it’s fragmented: he’s there, but he isn’t. He’s always one room away, in a place with more rooms than seems possible. I run down endless halls, longing for and dreading him being around the corner. I hear him call out for me and the skin on the back of my neck tightens and prickles. I don’t know if I’m running to him, or from him.
When I wake sometime later, I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering. The fire has gone out, and my cloak is hanging off me, exposing me to the cold night. I reach to pull it back over but stop.
Beginning at my ankles, and rising up and along my calves, I feel gooseflesh erupt, my skin prickling. The crawling feeling spreads as every hair on my body stands on end. My eyes dart around the small room, taking in the shadows, looking for the reason why my instincts are telling me something is wrong.
I strain to hear beyond the cottage, listening for the snores of the horse or the rustling of an animal. There. To the left of the house I can hear leaves being crunched underfoot.
As quietly as I can, I walk to the window and peep out through a thin gap between the shutters, gazing in the direction I think is east, squinting to see if the sky is any lighter.
A shadow crosses in front of the window.
I jerk back, my mouth dry with terror. Then another shadow falls.
Before I’ve had time to think I’ve darted back to the satchel and slung it around my neck, abandoning the food and my cloak. Then I climb the stairs, praying that none will creak, moving as fast as I can without making a sound. As I reach the top, the door latch rattles.
I tiptoe across the room, standing on the bed and peering out of the window, unable to see who the visitors are. What if they’re soldiers? What if they’ve found me? I stand still, listening, hoping