Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology #1) - Charlie N. Holmberg Page 0,102
Ogden thought—and despite the secrets he’d kept, she thought she did—he’d aim for a smaller, more discreet boat.
She could be completely wrong. And if she was, the outcome would be the same as if she’d taken Bacchus up on his offer of food and rest. But if she was right, that would change things. Yet she couldn’t think of what she’d possibly say to him when, if, she saw him again. Her chest hurt at the mere thought.
The ride was hard. Elsie had traveled on horseback before, but she’d never taken lessons. The Duke of Kent’s thoroughbreds were lean and amazingly fast, which Elsie might have marveled at were she riding for pleasure at a slow, serene pace.
As it was, she clutched the reins with white knuckles, her skirt flapping immodestly behind her, because there was no way in hell she was riding this thing sidesaddle. Fortunately, holding on for dear life was the only thing really required of her; the animal was well trained and followed Bacchus’s mount unquestioningly, its nose nearly touching the first’s whipping tail.
The beasts were tired by the time they neared the pier. Bacchus slowed, and Elsie quickly adjusted herself for as much modesty as she could manage, though it was hardly one’s first concern when chasing a traitorous murderer. Her heart panged again at the thought. Ogden . . . She never would have guessed it to be him.
Even now, she struggled to believe it.
A gaping loneliness yawned inside her, but she couldn’t dwell on that now.
They trotted by a hospital, and the large warehouses of the pier came into sight, each six stories high and built of sturdy yellow brick. She noted two dockworkers by a gaslight up ahead.
“I don’t see him.” She was breathless and sore, despite the horse being the one who’d done all the running.
“It’s a big place,” Bacchus whispered, pulling back on his reins and turning his animal about, scanning the area.
Though the ground seemed a little too far away, Elsie dismounted, floundering but managing to stay on her feet. Her thighs instantly burned in protest, but she ignored the discomfort, removing her shoes and starting for one of the docks. Bacchus called after her, but she ignored him. She may not have been an experienced horsewoman, but she did know how to slink about unnoticed.
The docks were long and cool underfoot. She strode beneath the eaves of the warehouses, passing dark windows and locked doors. She dared to jog, her legs protesting. Holding her shoes in both hands to keep them from knocking together, she peered about the next corner. There was only one boat tied up here, a small one with its sails up. The area was fairly well lit, but shadows clustered around the blocky warehouses. She heard the subtle movement of water and her own pulse in her ears.
Turning the corner, Elsie jogged again, trying to hear beyond herself, wishing she had sharper eyes to see through the shadows. There was another dockworker across the way; he didn’t seem to notice her. Footsteps followed, but she didn’t bother to check them—the stride, the heaviness, that was Bacchus, with a slight limp likely due to the lightning that had grazed his leg. The knowledge that he was close gave her courage.
She reached a wooden bridge connecting two of the docks and started across it. Perhaps it was an angel tilting her head or merely a stroke of luck, for she spied movement in the shadows on the dock opposite her, across the water. She’d spent so many years with Cuthbert Ogden, days and nights, rain and sunshine, that despite the darkness and the distance, she recognized him.
“There!” she hissed, and pointed. The shadow vanished into one of the warehouses. Panicked, she spied around for a boat or raft that could carry her over—by the time she paddled her way there, he’d be long gone!
The bridge shifted as Bacchus stepped onto it. He dropped to his knees and reached down into the water. Elsie caught the edge of a shimmer.
A bridge of ice crackled across the river to the very place she had pointed.
“Oh, you wonderful, brilliant man,” she whispered, hurriedly replacing her shoes. Bacchus dropped onto the makeshift bridge first, found his footing, then helped her. The ice was rougher than it was slick, but Elsie dared not sprint. Still, she moved as fast as she could, keeping her arms out to maintain balance.
They reached the other dock, Elsie managing to heft herself up before Bacchus