succeed.”
Perlandine rolled forward and got up from his seat. The Chief Constable stood, backlit by the window, eclipsing it like a moon. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Lyle fought the urge to slap it away.
When he spoke at last, the Chief Constable was distant, as if trying to detach himself from his words. “The woman and her child used to attend a local parish, near the girl’s school up in the Millstone Wedge. The priest there is Father Thomas. I do have files on the woman, outbursts, disorderly conduct and that sort of thing, but he can probably give you more information if that’s what you’re looking for. He knew them, might know motives. She might even return and seek refuge with him.”
“Cavorting with witches.” Lyle raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting approach for a priest.”
“Father Thomas is… controversial,” said Perlandine. “Friends with the archbishop.” He looked at the end of his cigar with distaste.
Lyle got up from his seat. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Before you go,” Perlandine said, as if remembering something important. He waddled briskly to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a large beige scroll and opened it. Satisfied by what he saw, he rolled it up again and handed it to The Reverend.
Lyle took the weathered scroll with a grin. “Thank you Chief Constable Perlandine. This will be very useful indeed. Or should I get used to saying, Mayor Perlandine?”
The two men chuckled and shook hands. Lyle walked from the police headquarters and into the noon heat.
Chapter 6
Skyla could feel herself getting lost almost immediately. For the first hundred yards or so, she would turn and look over her shoulder. The coppery wall of Bollingbrook became more and more obscured behind leaves, fog, and redwood. Behind her, the forest had closed in, leaving nothing but emerald leaves and rough bark. Leaves, wood, rocks, gravel. It was hard to believe there had ever been any city at all.
Days and nights seemed arbitrary, time itself just a formless tangle of branches, vines, and plants. She slept in the crooks of trees, underneath rock ledges and pine needles. In the mornings Orrin provided blackberries, wild strawberries, and grapes for her to eat.
Orrin rode on her shoulder, calling to birds that sang unseen in the treetops. He urged her forward, guiding her by pecking at her ear or squawking when she made a wrong turn. Occasionally he would soar off to an opening in a pair of branches she had never noticed before.
“How much further?” she asked, exhausted.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring at her from her shoulder. When he blinked this closely, she noticed his eyelids were white, which seemed very odd to her.
In a moment of protest, Skyla turned sharply off of the path, heading down an open space between the branches. Almost immediately, Orrin squawked loudly and landed at her feet, blocking her, pecking at her shoe.
“I don’t know where you are taking me!” she yelled. “Hell, we’ve been here for days.”
“Hell,” Orrin parroted.
“You know what I’m saying don’t you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“Rhee-ah.”
“Yes her. Why can’t you just tell me?”
“ Preeeecher . Daaaaanger .” His voice was hoarse.
“Yes, him and now I am following a giant crow down a stupid path that might not ever end. Where does this path even go?”
“Rhinewall,” said Orrin. It sounded like a man’s voice played through a phonograph.
Skyla blinked.
“Rhinewall,” said Orrin again, blinking.
“So you do know where you’re taking me,” she accused.
Rhinewall was supposedly where Rhia lived, out by the sea, beyond the vagrant tent city Lassimir. It was far, farther than she ever imagined she could travel.
A branch snapped, and Skyla saw a large hoof just beyond the branches. She traced its shape upward to see a horse-sized animal staring placidly at her. It moved and Skyla counted not two, but four willowy
Perlandine rolled forward and got up from his seat. The Chief Constable stood, backlit by the window, eclipsing it like a moon. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. Lyle fought the urge to slap it away.
When he spoke at last, the Chief Constable was distant, as if trying to detach himself from his words. “The woman and her child used to attend a local parish, near the girl’s school up in the Millstone Wedge. The priest there is Father Thomas. I do have files on the woman, outbursts, disorderly conduct and that sort of thing, but he can probably give you more information if that’s what you’re looking for. He knew them, might know motives. She might even return and seek refuge with him.”
“Cavorting with witches.” Lyle raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting approach for a priest.”
“Father Thomas is… controversial,” said Perlandine. “Friends with the archbishop.” He looked at the end of his cigar with distaste.
Lyle got up from his seat. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Before you go,” Perlandine said, as if remembering something important. He waddled briskly to his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a large beige scroll and opened it. Satisfied by what he saw, he rolled it up again and handed it to The Reverend.
Lyle took the weathered scroll with a grin. “Thank you Chief Constable Perlandine. This will be very useful indeed. Or should I get used to saying, Mayor Perlandine?”
The two men chuckled and shook hands. Lyle walked from the police headquarters and into the noon heat.
Chapter 6
Skyla could feel herself getting lost almost immediately. For the first hundred yards or so, she would turn and look over her shoulder. The coppery wall of Bollingbrook became more and more obscured behind leaves, fog, and redwood. Behind her, the forest had closed in, leaving nothing but emerald leaves and rough bark. Leaves, wood, rocks, gravel. It was hard to believe there had ever been any city at all.
Days and nights seemed arbitrary, time itself just a formless tangle of branches, vines, and plants. She slept in the crooks of trees, underneath rock ledges and pine needles. In the mornings Orrin provided blackberries, wild strawberries, and grapes for her to eat.
Orrin rode on her shoulder, calling to birds that sang unseen in the treetops. He urged her forward, guiding her by pecking at her ear or squawking when she made a wrong turn. Occasionally he would soar off to an opening in a pair of branches she had never noticed before.
“How much further?” she asked, exhausted.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see him staring at her from her shoulder. When he blinked this closely, she noticed his eyelids were white, which seemed very odd to her.
In a moment of protest, Skyla turned sharply off of the path, heading down an open space between the branches. Almost immediately, Orrin squawked loudly and landed at her feet, blocking her, pecking at her shoe.
“I don’t know where you are taking me!” she yelled. “Hell, we’ve been here for days.”
“Hell,” Orrin parroted.
“You know what I’m saying don’t you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
“Rhee-ah.”
“Yes her. Why can’t you just tell me?”
“ Preeeecher . Daaaaanger .” His voice was hoarse.
“Yes, him and now I am following a giant crow down a stupid path that might not ever end. Where does this path even go?”
“Rhinewall,” said Orrin. It sounded like a man’s voice played through a phonograph.
Skyla blinked.
“Rhinewall,” said Orrin again, blinking.
“So you do know where you’re taking me,” she accused.
Rhinewall was supposedly where Rhia lived, out by the sea, beyond the vagrant tent city Lassimir. It was far, farther than she ever imagined she could travel.
A branch snapped, and Skyla saw a large hoof just beyond the branches. She traced its shape upward to see a horse-sized animal staring placidly at her. It moved and Skyla counted not two, but four willowy
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