The Silver Skull by Mark Chadbourn Page B

never deter her. Surely Will understood that by now.

    Beside her, Nathaniel shifted anxiously. "You will have me whipped and my wages docked for this, Grace. Go back to your room before you are seen."

    Easing off her hood, she tied back her chestnut ringlets with a blue ribbon, but her fumbling fingers only emphasised her irritation. "Because I have a slender frame and a face that does not curdle cream, every man treats me like a delicate treasure to be protected at all times."

    "Will is only concerned-"

    "Will is always concerned for me!" she snapped. "We have both seen our fair share of tragedy and are stronger for it. I will not swoon at the first sign of threat."

    Nathaniel continued to look uncomfortable at her refusal to comply with the order he had been given.

    "Besides," she continued, "you know as well as I that Will would no more punish you than hurt a dog."

    "I thank you for putting me on a level with a cur, Mistress Seldon," Nat said tartly, "but if I am not whipped, I will have to endure a day of his lectures and I do not know which I prefer."

    "You are right there," she muttered to herself, adding, "If he sent you to ensure I was well cared for, then it is because there is great danger."

    "Yes, that is the nature of his business." Nathaniel sighed. "You make my work very difficult, Grace."

    Will emerged from the Black Gallery alongside a man who lurched drunkenly. Nathaniel made to restrain her, but she dodged past him. Half stumbling in her haste, her hands went to Will's chest, and he caught her at the waist.

    "Grace." His eyes flickered towards Nathaniel, who pretended to scrub a spot from his shirt.

    "You would deny me the opportunity to wish you well as you embark on one of your dangerous missions?" she said sharply.

    "This is not the time for one of our lively debates, Grace."

    "Did you think I would lock myself away because you told me to?"

    He sighed. "No, Grace. You would never do anything I told you to do. I know that."

    "What, then?"

    "These are dangerous times. I would see you safe, that is all."

    "From whom?"

    "From yourself, mostly," he said with exasperation. "Your capacity for recklessness exceeds that of any other person I know."

    "You say reckless. I say fearless. I am not afraid. Of anything."

    "As always, this conversation goes nowhere, and I have urgent matters that require my attention-"

    Calming herself, she chose the words she knew would stop him walking away. "I could not say farewell to jenny and I have regretted it ever since. I will not be denied this by you."

    He hesitated, softened. "I am not your sister."

    In the subtle attenuation of his smile, she recognised the ghost of his true feelings. "You wear your masks well," she said quietly, so no one else could hear, "but I know the true you, as you know me. You are not my sister. Because you live still, and jenny is dead-"

    The blaze in his eyes scared her a little.

    "Dead, Will. I spent long months yearning for answers, like you, but I have slowly come to an accommodation. I still need to know who took her, and why, and then I can rest. Then we both can. On that warm, starlit night in Arden, by the churchyard, with the owls hooting and the bats flitting, you told me you had been given the tools to discover the truth, and you vowed to me that the answers we both sought would be forthcoming. I ask now, though you always say one thing with your mouth and another with your eyes: is this mission the one that will allow us to find peace?"

    "No." A moment, then: "Perhaps." Frustration laced his words. "Jenny is in my every thought and every deed, Grace, but these things are not as easy as you would believe. Now-"

    She caught his arm to stop him leaving, and though he feigned irritation, she could see his affection, though whether it was for her alone or for her long-gone sister she did not know. The drunken man watched their encounter intently, and then, out of embarrassment or boredom, dragged open the carriage