The woman stood where she was. The fright on her face had rearranged itself back into anger. Slowly, Noon stood up, trying to act as though her legs didn’t feel like they were made of water. She was very aware of the black dirt under her fingernails, and her dirty face.
‘I own this place,’ the woman said, holding her chin up. ‘If you people want to come here and eat, you walk in the front door the same as everyone else. The Frog and Bluebell isn’t your larder, missus.’
Noon blinked. The woman thought she was here on official Winnowry business. She must have seen the Winnowry agents flying over the city on their own bats, and she had assumed that Noon was an agent with a sudden taste for tomatoes.
‘I am sorry.’ Would a Winnowry agent apologise? Noon doubted it. She attempted to scowl at the woman. ‘But I will take what I need, when on official Winnowry business. Is this place –’ For a moment the word danced out of her reach – the plains people did not have such things, after all – but she had listened to the other fell-witches talk about them – ‘a tavern?’
‘Aye, it’s a tavern.’ The barkeep looked less angry now, and her eyes moved over Noon’s face with more care, seeming to take special note of the bat-wing tattoo on her forehead. Noon resisted the temptation to cover it up with her hands.
‘I am travelling north,’ said Noon. Behind her, she could hear the snuffling of Fulcor. She suspected the bat was eating her own share of tomatoes now. ‘Can you tell me what is north of this city?’
The barkeep frowned, pushing her jowly cheeks into loops of wrinkles. ‘Nowt but Wild beyond Mushenska. Some small towns and settlements dotted here and there. Worm-touched in the head, the people who live out there, if you ask me. Give me good solid walls any day.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘Surely you know that, witch?’
Noon lifted her chin slightly. ‘Can you give me some food to take with me? I mean, you will give me food. The Winnowry will give you coin for it.’
For some moments, the barkeep just stared at her. The city around them was growing louder all the time – the roar was not like the sea after all, Noon realised. It was like a great beast; a slowly waking beast they were all living on.
‘Wait here.’
With that, the barkeep disappeared back through the door. Noon stood rooted to the spot, feeling panic fill her like icy water flooding a well. The woman had gone to alert the Winnowry authorities, and she would lead them right here, where she would still be waiting, like an idiot, and then they would take her back – screaming, just as she had done when they had first captured her – but not to her cell. They would take her straight to the Drowned One, and she would face that pale, dripping horror and her tank, or perhaps they would burn her on the spot, not caring for the barkeep’s precious garden . . .
The door opened and the woman stepped back through. She had a small hessian bag in her arms, which she thrust at Noon.
‘Ale, some cheese. A nub of yesterday’s bread. Take it, girl, and get away from here.’
The woman was close enough to touch, her brawny freckled arms bare of sleeves. It seemed impossible that someone should be so careless, and for a moment Noon couldn’t breathe. I could kill you now, she thought. In seconds.
‘What are you waiting for, you daft creature?’ The woman scowled at her. ‘Go!’
Noon hurried back to Fulcor, tugging on the animal’s reins so that she left the remains of the plants alone, and swiftly strapped herself back into the saddle. She secured the sack the barkeep had given her behind her, and it really did seem to contain food and drink – she could hear the sloshing of the ale inside some sort of flask. It was only when they were back in the air, and heading to the outskirts of the city, that Noon realised that the barkeep hadn’t believed her story at all, and why would she? A lone Winnowry agent on her knees in the woman’s vegetable patch, scoffing tomatoes like she hadn’t eaten anything in weeks, her face streaked with muddy tears – she was hardly convincing as a feared and respected agent of the Winnowry.
Why the woman would give her supplies regardless, she couldn’t possibly guess.
Beyond the city of Mushenska the Wild spread out across the land like virulent mould. Even flying so far above it, Noon could see the difference between it and the normal patches of forest; the Wild was thicker, stranger. The shadows seemed deeper there, and she could see twisted sections of bare bark as trees curled around each other, fighting for space. It was late morning by then, and the sun was beating down on the top of her head, but something about the stretch of dark forest below made her feel cold. Her feet tingled, and she felt exposed. Even Fulcor seemed less comfortable, the small huffings and chirrups Noon had grown used to absent. Instead, the bat flew slightly faster, as though determined to get the Wild out from under them as swiftly as possible.
‘We have to stop somewhere.’ Noon’s words were snatched away by the wind, and she grimaced. The very idea of landing somewhere within those worm-touched trees made her skin crawl, but the longer they were in the air, the more chance that the inevitable patrols – Winnowry bats carrying real Winnowry agents – would spot her. Besides which, her entire body was chilled and aching, and her eyes were sore from watering in the constant wind, which, in turn, was giving her a headache. ‘I just need to sit for a while,’ she told Fulcor. ‘Eat this food, make a fire, and think what to do next.’