‘This way please.’
The heart of the Winnowry was located near the furnaces rather than the prison; Lin could never decide whether it was because the acolytes of Tomas wanted to be near the warmth on this chilly, damp island, or because they wanted walls between them and the women they imprisoned. Likely it was both. When she had been a prisoner, Lin had enjoyed her brief visits to the furnace simply to warm up, but the central receiving room was not especially welcoming; the floor of cold, grey flagstones radiated the chill up through her boots, and the large square windows were full of bright, cheerless daylight. The long, curved table the acolytes sat behind was made from stone too, and the single seat in front of it, for want of a better word, was a simple, polished boulder. There was a small padded matt on top of it. Lin stood next to it, her back straight and her eyes on the far window.
‘Agent Lin,’ began Father Stanz. He leaned forward on the stone table, linking his fingers together. ‘I take it your last mission was successful?’
‘The targets were eliminated,’ said a short, stout woman to his left: Sister Resn. She looked furious for some reason, and her long blue gloves and silver mask lay on the table in front of her, as though she couldn’t bear to be parted from them.
‘Eliminated into some smears of soot and an unpleasant smell, as Sister Resn confirms,’ said Lin. ‘I had hoped for a rest before the next incident.’
‘No chance of that, Fell-Lin.’ This was Father Eranis, who always referred to Lin by her old title. She let her gaze fall on him, her face carefully blank. ‘We’ve had a girl get loose.’
Lin raised an eyebrow. ‘Loose?’
‘Took one of the bats from the chirot tower,’ continued Father Stanz. ‘We’re still looking into how she got that far in the first place, but as you can imagine, she needs to be brought back here as soon as possible. It is not safe for her to be outside of the Winnowry.’
‘A novice may have helped her,’ said Sister Resn. Her jowly cheeks were pink and trembled slightly with suppressed outrage. ‘We think she . . . seduced him. And she drained Sister Renier almost to the point of death.’
Father Stanz cleared his throat. ‘It is difficult to know exactly what happened, of course, but the alarms weren’t raised for some time.’
‘Who is the witch?’
‘Fell-Noon, of the plains people. You remember . . .?’
Lin raised her other eyebrow. ‘I do. I always said you should keep a special eye on that one. A great potential for . . . difficulties.’ She let the sentence hang in mid-air, inviting them to fill in the rest for themselves.
‘Not a problem for you, though, is it, Fell-Lin?’ Eranis leaned forward slightly. He probably thought he was being intimidating. ‘In fact, this particular case seems made for you. I’m sure a witch of – uh – your skills will have her back in no time. Crying and weeping and asking to be put back in her cell, no doubt.’
Lin ignored him. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me?’
‘You know her history. A murderer. And a liar too – her version of events never did add up.’ Stanz looked down at a sheaf of paper in front of him. ‘Mushenska is close enough to be a tempting hideout, of course.’
‘How likely was it that she and this novice were in a relationship? Do you allow more fraternisation now between novices and fell-witches?’
‘Of course not!’ Sister Resn’s cheeks turned even pinker. ‘But the temptation could fester. The witches are the cracks through which sin seeps into the world, and even the most innocent can be corrupted. A boy like that could have had his head turned. It has happened in the past, as well you know.’ She glared openly at Lin, almost as though daring her to say more.
‘Any family or connections she could be returning to?’
Eranis chuckled quietly. ‘The girl destroyed those herself a long time ago. I assume there will be no problems, Fell-Lin?’ There was an edge to his tone.
‘Of course not.’ Lin kept half an eye on Sister Resn’s outraged face, wondering if the woman would dare to say anything to her. When Lin had been a prisoner of the Winnowry, Sister Resn had patrolled the cells regularly, and Lin had frequently fantasised about boiling the skin off the woman, or simply ripping all of her life force from her in a brief, glorious second. She kept her face calm as she considered it. She was only allowed to operate as a free agent in the name of the Winnowry because they believed her to be utterly under control. And she was. Control was everything. It was a simple choice, really – live as a prisoner for the rest of her life, or take the freedom she was offered. The consequences of rebellion were . . . unthinkable. ‘I will find your runaway witch for you. If I should need to, do I have permission to remove the problem permanently?’
Father Stanz nodded solemnly. ‘We would prefer otherwise, of course, but it’s entirely possible she will be very dangerous to restrain. The Winnowry trusts your judgment.’
‘As you should. You’ll hear from me shortly.’
‘One more thing, Fell-Lin.’ Eranis was looking at the paperwork on the desk again, but couldn’t quite hide the smirk. ‘Mother Cressin wishes to have a word with you before you leave.’
Agent Lin held herself very still. Control. Always control. And then she nodded. ‘I will go there now.’
Mother Cressin kept her rooms in the highest tower of the prison side of the Winnowry, meaning that anyone called upon to visit her had to walk up a near-endless spiral staircase. There were narrow windows on the way up, but Lin didn’t bother to look through them. They only showed the featureless gloom of the sea, or the view across the bay to Mushenska, which was hidden within its own veil of fog.
The Drowned One.
That was what the fell-witches whispered to one another. Mother Cressin, rarely seen in the prison itself, would occasionally appear at purging sessions, her face hidden within a hood, or, if you were very unlucky and considered in need of further instruction in the ways of Tomas, you would be taken to her rooms.
At the top of the stairs was a driftwood door standing half open. Inside, the circular room was gloomy, the thick swathes of old netting covering the windows doing a good job of keeping the light out and the cold in. There was one small, half-hearted fire in the grate and no rugs over the icy flagstones. To Agent Lin’s right stood a tall figure, broad shoulders emphasised rather than hidden under a dark cloak, her hair pulled back from a face like a slab of beaten meat. Agent Lin nodded to the woman.
‘I am here to see Mother Cressin.’