“It’s nothing.” The Scotsman spun around and held up a cautioning hand. “Just the bloody road.”
Behind the coach, the worn tracks extended into the darkness. Several yards back a deep furrow cut across the path. Malcolm’s feet hit the ground and he swept his coat back to reveal his pistols. He walked back toward the trench as Kate climbed from the carriage. The Scotsman kicked loose dirt and stared into the distance down both sides of the channel. Simon continued to study the silent grassy hillocks around them. A light snow was falling over the landscape.
“A washout?” he asked when Malcolm returned and knelt to look under the carriage, checking the wheels.
“Maybe,” he muttered. “It looks freshly dug. There’s another gully ahead of the coach too.”
Kate glanced around. “We’re not far from the estate now. Only a few miles from Hartley Hall. We can walk if need be.”
Malcolm pounded on one of the wooden wheels. He rose and went forward to where the four admirably trained black Friesians huffed breath into the air. He ran his hands along glistening flanks and down their legs, checking for injuries. He inspected the tack next, pulling harnesses and testing braces. “Looks sound enough. We should be able to ease over the gulley and move on.”
“No worse for wear then,” Simon said.
“Simon.” Kate had walked a few steps away, staring over the downs. “Have a look at this.”
He joined her, sheltering his eyes from blowing snow, and followed her pointing finger. He shook his head. “I don’t see—”
“There.”
At the base of a hillock, something moved. At first he thought it was simply high grass in the wind. But no. There was motion along the ground.
“What the hell?” Malcolm said from behind them, staring out over their shoulders.
In the distance, the heavy grass parted and dirt shifted beneath it. A hump of soil rose and moved. A furrow nearly three feet high slid along the ground as if a large, burrowing animal was tunneling. The mound shifted direction and seemed to vanish into the side of a hill.
“You have enormous voles in Surrey,” Simon quipped.
“I think we should go.” Kate tugged on the men’s coats. “I’d feel safer closer to home inside the wards.”
When they all turned, they saw a small figure of a woman walking across the dark field, moving closer, coming toward the front of the carriage. Some twenty yards away, she stopped and stood quietly in the high grass. She was short and appeared to be naked, except for a necklace with a heavy stone between her small breasts. Even more distracting, her skin was blue. There was an odd shimmer about her; something small and bright slipped over her in random movements. She looked otherwise normal, with an opulent figure. Her hair was straight black and cut short. Her eyes were bright, set off by broad dark liner in an ancient Egyptian style.
Malcolm raised his gun. Kate’s hand went to her vials.
“Good evening.” Simon leaned on his cane and eyed the nude woman through the snow, trying to sound casual in the face of her peculiar appearance. “A chilly night for a walk.”
She smiled and her teeth were sharpened. “I’m glad I found the three of you together. It saves me time.”
“Are we acquainted? I think I would recall meeting you.”
“You may call me Nephthys.”
“Nephthys,” Simon repeated and his stomach dropped in despair. “The Egyptian demon queen, and another of the infamous Bastille Bastards. England seems overrun with you vermin lately.”
“We go where we please, Mr. Archer.” Nephthys grinned. “Once we were bound, but Pendragon is dead. There is no one who can hold us now. The old days when we hid in shadows and let humans rule us are coming to a close. A new age of magic draws near.”
“What a shame then that your old cellmates, Gretta Aldfather and Dr. White, won’t be here to enjoy it,” Simon said. “We killed them a few months ago.”
“They must have been terribly stupid,” the woman replied. “No matter. I never liked them, and now there’s more for the rest of us.”
Kate glanced at Simon, her features creased in shock. But when she looked back toward the nude woman, her expression was resolute. “Are you here to plead the case of Rowan Barnes too?”
“I don’t plead, Miss Anstruther.” Nephthys raised her bare arms, and her hands traced iridescent streaks of aether through the air. “I bring horror.”
“Now, Malcolm, if you please,” Simon began, but before he finished, the Lancaster pistol roared twice.