“Sir!” the voice called again, and Kell glanced around—not for the source, but for anyone else it might be speaking to. But there was no one nearby, and the word was said with recognition, with knowing.
His rising mood shuddered and died as he dragged himself to a stop and turned to find a lanky man clutching an armful of papers and staring directly at him, eyes as large as coins. A dark scarf hung around the man’s shoulders, and his clothes weren’t shabby, but they didn’t fit him well; he looked like he’d been stretched out, his face and limbs too long for his suit. His wrists protruded from the cuffs, and on the back of one Kell saw the tail edge of a tattoo.
A power rune.
The first time Kell had seen it, he remembered thinking two things. The first was that it was inaccurate, distorted the way a copy of a copy of a copy might be. The second was that it belonged to an Enthusiast, a Grey-worlder who fancied himself a magician.
Kell hated Enthusiasts.
“Edward Archibald Tuttle, the third,” said Kell drily.
The man—Ned—burst into an awkward grin, as if Kell had just delivered the most spectacular news. “You remember me!”
Kell did. He remembered everyone he did business (or chose not to do business) with. “I don’t have your dirt,” he said, recalling his half-sarcastic promise to bring the man a bag of earth, if he waited for Kell.
Ned waved it away. “You came back,” he said, hurrying forward. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t, after everything, that is to say, after the horrible business with the pub’s owner—dreadful business—I waited, you know, before it happened, and then after, of course, and still, and I was beginning to wonder, which isn’t the same thing as doubting, mind you, I hadn’t begun to doubt, but no one had seen you, not in months and months, and now, well, you’re back….”
Ned finally trailed off, breathless. Kell didn’t know what to say. The man had done enough talking for both of them. A sharp wind cut through, and Ned nearly lost his papers. “Bloody hell, it’s cold,” he said. “Let me get you a drink.”
He nodded at something behind Kell when he said it, and Kell turned to see a tavern. His eyes widened as he realized where his treacherous feet had taken him. He should have known. The feeling was there, in the ground itself, the subtle pull that only belonged to a fixed point.
The Stone’s Throw.
Kell was standing only a few strides from the place where he’d done business, the place where Lila had lived and Barron had died. (He had been back once, when it was all over, but the doors were locked. He’d broken in, but Barron’s body was already gone. He climbed the narrow stairs to Lila’s room at the top, found nothing left but a dark stain on the floor and a map with no markings. He’d taken the map with him, the last trinket he’d ever smuggle. He hadn’t been back since.)
Kell’s chest ached at the sight of the place. It wasn’t called the Stone’s Throw anymore. It looked the same—felt the same, now that Kell was paying attention—but the sign that hung above the door said THE FIVE POINTS.
“I really shouldn’t …” he said, frowning at the name.
“The tavern doesn’t open for another hour,” insisted Ned. “And there’s something I want to show you.” He pulled a key from his pocket, fumbling one of his scrolls in the process. Kell reached out and caught it, but his attention was on the key as Ned slid it into the lock.
“You own this place?” he said incredulously.
Ned nodded. “Well, I mean, I didn’t always, but I bought it up, after all that nasty business went down. There was talk of razing it, and it just didn’t seem right, so when it came up for sale, well, I mean, you and I, we both know this place isn’t just a tavern, that’s to say it’s special, got that aura of”—he lowered his voice—“magic …”—and then spoke up again—“about it. And besides, I knew you’d come back. I just knew….”
Ned went inside as he rambled, and Kell didn’t have much choice but to follow—he could have walked away and left the man prattling, but Ned had waited, had bought the whole damn tavern so he could keep waiting, and there was something to be said for stubborn resolve, so he followed the man in.
The place was impenetrably dark, and Ned set his scrolls on the nearest table and made his way, half by feel, to the hearth to stoke a fire.