But this was different. It was evidence!
“There’re records of payments Zacharias made to him, dates of the exact places and times the bombings took place, fuse length and blast radius calculations. He was keeping all this for some reason, to protect himself, to extort money from the Forsyths … or something.”
“We have them now,” Fletcher said with triumph. Finally, something was going their way.
“No,” Sylva said, shaking her head. “We don’t.”
“Why not?” Fletcher asked.
“Don’t you remember what Jeffrey said?” Sylva’s voice was taut with frustration. “Back in the pyramid, Jeffrey said that even King Alfric is involved in this. Read the letter; it mentions Rook, an Inquisitor.”
“So?” Fletcher asked, but his heart was already sinking.
“Who do we take it to? The Pinkertons? They’re in Alfric’s pocket. The inquisition? Not likely. They’d get rid of it as soon as we handed it in, or claim it’s a forgery, or kill us there and then. We can’t take it to the authorities … they are the authorities!”
“So we take it to King Harold!” Fletcher exclaimed. “He’ll know what to do with it.”
“I hope you’re right, Fletcher,” Sylva said, biting her lip. “Anyway, I’ll keep it safe. I just wanted you to know it exists.”
Fletcher sighed and rubbed his eyes. The few hours of sleep had done little to help with his exhaustion.
“Sorry, it’s just that I thought we had something for a minute there. Thank you, I mean it.”
He squeezed her on the shoulder and stood up, just as Othello and Cress arrived, their weapons secure and bags packed.
“I’ll ride with Othello,” Sylva said, taking the rolled-up Catoblepas pelt from Cress. “You should carry your mother and Cress; I reckon Ignatius is a bit bigger.”
She paused and stared at the Drake, and a gentle smile played across her lips.
“Who’d have thought,” she murmured, looking the demon up and down from beak to tail. “He’ll be the envy of all at Vocans.”
Shaking her head, she slung the pelt over Lysander’s back, folding it so that it made a secure and comfortable seat on his spine. Fletcher grinned jealously at her ingenuity, glad that they would be taking the fur with them. He had earned it.
“Come on,” Cress murmured, coaxing Alice onto Ignatius’s back. “I know he looks a bit different, but he’s the same old Ignatius, don’t you worry.”
The Salamander flattened himself on the sand to make it easier for the frail lady to mount him and purred with pleasure when she did so, glad that she trusted him. Fletcher sat in the front and Cress squeezed behind Alice, so as to be sure that the older woman did not fall. Fletcher smiled as Alice instinctively put her arms around his waist. Her first hug? Well, not really, but he’d take it.
Both dwarves were looking apprehensive.
“I bloody hate flying,” Cress groaned. “Especially on a demon that grew his wings only a few hours ago.”
She patted Ignatius’s neck apprehensively, and the Drake unleashed a deep bark of encouragement, making her flinch.
“Let’s decide exactly where we’re going first,” Othello said, giving Lysander and Ignatius a wide berth. “I’d rather not have a debate up there, where the Wyverns might spot us. Plus I’d rather spend as little time in the air as possible.”
“Now that we have an ample supply of petals, we need to find Hominum’s part of the ether,” Fletcher said, more to himself than anyone else. “And hope to heavens we spot a portal when we do.”
“Of course,” Othello said, nodding grimly, “But there’s no way of knowing which direction we should go in, and even if we did, we could fly right over it and not know it.”
“Well, we know that unlike the orcish part of the ether, ours is near the ether’s edge, bordering the deadlands,” Sylva mused. “There are volcanoes near ours too. I think our best bet is to go back toward where we found the petals; there were more volcanoes that way.”
“Back toward the Wyverns?” Cress groaned. “We just got away from them.”
“Well, volcanoes are the only thing I can think of, unless anyone has any better ideas,” Sylva replied.
“We also know there isn’t an ocean near Hominum’s part of the ether,” Fletcher added. “Another reason to go Sylva’s way.”
“And it’s not like heading over the ocean is a good idea: We have no idea how large it is—it could go on for days,” Sylva said, motioning down the lagoon. There was a wide outlet where she was pointing, and Fletcher knew that it led out to the vast body of water they had seen before.
“Well, it can’t be that big, what with the Shrikes,” Othello said. “Not that we’d want to follow them anyway.”
“Shrikes?” Sylva asked.
“Didn’t I mention it?” Othello said, surprised. “We saw a bloody great big flock of Shrikes the day after you and Fletcher went looking for the Euryale petals. Luckily they flew right by us and headed over the ocean.”
“I’d rather not follow in their footsteps, as it were, especially not on these death traps,” Cress added, looking pointedly at Lysander and Ignatius.
Sylva narrowed her eyes.
“Sorry, just a joke,” Cress said, holding up her hands in apology.
“No, it’s not that,” Sylva said. “I’m thinking.”
She chewed on her lip, then closed her eyes completely.
“How soon after the tournament does the next year start at Vocans?” Sylva asked, her head bowed with concentration.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Cress exclaimed.
“There’s not much of a break really,” Othello answered, ignoring Cress. “What with the war on, they time it so that the next year of teaching starts almost immediately. Maybe a week or two? Only, our tournament was delayed this year because of the Anvil attacks, so Cress should technically have started her second year a few weeks ago.”
“Even better. When Captain Lovett took us into the ether, we were just a few weeks into the academic year too, correct?” Sylva said, holding up a finger. “We’d only had a few lessons with her.”
“Right…,” Fletcher agreed, still unsure about the point she was trying to make.
“And Valens was attacked by a Shrike. Didn’t we learn in our demonology lessons that Shrikes migrate across our part of the ether around that time? As in, the time of year we’re also in right now?”
It hit Fletcher like a ton of bricks. The Shrikes. They could be heading toward Hominum’s part of the ether.
“Sylva, you’re a bloody genius,” Fletcher yelled, grinning from ear to ear.
Because they were going home.
CHAPTER
19