《Mortasheen》


 Chapter 1

HorseUnicornKelpie?


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 Chapter 2 Part 1

    Hedley led us north, further out of the city centre. We walked: now I was warm, dry, and had clean socks, I was happy to enjoy the brisk evening air and take a little time to trail my fingers in the unseen magic streams as we wound our way through sleepy residential streets. After the wrongness of the magic around the kelpie, the familiarity of the buzz of the city was a balm. Hedley, full of anxious energy, fairly twitched along, talking non-stop but apparently mostly for his own benefit; his long legs - longer even than mine, and I was usually the tallest person in the room - carried him ahead so that he often had to stop and wait for us when he realised he was alone. Rowan walked between us, diminutive by comparison.


    I cast a sidelong look at her. Today, she''d picked her purple biker boots to contend with our urban wanderings. Stylishly ripped jeans, bomber jacket with carefully curated sew-on patches, she was a paragon of trend that put my ratty old trainers and oversized jumper to shame. She''s chopped her auburn hair short recently, and it now just brushed her chin. With big blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across her pale nose, she looked like a pixie, if pixies were five foot tall, Irish, and quite happy to stomp on your toes should you accidentally eat all of the takeaway you''d promised to leave for her.


    She was following my lead, only half listening to Hedley''s babbling, more focused the slow shift of magic as the terraced streets grew wider and leafier as we entered suburbia. Rowan had been my apprentice for a few years now, and she was gifted. I wasn''t too big to admit I was a little jealous; she had an innate sense for magic that it''d taken me years of hard practice to master. She was young though, and despite her natural skill she lacked the experience to deploy it, so I wasn''t out of a job yet. Master and apprentice was still a strong tradition in the magical world. I had a master once, and one day Rowan would have an apprentice of her own, and so the world continued to turn from one generation to the next.


    "You''re messing with my zen, Sam." Rowan broke my reprieve with a bump to my shoulder. Or, near enough - her shoulder only came up to my midriff. "Did you know your magic starts to smell like burning rubber when you think too hard?"


    "Liar." I bumped her gently back.


    "Will the pair of you stop dawdling, please?" Hedley had stopped up ahead outside a house that was no different from any of the others on the quiet road. Set back slightly from the street, a gate opened onto a short brick path that lead to the painted front door, edged by well-kept flowerbeds.


    I looked up at the house. It was still and dark. "No housemates? Girlfriend?" I asked.


    "No." Hedley answered a little too quickly. I looked at him, and the tips of his ears turned the same colour as his hair. He coughed. "No girlfriend, he lives alone."


    I raised an eyebrow but didn''t inquire further. "Bit fancy for a student, isn''t it?"


    Hedley, thankful for the change of subject, opened the gate and lead us up to the house. "He''s from old money. Father was a banker, mother some fancy sculptor."


    "I see." Probably the only reason anyone studied folklore to PhD level was if they had rich parents and didn¡¯t need to get a real job. "You know, Hedley, if we''re breaking in, it''s usually advised not to do it in full view of the street."


    "I never said we were breaking in."


    "Then how-?" Hedley produced a key. "Ah."


    "He asked me to water his plants while he was on holiday a little while ago, that''s all. Don''t judge me." He said defensively.


    "I''m not judging, Hedders."


    "I can totally feel you judging."


    "I swear I''m not. Are we judging, Rowan?"


    "Oh, I''m totally judging." My apprentice said, sly grin on her face. "Do you have your own drawer yet?"


    "My own drawer?"


    "Got to be pretty serious if you''ve got a key." I agreed.


    "Wait, does he know you have a key? It''s kinda creepy if he doesn''t."


    "He knows!"


    "How does it work, what with you being", Rowan''s flapping hand encompassed all of Hedley, "Well, you, and him being, I assume, human?"


    "It?"


    "You know." She made a lewd gesture. Hedley choked.


    "It''s not like that!" He spluttered.


    "Aww, Hedders, you can tell us. Is he cute? Does he buy you flowers?"


    "What do I want with flowers? I''m a bogeyman!"


    "A bogeyman with a big crush!" Rowan clapped her hands in delight. "Come on, come on, get us inside, I want to hear all about him. How did you meet? Did he sweep you off your feet? Or did you do the sweeping?" Hedley gave me a pleading look, a shapeshifting deer stuck in Rowan''s pinpoint headlights. His hair had started to turn from keratin to actual copper in his distress.


    Having received a similar grilling several times before, I came to his rescue. "Rowan, perhaps you can interrogate him once we''ve tracked Oscar down, hm?"


    Rowan pouted. It was a powerful pout. I turned away from the temptation to give in and let the teasing continue, took the key from Hedley''s unresisting hands and let us in to Oscar''s house.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    I believe you can tell a lot about a man from the place he chooses to call home. My cramped little flat, though small, was full to bursting with echoes of my life. Kitsch little knick-knacks from my travels, where every destination was a challenge to find the most garish memento yet. Pictures of people and places, each with their own story mapped out in photographic film; books, old, new, all well loved; piles of laundry that never quite made it to the wardrobe, wine glasses still out from the previous night''s company, fast food menus tacked to the fridge. It was very much lived in, and very much mine.


    My home and Oscar''s could have been a study in opposites. Though tidy and well tended, the house felt empty, and not least because its occupant was missing. There was a small pile of mail collecting on the doormat; Hedley scooped it up and took it through to the kitchen. Rowan and I trailed after him, through a living room that was clearly perfunctory rather than comfortable, probably only present to satisfy convention. The kitchen itself was modern, all chrome and granite, but looked about as used as the living room. I opened the fridge out of idle curiosity. A few microwave meals past their sell by date and half a bottle of white wine. The only thing to mark the room as belonging to an actual human being, rather than a clinically clean showroom, was an array of potted plants lined up along the back of the counter. I had no idea what they were, not having much of a green thumb myself, but they were looking a little sad and limp. Hedley tutted and watered them.


    I continued to wander through the house. Upstairs, a bedroom, bed made. Bathroom, spotless, single toothbrush. Finally, at the end of the hall, a study.


    This was clearly where all the living had been happening. Notes had been pinned up on the walls, covered in a tiny, looped writing. Occasional sketches were scattered amongst them, annotated in the same hand: his research subjects, I guessed, and beings I knew. Here, Yallery Brown, a spirit from the north that was helpful up until it was no longer needed, then capable of a powerful grudge. There, Habetrot, with her distended lips, spinner of cloth and magics. A kelpie ¨C though not the one I''d met today - a bluecap, and even one or two of the friendlier trolls to be found around the city. They were good likenesses, features picked out in hard graphite strokes and soft charcoal smudges.


    The desk was groaning under the weight of yet more notes and books. There were new collections of children''s fairy stories with pastel-toned watercolour illustrations, old tomes of yellowing vellum bound in cracked leather, handwritten sheathes laid out with careful attention to conservation. I picked up a few pages and scanned over them. It was all familiar to me ¨C the research spread over the desk, creeping in photocopied stacks across the floor, and climbing the walls with the help of push pins and bluetack, laid out the world I knew, the world I lived in. I was impressed. The flow of magic in the room was tight, focused, drawn in by the fulcrum of knowledge represented in one man''s obsessively thorough PhD project.


    "Blimey." Rowan had followed me, Hedley behind her. "Is he, like, Rain Man or something?"


    Hedley sniffed. "I don''t know who that is."


    "Blimey." Rowan repeated. "We really need another film night." She came up beside me and picked up one of the papers from the desk. "The Nuckelavee. Half water horse, half skinless man." She gave a theatrical shudder. "Never heard of it."


    I glanced over. The paper was short compared to the others, just a few paragraphs of text, but looked to be still in progress. "I can''t say I''ve come across it either." Rowan raised an eyebrow, and I gave her a half shrug. What can I say? You can''t know everything.


    Hedley joined us, looking over Rowan''s shoulder - it wasn''t difficult for him, given the height difference. "That''s because the Nuckelavee doesn''t exist. At least, not any more."


    "It doesn''t exist?" Rowan''s other eyebrow joined its fellow in her surprise. She had very expressive eyebrows. "If there''s one thing that all this sorcery stuff has taught me, it''s that everything I ever thought was a fairytale actually exists, out there, somewhere. Some of those fairytales even live on my street."


    "It existed at one point. Just, not now."


    I could see Rowan wasn''t satisfied with Hedley''s explanation. "Not all magical creatures are still around." I said. "They''re subject to Darwin''s laws just as much as the rest of us. Over time, most of them evolve with the world around them, but those that don''t die out. Think about the trolls ¨C no more living in the dank shadows of bridges, now they''ve unionised and got themselves fancy little toll booths. Perhaps the Nuckelavee just couldn''t keep up with the times."


    "Probably a good thing too." Rowan said, scanning the page. "Sounds like a nasty bugger."


    I hummed agreement, but then spotted what we came for: Oscar''s diary. Like the rest of his notes, it looked well thumbed. The ribbon bookmark was still in place for Wednesday, now three days out of date. There was a name and a time noted down in the same tiny handwriting.


    "Looks like he might have met up with someone." I showed them the page. "And I know where to find them."


    ***


    As we left, my mobile rang. I fumbled, trying to remember how to answer. It was new, its flashy handset and slick touch screen Rowan''s latest attempt to drag me reluctantly into the modern era; I was now regretting ever letting her come phone shopping with me.


    Rowan patiently took it from my clumsy hands, worked some magic ¨C not the metaphysical kind ¨C and handed it back. I mouthed a thank you, and she rolled her eyes. I didn''t recognize the number, so I waved her and Hedley to go on ahead as I answered.


    "Sam Finch speaking."


    "Hey, Sam."


    I suppressed a groan. "Not using your own phone, Alex? That''s a new one. You''re getting wily in your old age."


    My youngest brother snorted, but it was good natured. "I wouldn''t have to if you actually picked up when you saw it was me calling."


    I sighed. I didn''t want to start a fight with the only member of my family I was still on friendly speaking terms with, but the night was already rolling on and we had a mission. "Alex, I''m sorry, I''ve been busy. As I am right now. I''ll give you a call in a couple of days -"


    Alex scoffed. I could picture him doing it: cheeks - still with a touch of puppy fat even though he was only a few years younger than me - screwing up as if I''d made a crude joke. "No, you won''t. Doesn''t matter though. Peter just wanted me to find out if you''ve sent mum a birthday card."


    I should have known. Even Alex didn''t do social calls much any more. "Tell our brother dearest that if he wants to pester me about things there''s not a snowball''s chance in Hell I''m doing, he can ring me himself."


    "Sam -"


    "Sorry Alex, but mum gave up her right to birthday cards a long time ago. You all know this." I tried to keep my voice level, even though I was prickling at being told - and I was under no illusion that Peter''s message was a demand rather than an inquiry - to send a birthday card to the woman who disowned me. Why Peter still tried, I didn''t know; probably to satisfy some inherent older brother need for control.


    Alex made a small noise of distress, or possibly frustration, and I softened a little. I had no beef with Alex: he''d always been the baby and never called me a heretic, or a Satanist, or tried to get me to disavow my magic in favour of the one true Lord and Saviour. On the other hand, I''d had it up to my neck with Peter''s games at being family patriarch. "Look," I said, "I will call in a few days. Maybe next time you''re down this way we can grab a beer? But Peter can go fish elsewhere."


    There wasn''t much left to say, after that. The phone call had soured my mood again, so we said our goodbyes, and I caught up with Rowan and Hedley. My apprentice gave me a knowing look, but I waved her away.

 Chapter 2 Part 2

    The creature we were going to meet lived by the river. In the British Isles, a land whose identity was forged by the ocean, and whose waterways were veins and capillaries that fed its beating heart, rivers held a power that every creature with even a hint of magic felt the draw of. Even the normal, human population could usually sense magic at work in the yawning maw of the sea or the pounding rush of a waterfall, and feel the insubstantial touch of something other, like the tinniest change in temperature between light and shade, in the meandering flow of a stream and the cold, inky stillness of an underground lake.


    From prehistory, water wasn¡®t just necessary for survival but also far more: a liminal force, a connection to the spirit world. Before the Romans ever set foot upon England¡®s mountains green, people were sacrificing other people and leaving their bodies as offerings in lakes and bogs. Then the Romans came along and started chucking all sorts of things into the water to appease and bribe their gods: swords, armor, tools, coins, pottery, jewelry, even lead curses imploring the perpetrator of the author¡®s ills be bereft of health and sexual potency. The tradition persists even today - people throw coins into wells and fountains for wishes and good luck, perhaps even without knowing why.


    Water isn''t the only source of magic in the world, but my theory is that like attracts like: the very nature of magic is fluid, just like water. Magic tends to pool in some places and dry out in others. It can have the frantic energy of whitewater or the sluggishness of a silted stream. It can be directed, and manipulated. So, it clings to water, and has done for so long that the correlation gets confused for causation in the human perception of the matter.


    Night had now well and truly taken over the city, and the pubs and clubs were crowded. We walked back into the centre of town and followed the embankment, past my meeting place with the Kelpie, past the train station, and then to where the Riverside walk met the bridge. There were three bridges that crossed the river within the city bounds, but this central one was the oldest, the ugliest, and also my favourite. It was hunched, straddling the river at its narrowest point, built of ruddy local stone worn smooth by years of unpredictable English weather. It wasn''t tall enough for sailing vessels to pass underneath, though smaller motor-driven craft clustered around pontoons anchored around the bridge''s base, like ducklings around their mother.


    We left the Riverside walk, descending a set of steps towards the pontoons. It was darker here, unilluminated but for the light of the street lamps high above our heads. Our footsteps echoed dully on the weather-worn wood of the pontoons, accompanied by gentle thuds of the boats bumping hulls in the gentle current. Then, ahead, the sound of someone singing quietly. It was a gruff voice, the words lost to the rumble of it, accompanied by an odd rattle-clink, rattle-clink that provided a rough beat.


    ¡°Skothe?¡± I called into the shadows, and the singing stopped and the rattling stilled. A moment of quiet, just the gentle sighing of the river to be heard, and then a different beat as the rattling moved towards us from under the bridge.


    A man appeared at the end of the pontoon, melding from the shadows. He was stooped and hunched, of a height with Rowan, but wider than she and I stood together. It was hard to describe his face kindly: his nose was huge, long and bulbous, hanging down over fat lips, which in turn sagged in his wrinkled skin that was too grey-blue to be fully human. Thick, lank hair trailed from his head. There were things tangled in it: a ring-pull from a can here, a seagull feather there, old washers and shells and six pack plastic glinting like odd jewellery in the night-time neon glow. His coat, from which the rattle-click was coming as he moved, was of the same motif: it looked like someone had rolled across a polluted river bed and carried on wearing whatever stuck. It was mostly shells of all shapes, colours and sizes - tiny little augers banging against chipped cockles tapping against sharp conches - but like his hair, there were others things in there too. Crushed cans, bike gears, a doll¡®s head, even a shopping trolley wheel hanging on mouldering leather around his neck, all the small detritus of a modern river made into this year¡®s must have fashion trend.


    ¡°Wotcha, sorcerer. Got any sandwiches?¡± He said.


    I had, indeed, brought sandwiches. I picked them up on the way, knowing there was always a price for information.


    ¡°Cheese and pickle, ham and lettuce, or tuna?¡±


    ¡°Gimme the tuna.¡±


    I handed over the plastic-wrapped sandwich, gave the cheese and pickle to Rowan, took the ham for myself, and parked myself on the edge of the pontoon to eat, feet dangling a few inches above the water. Skothe joined me, coat clattering against the wood as he sat. Hedley, having no fondness for sandwiches or other members of his own kind, hovered a little way back. Skothe eyed his fellow bogeyman and, with a grin, opened his mouth wide, showing off the mashed bread and tuna within. Hedley winced and looked away. Skothe cackled and demolished the rest of his meal in a few bites.


    Skothe was a shellycoat, a type of bogeyman. Not the scare-children-from-under-the-bed sort, though there were certainly a few of those around, but just one of the creatures to which the catch-all term applied. Their kind came in many forms, and at a lack of what else to class them as, bogeymen they became. They were usually more interested in mischief and mayhem than actual harm, but some creatures, like Skothe, rejoiced in a slightly more intense form of mischief that was only short of malicious by a few technicalities. At least no one had lost a limb or suffered PTSD too badly in a few decades.


    Like many creatures, though, they knew not to mess with sorcerers.


    Skothe smacked his lips and squirrelled the plastic wrapper away into his coat. ¡°Good stuff, good stuff. Prefer it when they¡®re a bit past it, gives the tuna more fragrance, but it¡®ll do. What¡®cha want, sorcerer? Anything for your good self and your pretty little sorceress.¡± He blew Rowan a kiss, and she blew him a raspberry.


    ¡°We¡®re looking for someone. A human.¡±


    ¡°Lots of humans round these parts. Not like the old days when you could have a patch of the river to yourself. Now it¡®s all boats and ferries and noise and hubbub.¡±


    ¡°I know, Skothe, but this is one human in particular. He came to see you a few days ago. His name is Oscar.¡±


    Skothe licked his filthy fingers, looking thoughtful. ¡°Short chap, glasses?¡±


    ¡°That¡®s him!¡± Hedley, having reached the end of his patience half a sandwich ago, couldn''t help himself. ¡°You better not have drowned him, you fishy bastard.¡±


    Skothe ignored him. ¡°He came to interview me. I ain''t never been interviewed before. He brought me some three day old kippers. I don¡®t hold with these newfangled Polaroids, but I did let him draw me.¡±


    I suppressed a smile. The magical world had evolved with the times, but a lot of it wasn¡®t quite up to speed with modern technology. Not that I could really talk. ¡°And what happened then? You talked, he drew - do you know where he went next?¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Skothe shifted his bulk around so he could look at me squarely. ¡°What do you want with him? I like you, sorcerer, you¡®re a good sort, but I don''t want no part in any trouble.¡±


    ¡°He¡®s not in trouble.¡± I said. ¡°He¡®s a friend, and he¡®s missing. I¡®m just out to make sure no harm comes to him.¡±


    Skothe continued to look hard at me for a minute. I held his gaze. I could feel Hedley ramping up for another outburst, but thankfully Skothe found whatever he was looking for in my face and nodded to himself.


    ¡°He wanted to know more about another creature of our world. I sent him on to our lady Fiorimonde.¡±


    ¡°You what!¡± Hedley squeaked.


    Skothe finally acknowledged him, heaving his great bulk upright, his coat providing an accompanying chorus. There was an edge to his smile that I didn¡®t like. ¡°The Lady is always interested to meet those poking their noses where they do not belong. Your friend, Kow, had a very big nose.¡±


    I sighed and stood up, stepping between the bogeymen and brushing sandwich crumbs from my lap. ¡°Thank you, Skothe, I think we have what we came for. Hedders, go wait on the embankment.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°Go, Hedley.¡±


    Hedley muttered something under his breath but retreated, casting daggers back over his shoulder at Skothe. I waited until he was out of earshot.


    ¡°Skothe. We had a deal. Don¡®t fuck with the humans and I¡®ll keep the supply of fish coming down here. This, my friend, counts as fucking with humans.¡±


    Skothe didn¡®t answer. He turned to head back into the shadows, but I stepped around him and into his path.


    ¡°You said you didn¡®t want trouble, but that¡®s exactly what you¡®re causing. You know what Fiorimonde will do to him.¡±


    The shellycoat sneered, all trace of affability now gone. It warped his face and made him even uglier. I tensed. I was twice his height, but he was twice my width, and could easily send me arse over tip off the pontoon. Behind him, I could feel Rowan pulling magic from the water, ready to have my back.


    Skothe could obviously feel it too, and laughed, a raw, gurgling sound. ¡°You can let it go, little one, I won¡®t hurt your master. I ain¡®t stupid enough to pick a fight with sorcerers.¡± I shook my head at Rowan, and felt her let the magic slip back into the river. Skothe copied me, shaking his head as well. ¡°Water¡®s rising, and a bogey¡®s got to pick sides.¡±


    The turn of phrase startled me. I stared at him. ¡°What did you just say?¡±


    ¡°As I said, I like you, sorcerer, but the Lady makes promises you couldn¡®t hope to keep.¡± Skothe continued. ¡°Times are changing. You do good by us, but you gotta do good by everyone, and sometimes you just have to look after your own. I do the Lady a favour, she does me in kind. Ain¡®t personal.¡±


    He stepped forward and this time I let him pass. ¡°We¡®ll continue this discussion another time, Skothe.¡± I warned.


    He waved a clinking hand in acknowledgement, leaving for the shadows of the bridge once more. He paused before he slipped totally into the darkness, just visible from streetlight picked out across the trinkets of his coat. ¡°For what it¡®s worth, sorcerer, sending your man on brought me no pleasure. But I think he should be the least of your concerns.¡±


    ¡°What do you think I should be concerned about, Skothe?¡±


    Skothe shook his head once more. ¡°Best pick a side, Sam. And do it soon.¡± Then, Rowan and I were alone on the empty pontoon, not a rattling to be heard.


    ¡°What¡®s he talking about?¡± Rowan, at my side now, following my gaze towards Skothe¡®s lair.


    I stared at the empty shadows under the bridge. Pick a side? That was a little hard when I wasn¡¯t even aware sides had been forming. ¡°Why do I get the feeling there¡®s something going on that I don¡®t know about?¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Uh-oh. I know that look.¡±


    ¡°What look?¡±


    ¡°It¡®s the same as your Rowan-drank-all-my-coffee-and-now-she¡®s-getting-extra-incantation-practice look.¡±


    ¡°That¡®s a very specific look.¡±


    ¡°It seems to get a lot of use.¡± She paused. ¡°Are we going to go see Fiorimonde?¡±


    I rubbed my eyes. The day was starting to catch up with me, and the sandwich hadn''t done much but remind my stomach that it was past dinner time and there was usually more food on offer. ¡°I suppose we have to. If Fiorimonde¡®s got Oscar, we¡®re going to have a problem.¡±


    Rowan nudged me in the ribs as we walked slowly back up the pontoon to rejoin Hedley. ¡°She likes you. Maybe she¡®ll give him back if you ask nicely.¡±


    I laughed, but there was no humour in it. ¡°I know she likes me. But not in any way I¡®m comfortable with. I¡®d rather date someone who wasn¡®t about as cuddly as a pit viper.¡±


    Rowan¡®s silence spoke volumes. I did a mental catalogue of previous relationships. ¡°Yes, okay, let¡®s just say I know that from experience.¡± I amended. ¡°She doesn¡®t want me, anyway. She just wants a pet sorcerer.¡±


    We reached Hedley, who had caught the tail end of my sentence and correctly guessed he subject. ¡°Now she has Oscar for a pet. We need to get him back, Sam.¡±


    Rowan¡®s phone rang, the upbeat jingling out of place in the quiet of the night. She wandered a short distance away to answer it.


    Hedley was looking miserable. I slung an arm around his shoulders. ¡°I know, Hedders. We will. Fiorimonde always skirts the line, but this time she¡®s crossed it. She¡®ll give him back or bring a whole heap of sorcerer-shaped trouble down on her head.¡±


    My pep-talk didn''t seem to help much. Rowan came back, slipping her phone into a pocket. ¡°Sorry Sam, Nan wants me to go pick up Noah from his footy practice. Can you manage without a chaperone?¡±


    I waved a hand at her. ¡°Go get your brother. I promise there will be no stolen kisses behind the bleachers.¡±


    She nodded, then gestured for Hedley to bend down. He complied, and she stood on her tip-toes to plant a quick peck on his cheek. ¡°Cheer up, Hedders. Your boyfriend will be back before you know it.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Rowan.¡± Hedley said mournfully, apparently still unconvinced.


    Rowan left, heading back along the embankment, towards the centre of town. This far out, there was no one around, the area having not much going for it except for the historic bridge, which was better viewed in daylight. Even the traffic seemed light this evening, cars hidden by the bridge parapet as they crossed the water, the sound of their engines echoing oddly around the night.


    I paused, and listened harder. There was another sound, masked by the traffic rumble. It sounded a little like waves lapping stone.


    ¡°Sam, are we going?¡±


    I shushed Hedley and peered over the embankment railings to the river below. With only a light breeze this evening, the waves were small and quiet, just as they had been when were on the pontoon.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Hear what?¡±


    I looked around. We were still alone, Rowan now out of sight. There was a small park on the other side of the road running parallel to the embankment promenade, just a little triangle of rubber chippings, some swings and a lonely slide. One of the swings was swaying gently.


    Hairs started to rise on the back of my neck. ¡°I think we should go now, Hedders.¡±


    We followed Rowan, tracing our steps back towards town. I tried to measure my pace, though my heart was starting an uneasy flutter. Hedley was talking nineteen to the dozen again, as if all the nerves and anxiety inside of him were escaping in a torrent of words. I ignored him, and kept listening. The sound was still there. Now I concentrated, it sounded less like waves. It still had a wet quality, a rhythmic slapping, like bare feet upon pavement but not quite. The cadence was all wrong, beats coming just a fraction after expected. There, too, was a scent of something on the breeze.


    I glanced behind us. Nothing there. Nothing on the road, nothing in the water. I snorted at my own stupidity. I was just tired, and had been feeling on edge since my dip in the sewage earlier in the evening. Whatever was making the sound was just pinging off my worn edges.


    As if it heard my thoughts, the slapping got louder, and faster. My heart changed gear from a flutter to full on drum roll as adrenaline kicked in. A pounding, coming up behind us, the sick sound of meat on stone rising over the night-time noises. The smell got overwhelmingly stronger. I summoned magic and whirled, fingers bursting into street-lamp coloured sparks, ready to hurl sodium electric.


    There was nothing there.


    Hedley had stopped, and was looking at me strangely. ¡°Sam?¡±


    ¡°I thought I heard...¡± I cast about for any movement, any sign at all of whatever had made that sound. Nothing. The night was still. Even the sound was now gone. A young couple appeared from a side road just ahead, startling me, giggling while arm in arm but too engrossed in each other to notice the world around them. I quickly snuffed out my sparks before they could see.


    ¡°Sorry, Hedders. It¡®s nothing. Let¡®s go.¡±


    I kept glancing back until were safely amongst the busier streets of the town centre, but I didn¡®t hear the sound again.