Garvin would have been proud.
A low chuckle greeted me as I slowly sheathed the sword and rolled over, testing for breaks and bruises.
"Dogstar, you look a little flushed." It was Raffmir.
"Very funny." Nothing was broken and I was used to the bruises.
"I see that you are enhancing the reputation of the Warders, even as we speak."
"What are you doing here?" I looked around but he was alone. "Weren't you supposed to have an escort?"
"My diplomatic liaison appears to be unable to follow where I lead, but I'm sure someone will arrive in due course. However, I thought I would take the opportunity to speak discreetly. I must apologise. I hadn't expected to find you bathing, and fully dressed too." He smiled and offered me his hand.
I waved him away and stood, pushing myself unsteadily to my feet on the shifting shingle. "What do you want, Raffmir?"
"If it's a bad time, I can come back later. Perhaps you hadn't finished your ablutions?"
"Just… say what you came to say. You didn't come here to give me marks on style and presentation."
"Hmm, presentation. Is that weed in your hair?"
I brushed sand into my hair, trying to remove the weed, before realising that there was no weed. "Very funny. Am I keeping you? Is there someone else who would appreciate your banter, someone with a more childish sense of humour, perhaps?"
"I can think of no one for whom it would be more appropriate, but I didn't come to comment on the weakness of your tactics, I came to offer my help."
"Your help? Doing what? Are you volunteering for the Warders?"
"Not as a Warder, no. I wanted to offer my personal assistance with the difficulties you're having."
"Difficulties?"
"Your daughter. I believe you may have misplaced her."
"Why would you think that?" I didn't want Raffmir anywhere near my daughter, even though he was sworn not to harm her.
"Is she not lost, then? Do you have her secreted safely somewhere?"
"I'm not sure where she is," I told him, being careful to speak only the truth, "but that's not unusual. She has her own life."
"All's well, then." The sardonic smile appeared on his lips. "But if you do happen to lose track of her, then my offer of assistance still stands." He made to leave, walking back along the beach.
"Why would I come to you for assistance, Raffmir? I told you before, you don't have anything I want."
He paused in his walk across the shingle, and spoke without turning back, his voice almost drowned out by the sibilant crash of the waves.
"Dear boy, because I am the only one who can show you how to reach her."
He walked away into the dark. I stumbled after him, my feet sliding on the loose stones underfoot. "You know where she is. Where is she, Raffmir? Where have they taken her?"
I ran after him, following the track just above the tide where the ground was more solid. It was no use. He'd gone. My words found an empty beach. I willed the sword to be an umbrella again and scrambled my way back up the incline, covered in grit and sand, still soaked to the skin. The wind chilled me quickly and by the time I reached the road I was shivering, despite the warm night. All the way back to the guest house I watched the shadows, wondering if he was lurking there, amusing himself with my misfortune. When I arrived at The Dolphin, I had to use my key. Nevertheless, Martha was waiting for me.
"Oh, Mr Dawson, it looks like you've been in the water. What on earth happened?"
"I went for a walk on the beach. I slipped."
"Oh dearie me, we can't have you walking round like that, the carpets will get wet."
"Well, I can hardly strip here in the hall, can I?"
"Come through to the kitchen. I'll find you one of Gerald's robes. What were you thinking of?"
"As I said, I slipped."
I followed her through a door at the back of the hall to a kitchen with a vinyl-tiled floor. She made me stand on newspaper until she'd found a towel and brought a towelling robe from the back rooms.
"There's a toilet through that door behind you. You can get out of your wet clothes in there. I'll have to dry your shoes out in front of the range. I must say, I never expected anything like this." She handed me the robe.
"I'm quite all right. I can manage."
"Nonsense. You're shivering and you'll get sand everywhere. Get out of those clothes and I'll get them washed tomorrow. There'll be an extra charge for a service wash, especially with the state they're in. You do realise that, don't you?"
"That's fine." I was beginning to think she was enjoying herself.
"That's one of Gerrald's old ones. It doesn't matter if it gets wet. Just get yourself dry. Here's a towel." She passed me a hand towel that had also seen better days.
There was barely room to turn around, with just a hand basin and a toilet. I squirmed out of my clothes, dropping them in a soggy pile on the floor, then dried myself with the towel. The harsh cotton combined with the remnants of grit and sand to chafe my skin. I dabbed off the worst and shrugged into the robe, belting it tightly with the tie, then picked up the pile of sodden clothes and edged out of the toilet.
She held a plastic bag out and I dropped them in.
"Gloria at the laundry will take care of those for you. She does all the linen for us, a proper job. You won't know them."
"Thank you. If it's OK, I'll take my key and go to bed."
"Do you want me to dry your umbrella out in front of the range with your shoes?"
"No, it's OK. That's the one thing that's waterproof. I'll take it upstairs."
"Mind you don't get sand and grit everywhere," she said as I made my way back into the hall and upstairs.
"I'll be careful. See you in the morning."
"Good night, Mr Dawson." She closed the kitchen door behind me.
Back in my room, I locked the door and went straight to the bathroom. Standing in the bath, I unsheathed the sword, washed the blade and wiped it with my hand towel. Then I rinsed out the scabbard, removing any grains of sand, wiped it down and left it over the sink to drain any remaining water. Weapons first, that's what I had been taught. You never knew when you'd need them next and it wouldn't do to have the sword jam in the scabbard from sand or rust.
Discarding my robe, I showered off the remaining sand, setting the shower hot enough to ease the aches and bruises. I wiped the mirror with the towel and inspected my scrapes and scratches. None of it was worthy of attention.
I put on my own robe and left the bathroom light on to keep the fan running, then released the ward on my bag and brought out clean clothes. Whoever had packed had put two full changes in the bag. I wondered whether shopping was also a service the stewards provided. I dried my feet and put on clean socks, pulled on a shirt and trousers and laced my spare boots, feeling immediately better.
The alarm clock at the bedside said it was close to midnight. I was dog-tired. Woken before dawn, using the Ways twice in one day, the walk into Hull, the disaster on the beach – it was all taking its toll and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed.
Garvin said that Warders didn't get tired and I wondered if there were a trick to that or if it was just sheer force of will.
Either way, I still had things to do. I tightened the laces of my boots.
NINE
Blackbird or Garvin: who to speak to first? I needed to update both of them, but if I spoke to Blackbird first, I would have to tell Garvin what I knew. I didn't think Blackbird would want me telling him more than she wanted him to know. I sat on the single bed and reached with my intention beneath the surface of the mirror, connecting it to the core of power within me.