"Where is she?" Greg asked.
I shook my head, straining to hear. He came closer, trying to decode the sounds.
"It's indoors. She's not outside. Can she hear us?"
"Only if there's a mirror close to her. Wait, listen."
The distinctive call of a gull, keeeya, keeya, keya, kya, kya kya, came from outside and echoed through the mirror into the room in a double image of sound.
Greg said it first. "She's here! By God, she's right here!"
"No, listen," I said. "The sound is delayed, further away from the gull than we are. Wherever she is, she can hear it."
"A warehouse? There are some around the harbour. Or maybe another guest house?"
"Outside," I said. "We need to be outside. I'll bring the mirror."
I unhooked the mirror from the wall. Greg held the door open as I went through and we barged open the fire door and ran down the stairs. Martha came out of the kitchen and waited at the bottom of the stairs as we barrelled down.
She pointed at the mirror. "You can't take that. That's private property, that is!"
Greg intercepted her. "Don't worry, we'll bring it back."
I slipped past them out into the street. Holding the mirror pressed to one ear I turned slowly. The sounds were confusing, on one side muffled and indistinct, overlaid with scrapes and shuffles, and on the other, clear but wide open. I closed my eyes, turning slowly. There was an abrupt blare of a car horn as a car swerved around me.
"Watch where you're going, ya prick!" The voice was female, but the car had gone before I could see the face.
The gull call came again, and I turned towards the harbour, but then another joined in, and another. The rooftops echoed to the call of the gulls and I couldn't get a fix on it.
Greg appeared. "Where?"
I shook my head, waving my hand at the gulls, then gestured towards the harbour. We walked together slowly, me listening to the mirror, him watching out for me. He stepped out in the road, gesturing the traffic to a halt as we came out on to the harbour front. No one questioned the stern-faced vicar. He stood in the road, holding the traffic while I scanned the rows of shops and houses, the chandlers, the fishing shop. There were windows above the shops, facing on to the harbour. She could be behind any one of them. I stepped back on to the pavement, following the line of the shops.
A truck rumbled past, changing gear, and the echo of the sound reverberated through the mirror. Close – I could hear she was close. I trotted down the front of the shops, scanning side alleys, looking for dumpsters and bins, anything that might be metallic and big enough for a person. I saw a skip and raced for it. Greg followed and started pulling off tangles of polythene, slabs of plasterboard, pitching them on to the floor. There was just rubble. Nowhere big enough for a girl.
We went back to the front.
"We need more people." I pointed to the row of windows facing out over the harbour. "We need to be in these shops. Every one of them has an upstairs. The police can go house to house. Two of us simply isn't enough."
A gull call came again, and I pressed the cold of the glass to my cheek. There was almost no difference. I could hear the muted call coming through, but it was muffled, as if it were under blankets or filtered through something.
"Here. Somewhere here."
I threw my arm out and turned slowly, looking for some sign, some indication of where she was.
Greg stared about, his eyes feverish. "The light's going. The sun's already down. We lose the light and we'll lose her."
"Look for a light in the windows. There might be one that's occupied."
We scanned the front, looking for signs of occupation. In the upstairs room of a junk shop a single bulb hung bare behind the glass. I rushed to the door, repeatedly pushing the bell-button and rattling the door until a shadow appeared and pulled the door ajar.
I shoved my way inside, followed by Greg. The bell rattled maniacally on its spring. A bearded man, piggy eyes behind round glasses, looked confused at Greg and offended at me. I barely broke pace, pushing through to the back of the shop. Greg stayed with him.
"Dave? What's upstairs?"
He made to follow, but Greg's giant hand landed on his shoulder and held him back.
"Upstairs – what's up there?"
"My stockroom…"
I took the stairs upwards two at a time and burst into the room.
The single bulb presided over stacks of old rubbish in an array that made the Maritime Museum look tidy. I snatched an old blanket from a pile in the corner to find only a badly stuffed armchair, piled with broken toys. It was just rubbish.
A sound rumbled through the mirror, an engine, gravel-ground and diesel-driven. It had started up. I barrelled back down the stairs, heading for the street.
"Wrong idea. A truck. I can hear the diesel. It's just started. He's moving. We've got minutes at most."
Greg piled out of the shop behind me and we scanned the road. I raced down the front. A white van was manoeuvring back and forth in a parking space. I raced for it and went for the back. It reversed towards me then stuttered to a halt.
A big guy, blue-dyed tattoos down his arms, jumped out.
"What'ya think you're doing? I nearly ran into you, idiot!"
I yanked at the back doors of the van. They were locked.
"Open this. Open it now!"
"There's nothing in there. I'm picking up, not dropping off."
Greg appeared at my shoulder. "Do what he said."
I don't know whether it was the dog-collar or the set of Greg's shoulders, but the big guy fiddled with his keys and inserted it into the lock. He yanked the doors wide.
"See?"
The van was bare. I stepped back, scanning the line of traffic. We needed more time. It could be any one of them. I held the mirror up to my ear. Big truck, little truck, van, car?
The noise was much louder in the mirror, a dull thrumming that reverberated through the glass. A constant rumble that you felt rather than heard. I stepped back, turning slowly through a full circle, trying to hear a sound that matched that deep growl. I found myself facing out.
Across the road, on the far side of the harbour, one of the boats was moving. A couple of men walked up and down the sides of the boat as they disentangled it from the ones around it, slipping tethers and untying mooring ropes. I watched it in fascination. The boat pulled around and skewed sideways, drifting into the one next to it. From the mirror there was a deep thunk as they gently collided.
I started walking towards the harbour, Greg following me, eyes on the traffic, not seeing the boat.
"Can you hear it? Is she still there?" he asked.
I concentrated on the boat. Lights came on, white, red and green. A spout of diesel smoke erupted from the rear with an answering roar from the engine in the mirror. I quickened into a trot, following the line of the harbour wall where it circled around.
Greg shouted behind me. "Is she there?'
The boat rumbled loudly and pulled back into clear water. It drifted out into the centre of the harbour, turning slowly. I could see lights on in the cabin and men scurrying around on the deck. I could hear the engine idling again, not across the harbour, but through the glass of the mirror. I tucked the mirror under my arm, moving into a run, wrapping concealment around me so they wouldn't see me racing around the harbour wall, tracking the boat.
Three men, all fishermen, one in the cabin steering, the other two on the deck. The engine grumbled and the water foamed behind it. The boat pushed forward, heading for the harbour entrance.
A moment for decision. If I was wrong – if it wasn't that boat – then I would lose her. If she was on shore I would lose her. I dropped the mirror; it bounced once, twice behind me, then smashed as I ran on around the curve of the harbour wall. Seven years' bad luck. I'd better be right.
The boat pulled around and headed towards the harbour mouth. I increased my pace, wrenching open the well of power within me, intensifying the concealment and misdirection. I wanted to be invisible. The boat turned into the opening, heading for open water. I raced for the end of the harbour wall, timing my run.