She thought back to the idea of a bag, a big duffel bag with a drawstring top. That would work.
If she had enough cloth, a length of thin rope, and something sharp, she could make one for herself. Then wait for Crows to be distracted long enough to decant all the maps, transform and fly off with them.
He, naturally, wasn’t going to let the maps out of his sight. He wasn’t stupid. There might be a chance later, though◦– much later, when he’d grown used to her presence and thought her no threat.
The boat moved on, its bow cutting through the water with rhythmic splashes as the oncoming waves slapped up against the boards. Apart from the island coming up on their left, the view was otherwise empty. What she thought had been the whole of the island was only a headland, hiding more behind it. The wedge-shaped mountain rose from one side◦– around it were lower, flatter lands which angled gently into the sea.
It was no good. At some point, she had to talk to Crows about something normal. It may as well be now.
‘You been there?’ For a sea serpent, the distance between the island and the mainland wasn’t far.
Crows, distracted, let their driving wave fall away for a moment. The boat, no longer moving forward, rocked with unfamiliar motion, and she put her hands on the rails to steady herself.
‘The island?’
‘Yes, the island.’
‘No. There is nothing there.’
‘Oh,’ she said. Of course he knew it was empty, despite never having set foot on it. ‘So why can I see smoke?’
Until she’d said it, she’d been convinced she was imagining it. It was no more than a smudge, a slight thickening of the already blue haze that distance lent the scene.
‘It is no concern of ours.’
‘It is if it’s the White City.’
She saw his expression flicker from serene to annoyed and back. Perhaps he’d been playing a triple bluff, and had known exactly where the White City was all along. He’d used his first lie to get them to the coast, his second to leave them and make a deal with the Wolfman, and now couldn’t reveal his third. He’d have to pretend that it might be, or give himself away.
‘It is not likely to be there, on that island.’
‘Why not?’ she asked innocently. ‘It’s as likely as anywhere else. If you point us that way, when we’re close enough I can fly over it and see.’
She could see with her own eyes, because trusting what Crows said about anything was pointless. He might be right, but trusting that could be the end of her.
He faltered for the briefest instant before regaining his smile. ‘You might be right. And while we are here, it cannot hurt for you to explore.’
There was a lever sticking out into the boat from the stern. She hadn’t paid it much attention before, but Crows pushed it horizontally away from him and the front of the boat started to turn. The island turned too, until it was more central.
‘It will not take us too far out of our way.’ He shrugged. ‘We will not even have to stop.’
He was right: she could take off from the boat, fly over the island, and land again, confident of finding him.
The coast slowly resolved out of the haze. Wide beaches, tall headlands, but not many trees◦– rolling green grass covered most of what she could see. It all looked like a picture postcard, with the rising mountain peak behind waving a flag of cloud into the blue sky. But as they closed, and Crows turned the rudder again to run them parallel to the coast, she could make out shapes planted on the beaches, where a boat might want to land.
‘What,’ she asked, ‘are those?’
Crows strained forward, shielding his eyes from the sun. ‘I cannot tell. But neither can I go closer. There is a reef between us and the shore, and the tide is beginning to run.’
Mary scanned the surface of the water, and there was a line of white waves standing off from the coast, but she didn’t know what that meant. If Crows had been this way before, he would know anyway, without interpreting the sea state.
She stood up, trying to keep her balance against the movement of the boat underneath her. She really couldn’t see, but she felt she ought. The motion of the sea made it harder than it should be, and there was nothing for it but to transform and take a better look.
‘You’re not going to go anywhere, are you?’
‘Even if I was, where could I hide from you? Your eyes are the keenest in all of Down, and your swift flight would overtake me in minutes.’
He was right, and she left it at that. He couldn’t escape her, and she couldn’t leave him. She crouched down, steadied herself for a moment, aware that launching herself up and over the sea without the expectation of belly-flopping into the churning sea was just ridiculous. And yet, when she straightened her legs and stretched her arms out wide, it was only her wingtips that caught the tops of the waves.
She flapped hard, gained height, and circled the boat. She could see it small against the sea, and Crows’ upturned face looking back at her. She noted the landmarks◦– the long finger of land stretching out, the tall cliffs with their bases white with foam, the long sandy beach, and the mountain rising tall towards the back of the island◦– and flew down.
So this wasn’t a good sign. Anywhere in the world, a cross with a bleached white skull hanging on top of the upright meant only one thing, and that was a heartfelt ‘fuck off now’. She turned and piloted a course parallel to the beach, where she found two more crosses with two more skulls. None of them looked particularly new, though that they were all still standing made her think someone was making sure the posts kept upright and the skulls were grinning.
She banked inland, passing over the grasslands, not seeing anyone, but that ragged pillar of dark smoke told her that people were living there. The ground rose and fell, with more rising than falling as she came closer to the mountain. The grasses waved at her, uncut, ungrazed, green with new growth and purple with flowers.
The smoke was three ridges away, then two, then it was the next. She rose higher and saw its source◦– a dirty black scar like a bomb crater◦– before she recognised anything else. There were little clusters of wooden buildings arranged in four lines like streets, radiating from a central stone pavement that pressed itself up against the steep side of the valley. Most were falling apart, like the ones she’d seen in the forest on the way to Bell’s castle. She knew, then, that they were Down-made, fading through lack of inhabitants.
Yet there were people in that little village. She could see two of them swinging a bundle on to the fitful fire, which was placed at the end of one of the rows of houses. As she flew through the smoke, she smelled burning wood and burning flesh.
Something she’d smelled before, in the dark tunnels under London. She focused on the fire, and saw that the pathetic smouldering rags contained a pale corpse.
She couldn’t make sense of it. If the fire was for burning the dead, and the fire was always burning◦– the only wood she’d seen was in the houses◦– then where did all the dead come from? The island seemed beautiful◦– idyllic even, like a holiday brochure, with its wide beaches and soft hills◦– but it had this stain at its heart.
As she dropped lower, she was spotted. One of the men, little more than rags himself, pointed up at her, and the pair of them watched open-mouthed as she passed overhead. They moved to keep her in sight, even as she spiralled downwards, looking for a place to land.
The obvious place was on the circular stone pavement, which she now realised had been built into the side of the hill. The escarpment was walled with more stone, and in that wall was a door, leading underground. She was intrigued and, with a final series of flaps, settled on top of the wall, on the grassy bank that extended upwards.