An Artist's Eye (Dica Series Book 5) by Clive S. Johnson

Author:Clive S. Johnson [Johnson, Clive S.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Daisy Bank
Published: 2014-01-18T05:00:00+00:00

34 An Urban Legacy

Such a clear, unsullied sky barred nothing of the moonlight, against whose glare even the stars glistened brightly. The craulena could easily have done without lanterns for the buildings along the top of the ridge remained brightly lit by the moon as they passed alongside.

After their relief at escaping from the tunnel, and so coming back into Leiyatel’s gaze, the jubilation of the craulena’s occupants had slowly subsided. Their fraught day was quickly catching up with them. When Breadgrinder had insisted he was fresh enough to drive on, Phaylan had not objected. He’d again settled back against his seat and absently gazed through the windows.

Buildings had hemmed them in all that time, although they were clearly dilapidated and long abandoned. Many had been little more than ruined exterior walls, but the craulena’s slow progress up the gentle rise steadily revealed more and more that appeared intact.

Now, perhaps an hour later, almost all had walls, some with fragments of roof. They even looked less weathered, complete enough to suggest the craulena’s noisy passage might indeed disturb their sleeping occupants.

Whether the edge of his own sleep robbed him of sense he couldn’t be sure, but the prospect of catching sight of folk scampering along those streets seemed more tenable. Phaylan even thought he’d glimpsed some movement down an alleyway, but discounted it. “Just dozing off or seeing ghosts.”

He remembered Mirabel, rather vividly it seemed, from a day earlier in the year when they’d been with Bridget, a young friend of theirs, on the quayside at Grayden harbour. They’d bumped into an old trader, one who’d long supplied Mirabel’s mother with linen when she’d been alive. He’d looked to have fallen on hard times, though.

“Sorry, Misses,” he’d said to Mirabel, after expressing his sadness at her ladyship’s passing, “but I were wondering if thee could ‘elp me wi’ one of them there new-fangled license things. It’s just that I’ll need one soon to keep trading. I don’t suppose thee could see thee way to putting a word in with thee dad for us? For old time’s sake, as it were.”

Mirabel had drawn the trader away so they could speak more privately, leaving Bridget asking Phaylan, “Who the heck was that?” as she’d placed her hand on his arm. He couldn’t remember her having shaken it, though, certainly not as roughly, nor spoken with such a deep voice.

“Open your eyes,” urged Breadgrinder, who shook him again but more forcefully this time. “Quick, afore we lose sight of it.”

Phaylan looked up and saw Breadgrinder pointing and so followed his finger’s aim as he pushed himself up in his seat.

About twenty yards away, stark against a doorway’s black opening, the figure of a moonlit child stared back at them.

“The air must be breathable,” Breadgrinder enthused. “It must be safe outside. Quick, let me past before it runs away.” He struggled to get from behind the wheel but Phaylan held him back.

“Look,” he said, almost pushing the big man back into his seat. “Where’s the child now?” and Phaylan pointed.

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