The Song of the Winns by Frances Watts

Author:Frances Watts [Watts Frances]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780762448388
Publisher: Running Press

13

Billy Mac

The tunnel ended in a hole they had to crawl through. It was raining when Alistair clambered out onto a long, deserted beach resounding to the roar and thud of crashing waves. He blinked in the light, which hurt his eyes, despite the dull gray of early evening. The sand was sodden and clung to his feet. It must have been raining for some time. Another crack in a mountain’s fold, Alistair thought, as he turned to look back at the sheer cliff rearing above them.

“Cobb should be over the headland to the south,” Slippers said. “And there’s bound to be a lot of Queen’s Guards so close to Atticus Island, so let’s take it nice and easy.”

A path led over the headland and they followed it in a stop-start fashion, Feast going on ahead to survey the terrain, beckoning them forward when he had ascertained the coast was clear. Although they didn’t have far to travel, it seemed to take a long time and involved much standing in puddles and hiding in wet bushes.

The houses of Cobb were huddled together beneath a big brooding sky, their backs to the gorse-studded hills encasing the town. Some of the buildings were whitewashed, others a faded brown stone the color of butterscotch. They all had steep red-tiled roofs, narrow chimneys sitting atop them like exclamation points, and small many-paned windows. In most houses a light was shining against the gloom, and they could see straight into parlors and kitchens.

They walked up and down the main street, which was wider than the rest and ended abruptly at a neat walled harbor. On the harbor’s edge was a tavern, and from here came the only noise in the silent town. The flurry of red shapes within suggested that this was why they hadn’t yet encountered a Sourian patrol: all the Queen’s Guards were in the tavern. Alistair couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out of the driving rain.

They hastily retraced their steps up the main street, noting the number of small alleyways leading off it.

“I don’t know how we’re going to find William Mackerel,” Slippers fretted. “We can’t exactly go knocking on every door in town asking for him—the Queen’s Guards would hear about it in no time.” She glanced back down the street toward the tavern. “Did Althea say anything about her cousin that might help us to identify him?”

“She said he was crazy about pigeons,” Alistair offered.

“Unless there’s a flock of pigeons circling his house I can’t see how that’s going to help,” said Slippers Pink. “But it’s something I suppose.”

And so they slipped up and down the narrow streets, keeping their heads beneath the level of the windowsills and their bodies pressed against the damp stone walls.

It was Tibby Rose who spotted the door knocker in the shape of a pigeon, and soon they were all peering through the window at a lone mouse mending a net by the fire.

“What do you think, Feast?” Slippers asked.

“One way to find out,” said Feast.

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