Page 85 of The Salt King

Hreodwater, England

Avelyn.”

Avelyn jumped as hands landed on his shoulders. Ras leaned down and smiled to show him who it was and that there was no need to worry. The salt beads in his hair sang a little.

“The Witan is about to engage in some witchcraft, and Lady Balen and Lord Harkta wondered if you might do them a service.”

Avelyn nodded mutely, because he couldn’t very well conjure a monster and then refuse to help.

Ras took his hand and pulled gently to explain that it would require standing up, as if he were inviting Avelyn to dance. “We’ve put the Outsider boy who works for the Post Office in some armour, and the Wolkvos are going to pretend to arrest him. The Outsiders will think that the person who killed that man has been caught. Then we will open the ferry, and . . . you will tell them it’s safe.”

“Is it safe?” he asked.

“It will be if they all think so.” Ras tipped his head. “Make them think so. You want to get ashore to talk to your Witan, no? You will not reach the town unless you do this.”

“No, I know,” Avelyn said, but not feeling as though he had any right to fret about lying to everyone after all but telling Jericho he was off to Hell, thank you. God, how had he reached the age he was without being murdered? It was a miracle nobody had run him through a mincer yet. “Did you get all that?” he added to Jericho in English.

“Mm. I’ll get Annunciata and the others ready to go.”

The Wolkvos were as good as their word. They made a spectacular show of it. With their black hunting foxes running with the horses, they rode hard down the shore, the horns high and eerie in the dimming afternoon. As they burst through the reeds close to the Flood, the young man from the Post Office hurled himself out. He was dressed in miners’ armour, but Avelyn doubted anyone from the Outside would know the difference, especially with the crossbow strapped to his back. There was an excited yell from the people closest, and the Wolkvos could have caught him then, but they waited until he was almost in the middle of the fair before the lady of the hunt whistled for the foxes to go. They surged and launched themselves into the air, tackling the man to the ground, at least eight of them, teeth sinking into sleeves and boots to hold him down. It looked shocking—unless you knew that the foxes were trained to hold, not bite. Even so, Avelyn didn’t think the man was acting at being shaken up and scared when the Wolkvos hauled him up and led him away at spearpoint.

Ras patted Avelyn’s arm to say that he was up next.

Fuck. What if it didn’t work? What if they came to Caer Halen and then—there was no England on the other side?

“Okay, everyone,” Avelyn called, climbing on an orange crate. “We’re good to go. Ferry’s open. Anyone who’s hoping to leave, get your gear now, and remember to wrap up warm. It’s still a three-mile walk on the other side. Anyone who can’t walk that far, you can rent a horse from that handsome devil over there . . .”

The stable master snorted and waved with both hands.

“If you need extra help with children or mobility equipment, let them know at the dock. Remember to keep any receipts for parking fines or fees incurred because of the delay: you can post all those back to the Witan once you get home.”

Nobody even asked him about Caer Halen. Some people even said thank you.

Half an hour later, Redspear was opening the ferry. She leaned against the rail and gave Avelyn a wry look as he came to help people aboard. There wasn’t much else for him to do while he waited. Jericho had gone down to the abbey to gather up the people with the halo. Avelyn hadn’t been able to face the idea of going with him. They would have to walk down together, and find something to talk about, and all the way Jericho would be waiting to catch fire again, and Avelyn would be chanting inside his head, Mind like a rock, sing to the King and nothing else . . .

“Did a convincing job of looking mad, didn’t he, that poor lad,” she said, as Avelyn lifted down someone’s pram. The baby in it giggled.

“Is he all right? The foxes really . . .”

“He’s fine, they’re giving him hot chocolate and a salt cake north-east the Wolkvos house,” she said. “He only did it for a couple of shillings. How much is that on the Outside?”

Three-way currency conversion: nightmare. He couldn’t do shillings to British pounds without going via euros. “Sorry, I’m trying to do money. How much food does two hundred pounds get you?” he asked the lady whose wheelchair he was just folding up.

“Oh, loads. Nearly a month?”

Redspear made a face, the face more or less every Hreoda made when the idea of life Outside came up.

“I wanted to say, your English is phenomenal,” the lady said to Avelyn politely.

“Oh, thanks. You try, don’t you, and if you smile then nobody can tell about all the inside screaming. Can you get down there if I give you hand, or . . .?”

“No,” she said cheerfully. “I think I’ll have to ask an attractive young person to lift me.”

“I’ll get you an attractive one,” he said. “Ras!”

He did hate Hreodwater, but it was a little bit magnificent that anyone younger than you had to do as you asked provided it was reasonable, even if he did happen to be Lord Hringen.

The lady, of course, was delighted with Ras, who looked like something out of one of those sex novels about dragons. Other people saw, and soon there was a hopeful queue.