The Jack Hansard Series: Season Two

Episode 8.1

That lyin' basdun. I knew Hansard weren't exactly the loyal type, but I never thought he'd scorn a friend, so.

To know the whereabouts of mine kin, and not tell me! Even worse, to make a deal wi' that invisible hellion. She that stole Goron's knockers away, and those from my clan as well. She that works for Baines and Grayle, them that we'd agreed were evil! Had they not killed a man wi' a demonic parasite? Had I not nearly died of the same? What were ye thinkin', Hansard?

This an' more I wanted to shout at him. Why would ye trust her?

We likes to think we bested her before, with my crafty stealin' of the phoenix egg. But truth be told, she could've ended us if she'd wanted. Perhaps only luck that she din't notice my bluecap riffling through her pockets back then.

So here I sits, staring moodily at my bluecap and the egg inside. Daren't remove it, in case I throws it against a wall in anger.

'Shoulda known,' I mutters to meself. 'Business partners. Ha! Ye weren't one fer keepin' promises.'

'You all right there, kid?'

'Tis a man, leaning over the back of his seat on the bus. Snuck on, I did, and hoping I won't be asked for fare. My new costume ain't as tawdry as Hansard's pick, but now I'm wishing for a wider brim of a hat to hide under.

'Fine, mister,' I says, and cross my arms around my lantern. He looks dubious, but turns back round.

I'm straining for snippets o' conversation in the other passengers, especially any mentioning our destination. Think I've picked the right bus, I have. All that map reading for Hansard's got to have had some use.

Some lasses are chatterin' about their shopping plans in Manchester, and I relax. That's what the slip o' paper said. That's assuming Quiet Eyes gave Hansard the right address, and not some nasty trick.

I scribble a letter to Goron while I sit. Include where I'm headed, everything I know, which ainn't much. Hansard was right shocked seeing Baines & Grayle on them tablets. Think I knows why. It's easier to deal with monsters when they ain't human. For him, anyway.

For me, it's all the same. I've been out of the world so long, it don't matter who's where in it – I has to scurry through shadows, regardless.

But it had been nice, feeling seen, for a little while.

I fold up the letter carefully. I'll find a rat in the city to carry it for me.

Until then, I doze in my seat.

An advantage of being a coblyn – or any uncanny creature by human standards – is that oftentimes human folk are quite blind, so I weren't too worried about my nature raising any eyebrows. The same goes for when I slipped quietly off the bus with the rest of them and into the evening crowds. People don't expect to see a coblyn, so they don't see one. And people hate seein' lost or beggar children, so the best solution is not to see 'em at all

I sees, though.

I drop coins into the cup of the woman begging at the bus station. 'Can ye tell me where this is, please?' I says politely, showing her the address.

She squints at it, scrunches up her mouth. 'Hm. Long walk. It's in one of the industrial parks.'

'If I pays, can ye take me?'

She gives me a long look. 'Where's yer mam, kid?'

'Long gone,' I says. But also not far.

She nods recognition, as one lost soul to another. 'You need a warm meal? These fuckers won't pay you any attention.' She spits at the passersby and cackles when they show disgust.