Boreal

Chapter Eight

It was snowing by the time they'd reached the city's lowest step, out and onto the coastal road. The poor weather had chased most of the crowds to higher ground, seeking shelter in the covered markets of the middle steps. The ocean was angry; great, black waves roared, slamming into the sea wall, rocking the moored ships with such a ferocity he was sure they would capsize.

Besides throwing the hood of his cloak up, Ptarmigan had done little to hide himself. The pair drew the curious and wary gazes of the dockworkers, though they did nothing to stop them. It would only be a matter of time before they'd be reported to the Guardians. So far, though, he'd yet to see any. He hoped they'd still be searching the upper steps, after what he'd done to that racer. In fact, he was banking on it. The Guardians would question why they were this far down, and despite the long and tense walk through the Under city, he'd yet to think up a good enough cover story.

The further they got down the docks, the more rundown it became. The buildings were much smaller – one or two stories, nowhere near as grade as the towers higher in the city. They were covered in scrawled graffiti, their doors were chained shut and windows boarded up. The sea wall was crumbling, in places, allowing the water to come sploshing up over, spilling across the cobbles.

Ahead, a large wire fence had been set up, sectioning the seafront off from the leaning warehouses. Ptarmigan made a b-line for it, scanning the street beyond for any signs of movement.

They would need to be careful. While, technically, it was part of the dock ward, Ptarmigan had quickly learnt that Bowery Row was the last place they'd want to wind up. The entire place was completely unsafe for Academy children, they'd been warned, writhe with gangs of urchins and the dock workers children. The pair had only dared visit once, and while the experience hadn't been a pleasant one, it had offered up one important piece of information; the Dock Master's son led one of the biggest gangs in the area.

If he could warn Fulmar Bale of what had happened to the Show master, what might have happened to Pater Kagus, maybe they could stop the same from happening to the dock master.

With a running jump, Ptarmigan was easily able to catch the top of the border fence, swinging his legs up and over. Shyam waited until he'd dropped to the cracked pavement below before clicking her beak.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? They said not to come back."

"You want whatever's happening to stop, right? Just in case the list is related to all this?"

"Aye, of course."

"Then the risk of a beating is worth it," he snorted.

Shyam hesitated, then bobbed her head, sweeping down to latch onto his back. Her crest was up, and her feathers were on end. He could feel her little heart beating, even faster than his was. He wiped his palms on his trousers and started off into the maze of rotting buildings.

It didn't take long for their presence to be noticed.

Ptarmigan did his best to remain calm as the shadow appeared on the rooftop directly opposite. Shyam squeaked, inching closer to his head. Hr kept his pace steady, and his gaze directly on the path ahead. Winding this way and that, through the dark and sodden streets, and all the while, the figure on the roof kept pace.

They must have tailed them for a good few minutes before they tried anything. Shyam shrieked, yanking his head out of the way as the brick sailed past. It smashed into the nearby wall, taking a good chunk of stone with it. Ptarmigan swallowed; he didn't even want to think about what would have happened if she'd been even a second slower.

He turned, tilting his head back to stare squarely at the figure. They took a step back, shocked.

"We want to speak with Fulmar, you know where he is?" Ptarmigan yelled.