Boreal

Chapter Sixteen

The ocean was angry, waves crashing against the sea walls and shaking the piers and boats lining the dock front. Overhead, thick, and angry clouds rolled across a twilight sky, pale sunlight coming through in sparse patches to make the water glitter. The wind drove lashing rain, cutting through Ptarmigan's cloak like knives to leave him soaked. Shyam had sheltered beneath his hood, her face pressed against his own as they waited at the edge of Bowery Row.

Almas had been quiet, since they'd told her of all that had happened since they'd last met, save from a mumbled agreement that it couldn't have been Siskin and Ciarran, and something was very, very wrong. The girl sat on the steps of a warehouse behind him, hugging her violin case close to her chest. Ptarmigan played with the cuffs of his shirt, and worried on his bottom lip.

He thought of sending Shyam over the fence to fetch Fulmar, but less than a minute in she'd seen Guardians patrolling the streets, and both had thought better of it. The dock children still roamed the rooftops, though, like fleeting ghosts in the rain. They'd have spotted them, he reckoned, and would go and find Fulmar. It wasn't a good plan, but it was the only one the three children could think of which wouldn't alert the Guardians to their presence.

Two gongs, they'd been waiting in the storm, and Ptarmigan was beginning to lose hope.

"Maybe we should go over," Shyam offered. Ptarmigan scoffed.

"We'd be caught for sure. You heard Siskin, we're to leave it be. He'd be even more upset with us if he found out we were still looking."

"Then maybe we should. Leave it be, I mean."

"Maybe," he hesitated, then shook his head. "I just...what if they-"

"Ptarmigan!" Fulmar was leaning over the fence, waving with both arms. Relief swept through Ptarmigan's chest as the older boy pulled himself over, rushing to close the distance between them. Fulmar pulled his hood back, his hair falling out in tangles to settle on his shoulders. He smiled, though his lips were tight. Ptarmigan's stomach twisted, and he braced himself for yet more bad news. "Guardians have pretty much taken over Bowery Row." He clicked his tongue. "What happened in that meeting, last night?"

"They think it's a racer and mount, that attacked the Show master," Ptarmigan started, going on to explain everything else that had happened since Fulmar had left. When he'd finished, the older boy was scratching at his chin. He shook his head.

"Something isn't right here. Why would they still be patrolling the dock ward if they already knew who did it?" Fulmar asked.

"Collecting evidence?" Almas offered. "Maybe they'll find something to prove it was the angel."

"I don't think there is an angel," Ptarmigan started, only for Fulmar to cut him off.

"Angel or not, that isn't the matter here, is it? The matter is, someone or something is taking people, and the Academy thinks it's your instructors." Fulmar crossed his arms and shrugged. "So, what do we do now?"

"Maybe we should just leave it to the Guardians. They aren't going to find proof that its Siskin and Ciarran. At best they'll just find the Show master's mount." Shyam tittered, ducking her head a little.

"Someone must know what's going on here. It's a big city, someone must have seen something," Almas said. Ptarmigan scowled. If anyone would have seen anything, their best bet would be going to speak with the Guardians and, by extension, with Captain Harrier and Vivaan. But the Guardian Captains had already waved their concerns aside and pointed the finger firmly in the direction of their instructors. Perhaps someone had seen something, and they simply hadn't had a chance to pass it on yet...