eggs and cabbage and fish wrapped in paper. Men leading donkeys laden with coal or firewood, or making quiet trades on the sly. Boys in ragged caps and bare feet pinching apples from carts when the proprietor wasn’t looking.
Everyone who saw Alice and Hatcher averted their eyes and veered away, but the two of them did not seem to cause sufficient alarm that the police were called, for which Alice was grateful. None of these folk would want the authorities sniffing around, for she was certain that more than fruit and coal were being sold off those carts. Every person made it clear that no help was to be found there, but no hindrance either.
“When we arrive,” Hatcher said, “there will be an old woman, and she will know me, and she will let us in.”
Alice wondered who this old woman was, and why Hatcher was so sure she would help. She wanted to ask, but Hatcher probably would not know the answer, anyway. And her stomach was starting to churn, even though there was nothing in it. If they’d still been in their rooms, the morning porridge would have come hours ago. Alice coughed, and tasted something foul in the back of her throat.
“I feel sick,” she moaned.
“Nearly there,” Hatcher said, steering her around the corner of a storefront selling healing potions and down another alley.
“I won’t make it,” Alice said, and broke away from Hatcher to heave against the wall.
Her stomach wrenched upward, her throat burning, but all that came out were a few thin drools of bile. Alice leaned her aching forehead against the cool brick and winced when the rough surface scraped against the scabbed knot given her by the man who would have raped her. The nausea had not passed. Instead the outburst had only made her feel worse.
“Just a little farther,” Hatcher said, tugging at her hand, her shoulder. “It’s the powder making you sick.”
“I haven’t had my powder today,” Alice said.
“Precisely,” Hatcher said. “How many years have you had a powder with breakfast and supper?”
“Ever since I went to hospital,” she said.
It was a terrible struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She could barely lift her leg from the ground. Her toes curled under and scraped along the stone, the skin there peeling away and leaving it raw.
Hatcher badgered and dragged her the last few feet. When finally they reached the plain wooden door tucked in a notch halfway down the alley, Alice was on the verge of collapse.
Hatcher pounded on the door with his fist, his other arm keeping Alice from folding up in a heap on the ground. The door opened and a very small woman, knotted and ancient, appeared in the opening. She wore a blue dress covered by a faded red shawl. Her hair was white, and her eyes were as grey as Hatcher’s. She took one long look at him, and Alice thought she heard a little sigh.
Then the woman said, “Nicholas. I’ve been waiting for you for three days.”
CHAPTER
3
She moved aside so they could enter. Hatcher showed no sign of recognition at being called by this name, but he crossed the threshold as though he belonged there nonetheless.
“What happened to the girl?” the woman said, crossing to stoke the fire at the edge of the room.
Alice shook off Hatcher’s arm, staggering toward the flame, that lovely warmth, and fell facedown on the rug. She never heard Hatcher’s answer, for after that there was blessed darkness.
When she woke again she was in a soft bed on a feather pillow, covered by a blanket of scratchy wool. It had been years since she’d slept in a bed or had a blanket, and for a moment she just luxuriated in the feeling of being comfortable for a change.
A candle guttered on a small table across the room. There were no windows. There was a pitcher and bowl beside the candle. Alice felt sore all over, but clean, and her head was strangely light. She put her hand there and found her hair was gone, and gasped. Her fingers went from the nape of her neck to her crown.
Everyone who saw Alice and Hatcher averted their eyes and veered away, but the two of them did not seem to cause sufficient alarm that the police were called, for which Alice was grateful. None of these folk would want the authorities sniffing around, for she was certain that more than fruit and coal were being sold off those carts. Every person made it clear that no help was to be found there, but no hindrance either.
“When we arrive,” Hatcher said, “there will be an old woman, and she will know me, and she will let us in.”
Alice wondered who this old woman was, and why Hatcher was so sure she would help. She wanted to ask, but Hatcher probably would not know the answer, anyway. And her stomach was starting to churn, even though there was nothing in it. If they’d still been in their rooms, the morning porridge would have come hours ago. Alice coughed, and tasted something foul in the back of her throat.
“I feel sick,” she moaned.
“Nearly there,” Hatcher said, steering her around the corner of a storefront selling healing potions and down another alley.
“I won’t make it,” Alice said, and broke away from Hatcher to heave against the wall.
Her stomach wrenched upward, her throat burning, but all that came out were a few thin drools of bile. Alice leaned her aching forehead against the cool brick and winced when the rough surface scraped against the scabbed knot given her by the man who would have raped her. The nausea had not passed. Instead the outburst had only made her feel worse.
“Just a little farther,” Hatcher said, tugging at her hand, her shoulder. “It’s the powder making you sick.”
“I haven’t had my powder today,” Alice said.
“Precisely,” Hatcher said. “How many years have you had a powder with breakfast and supper?”
“Ever since I went to hospital,” she said.
It was a terrible struggle to put one foot in front of the other. She could barely lift her leg from the ground. Her toes curled under and scraped along the stone, the skin there peeling away and leaving it raw.
Hatcher badgered and dragged her the last few feet. When finally they reached the plain wooden door tucked in a notch halfway down the alley, Alice was on the verge of collapse.
Hatcher pounded on the door with his fist, his other arm keeping Alice from folding up in a heap on the ground. The door opened and a very small woman, knotted and ancient, appeared in the opening. She wore a blue dress covered by a faded red shawl. Her hair was white, and her eyes were as grey as Hatcher’s. She took one long look at him, and Alice thought she heard a little sigh.
Then the woman said, “Nicholas. I’ve been waiting for you for three days.”
CHAPTER
3
She moved aside so they could enter. Hatcher showed no sign of recognition at being called by this name, but he crossed the threshold as though he belonged there nonetheless.
“What happened to the girl?” the woman said, crossing to stoke the fire at the edge of the room.
Alice shook off Hatcher’s arm, staggering toward the flame, that lovely warmth, and fell facedown on the rug. She never heard Hatcher’s answer, for after that there was blessed darkness.
When she woke again she was in a soft bed on a feather pillow, covered by a blanket of scratchy wool. It had been years since she’d slept in a bed or had a blanket, and for a moment she just luxuriated in the feeling of being comfortable for a change.
A candle guttered on a small table across the room. There were no windows. There was a pitcher and bowl beside the candle. Alice felt sore all over, but clean, and her head was strangely light. She put her hand there and found her hair was gone, and gasped. Her fingers went from the nape of her neck to her crown.
Similar Books
Sliding Void
Stephen Hunt
Star Wars: The Force Unleashed II
Sean Williams
Man On The Run
Charles Williams
Thunder in the Blood
Graham Hurley
The Hindi-Bindi Club
Monica Pradhan
Riverkeep
Martin Stewart
Absolution - The First Book Of The Vampire Immortalis Trilogy
Elizabeth Mitchell
TITAN
Kate Stewart
Trouble In Triplicate
Rex Stout