Bloodrush (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

head and some extra luggage. She was marching towards him across the slimy deck, beckoning him repeatedly.
    Merion prodded himself with his own finger. ‘Madam?’
    ‘Don’t worry about ma’am-ing me now. C’mon. We’re getting off.’
    Merion shook his head. ‘Pardon me, it sounded as though you said you’re getting off ?’
    ‘That we are. Captain Smout has ordered some boats be dropped, so we don’t have to wait for the ship to dock.’
    ‘But my luggage …’
    ‘See this is why I travel light!’ she said, patting her huge coat. ‘Don’t worry, you can collect your things once the Tamarassie ’s made port. Give her an hour or so. In the meantime, you’re free to roam the docks.’
    Merion wasn’t sure that he wanted to ‘roam’ anything, never mind a foreign port, no doubt overrun with scoundrels and thieves. Witchazel’s instructions, which, incidentally, were crumpled up in a tight ball in the pocket of his overcoat, were to meet a gentleman by the curious name of Coltswolde Humbersnide. He would be waiting at the Tamarassie ’s allotted berth, the Union Wharf, just south of where the Charles River met the Mystic River. What an odd name that was, Merion thought, not for the first time since turning his back on London. He wondered if it were Shohari-speak.
    ‘My apologies, madam, but I’m to meet a man at the Union Wharf, you see, and …’
    The old woman simply tutted. ‘And so you shall, young’un. Now c’mon!’
    And with that she seized his wrist and towed him away, off towards the stern and a rickety boat bobbing up and down on the oil-slicked waters of the harbour. The scents that assailed his nose were quite astounding, and potent too. Merion felt that familiar bile rising in his throat again. But he had no time for puking. The woman practically lifted him onto the rungs of the rope ladder, and down he went.
    ‘Please don’t fall. I’m not a fan of drowning,’ muttered the faerie in his rucksack.
    Merion’s heart leapt for a moment as his foot missed one of the slippery wooden rungs. ‘Neither am I, now keep your head down.’
    ‘Aye,’ Rhin said, as he melted into the shadows.
    The boat lurched when he touched it. He felt a rough hand snatch at his flapping coat, and he was yanked down onto a wet bench. A family of three sat opposite him, eyes half-closed, silently enduring the drizzle.
    ‘Good morning.’
    ‘Нет, спасибо,’ replied the man, in a language that was utterly foreign.
    ‘Of course.’ Merion shook his head and stared at the floor awash with water. Some inheritance this was turning out to be , he thought, and instantly the red flush of guilt flooded his cheeks, making his neck itch.
    He heard a shout and looked up to see that the old woman was now shimmying down the ladder, and with ease too. The boat rocked hideously as she climbed aboard, making the mother of the foreign family moan rather woefully. Merion could have sworn she was slowly turning green. The father gently patted her shoulder, whispering something in her ear while the son was busying himself with kicking his shoes together.
    ‘Here we all are, then,’ announced the woman with a clap. ‘Are we off, boys?’
    ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied one of the two sailors, as he and another put their hands to the thick oars.
    Mercifully, the drizzle became bored and moved south with the same breeze that came to poke at the fog. A little sun pierced the murky morning haze, and Boston was allowed to sparkle for a time. Under the spring sun’s eager light, the docks took on a different feel. Colour spilled out of every nook and cranny. The cranes were not made of weathered, ashen wood, as Merion had judged, but of a wood that was a deep crimson mixed with coffee. The ships’ banners, which had hung so lifeless in the rain, now shone with bright reds and jolly yellows.
    As they swung to and fro between the ships and the pillars of the tall wharfs, Merion caught glimpses of markets and inns and