Rye watched for any movement in her friend’s face, her white-blonde hair frosted to the colour of snow, glassy eyes flecked as blue as ice chips.
“Folly,” Rye whispered.
Folly’s eyes focused at the sound of Rye’s voice. Her red cheeks creased into a grin.
“Here, drink,” Rye said, and pressed the flask to Folly’s purple lips.
She accepted a big mouthful and swallowed it down, her grin turning into a frown.
“Ugh, what is this?”
“Snails, whales and sea bug tails.”
“Really?” Folly said, her eyes now brightening with interest. “Can I take some for an experiment?”
“Of course,” Rye said, and smiled at her best friend, the ever-aspiring alchemist. She handed the flask to Folly, who cupped it in her cold hands.
“How did you find us?” Rye asked.
“Your mother was talking to my mum at the inn,” Folly said. “She received your message from the rook but was worried that you hadn’t replied to hers.”
Rye wasn’t surprised that Folly had overheard her mother. She suspected her friend must have the biggest ears in Drowning – there was scarcely a story or secret whispered around the Dead Fish Inn that she didn’t catch wind of sooner or later. But the fact that Rye and Harmless had missed a message from her mother was more troubling.
“What message?” Rye asked eagerly.
But Folly’s cheeks had lost their colour after their brief exchange and she fell silent, her teeth chattering so fiercely she could barely part them long enough to swallow sips of the steaming stew. Only after Folly was good and dry, bundled in blankets and dressed in Rye’s extra shirt and leggings, did Harmless and Rye bring her upstairs to the big table by the fire. Harmless busied himself in the pantry. Folly’s blue eyes were wide, marvelling at the most unusual surroundings.
She took notice of Harmless, who appeared to be wringing the neck of a very recently deceased fish over a tumbler.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered to Rye.
“Mackerel oil,” Harmless replied from the pantry. Rye had long since discovered that there was little Harmless didn’t hear or see.
“Helps keep the mind sharp,” he explained, tapping his temple as he examined the cloudy liquid that now filled the glass. “Care for some? I know better than to ask you, Riley.”
“Uh, all right,” Folly said.
Rye cringed at Folly’s mistake. Harmless looked most pleased to bring an extra mug as he joined them at the table.
“So, Folly,” Harmless said, “as delighted as we are to have you pay us a visit, I must ask what brings you out here in such foul weather. Riley mentioned a message.”
“It looked to be a pleasant day when I left the village this morning. It finally felt like spring,” Folly said. She took a sip from the mug Harmless had offered. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, strained to swallow, and politely slid it away. “The weather turned rather suddenly,” she rasped.
“Indeed,” Harmless said. “A fickle storm this late in the season is not a good omen. But, more importantly, the message?”
Folly seemed to hesitate. “Mrs O’Chanter sent a message by rook. Two days ago now. You never received it?”
“No,” Harmless said. “The fellow on the ledge turned up yesterday but bore no message. He seems to have had a rough go of it.”
Folly swallowed hard. “You heard what happened to the Mud Sleigh? On Silvermas?”
Harmless and Rye exchanged looks, and Harmless nodded to Folly.
“They say it was …” Folly began, and peeked over her shoulder out of habit, “… the Luck Uglies.” She whispered the name, even though she knew very well who and what Harmless was. “After the attack on Good Harper, the Earl’s new Constable made some immediate changes. ‘Valant’ he’s called, and from what I’ve heard, he’s not like the other lawmen.”
Rye saw Harmless lean forward, listening intently.
“My father says Valant has a long reputation – whatever that means. He doesn’t stay in one town for more than a few months. I heard he came from Throcking most recently. He makes the prior constables seem like lambs.”
Folly paused, shifting in her seat before continuing.
“Among other things, Valant has …” Folly hesitated.
“It’s all right, Folly,” Harmless said. “You can speak freely.”
“He …” She looked at Rye with eyes that made Rye’s stomach sink. Folly swallowed hard before forcing out her words. “… Burned the Willow’s Wares.”
“What?” Rye shouted in alarm. The Willow’s Wares was her mother’s shop.
“Your mother and Lottie are fine,” Folly added quickly. “There was no one inside.”
Rye was dumbstruck. “He … how could … what about …” Her eyes jumped from Folly to Harmless and back again. “Why?” She gasped and, for the first time she could remember, found herself speechless.
Harmless sat back without emotion, but Rye could see the grey-flecked stubble of his beard twitch as he tightened his jaw.
“Your mother and Lottie have moved out of your cottage. They’ve been staying with us at the inn,” Folly said. “Just to be safe.”
That was a relief, although Rye’s ears now burned red in anger. The Earl had displaced her family once again. It seemed the safest place for the O’Chanters had become the most notorious tavern in the most dangerous part of town.
Rye tried to settle herself. “Did my mother send you here?”
“No. Nobody knows I came.” Folly shrugged at Rye’s look of disbelief. “I thought you should know.”
Rye shook her head, but not without affection. She couldn’t hope for a more loyal – and at times more foolhardy – friend.
Rye glanced at Harmless. He rubbed his jaw and pinched the stubbly beard on his chin. Finally, he said simply, “We’ll leave with tomorrow’s first light, whether it brings sun, snow or hail. Longchance didn’t heed my warning, and now the weight of that decision shall come heavy and swift.”
The gravity of Folly’s news bore down on her, but Rye put a hand on Folly’s arm as she considered her friend’s own reckless journey. “Your parents will be worried sick about you.”
“It may take them a few days before they even realise I’m gone,” Folly said flatly. “They’ve been a bit distracted lately. Mum’s got another one on the way.”
Rye raised an eyebrow. “Another what?”
“Another Flood,” Folly said.
Rye couldn’t believe her ears. Folly was already the youngest of nine children, the rest of them boys. After twelve years, Rye assumed Folly’s parents were finally done stocking the inn.
“Folly, I didn’t even know she was …” Rye’s voice trailed off.
“Me neither,” Folly said. “She didn’t mention anything, so I just assumed she’d put on a few winter pounds to warm her bones. Mum says that after nine children, delivering babies is like cleaning out the wine cellar – an important job you do once a year or so, but not worth fretting about until you finally run out of room.”
“Well, that’s great news,” Rye said, pasting a broad smile across her face. “You’re