Hell and High Water Page 4

  Not today. I met with eerie stillness in the asrai grounds, the profound silence of deep slumber; scarcely a flicker of life anywhere. I swam to the far borders of Faerd’s domain, swift and silent, and turned—

  ‘Fionn of Cuath-Tor,’ came an ashen voice, speaking out of the shadowed depths of the riverbed.

  The words shattered the almost oppressive calm of the waters; I started, arrested mid-curve.

  Faerd would not emerge from his hiding place, not until the sun sank into darkness. I saw nothing of him, could not even sense from where the voice came.

  ‘It is,’ I growled, the words coming with difficulty from lips and teeth not made for the purpose of human speech. ‘Am I still welcome in your waters?’

  ‘Fortunately for you, that has not changed.’

  Indeed. Faerd would tear me apart otherwise; I knew that.

  ‘I came seeking you,’ I said.

  No answer yet, but a shift in the quality of the silence; I felt his interest.

  ‘You sent word to Jessamy of the Green Park Maples,’ I continued. ‘Regarding a—’

  ‘Selkie,’ he interrupted. ‘Slain.’

  The words sliced through the water like bullets. ‘Yes.’

  Something stirred in the shadows, and settled. ‘Your coming surprises me.’

  ‘That such a matter piques my interest ought not to surprise anybody.’

  ‘No?’ Faerd let the word echo for a long moment. ‘There are shadows in your past, Fionn of Cuath-Tor. I had not thought you inclined to disturb them.’

  ‘Not by preference,’ I admitted. ‘But at need, I will.’

  ‘And this is need.’

  ‘A selkie,’ I said. ‘Slain. Would you have me sit idly by?’

  ‘I would have nothing of you,’ he said, and the words might have stung, were they not uttered in a tone of cool indifference. ‘Consider me mistaken, and set the matter aside. What would you have of me?’

  ‘Information. What brought the incident to your attention? She was not found in your waters.’

  ‘No. But I am known to travel out of them, on occasion.’

  ‘Did you discover her?’

  ‘An hour before dawn. The currents had hold of her. They may have carried her some distance.’

  Some distance. Narasel may have been clear on the west side of London, then, when she hit the water — or outside of the city altogether.

  But Faerd was not certain. May. Maybe.

  ‘What was notable about the scene?’ I asked.

  ‘A selkie lay in the river, drowned. Is that not notable enough?’

  ‘She was drowned?’ My tone sharpened. ‘You are sure of it?’

  ‘She was claimed by waters, and not willingly released.’

  I did not know quite what that meant. Asrai can be odd; I have often heard them speak of water as though it were a living thing in its own right, with a character, and whims. Perhaps it is, but so profound a link with the waves lies beyond the selkie’s arts.

  His words disturbed me anyway, for all their opacity. Narasel was drowned, which meant she was alive when she went into the water. Stripped of her skin, then, and more; of that there could be no doubt. But who could have been cruel enough to force such a fate upon her? She would not — could not — have drowned without assistance, even without her skin. A selkie is a strong swimmer even in human form, and the waters of the Thames are not that dangerous.

  My silence proclaimed the depths of my disturbance, even without words.

  ‘I have never heard of such a thing,’ said Faerd.

  ‘You do not know who is responsible?’

  ‘Who gave her to the water? I do not. I can ask among my people, if it pleases you.’

  ‘Something must be done,’ I said, by way of answer.

  ‘Yes.’

  He was gone, the moment the word left his lips; I felt his absence. The unnatural murk, barely touched by the sunlight, felt emptied again, and hollow.

  I swam slowly downriver, sorely troubled. My mind offered me vivid images of Narasel’s fate: the appalling agony of her sealskin’s severance, the almost unbearable pain of its absence. I had not forgotten what that was like, and never would, no matter how many years slipped away. In such a state — weakened, agonised, afraid — Narasel had been seized, thrown into the waters that ought to be a home to her, and… smothered in them.

  I shivered, heartsick.

  Faerd had said nothing about Narasel’s skin. That had not returned to the water, then, leaving me with still another burning question in my mind: what had become of it?

  I returned to the Thames Barrier Park, and slipped out of the water. My clothes, and phone, were where I had left them, undisturbed. I contrived to don them without attracting undue notice, employing a little glamour to assist me. Then, my garments clinging to my wringing-wet skin, I left the park behind. I was dry again before I’d taken more than half a dozen steps.

  If any of the river’s denizens had seen what happened to Narasel, Faerd would learn of it, and inform me. That left me free to pursue alternative avenues of investigation. One thought rising in my mind pertained to what had last been seen of her: the girl distracted, fleeing the sky-high garden shortly before my show. It had been said — Jane had said it — that she had been on her way to the ladies’, but was that a fact or speculation? I needed to ask where that information had come from.

  The sun was climbing high, heralding the rapid onset of afternoon. Jane would be at the studio, overseeing the myriad of business following a collection-closing show. I had a task for her, besides; I wanted to know if any of the other models at my show had spoken to Narasel that night. If anybody had an inkling as to what was amiss, Jane would discover it for me.

  I went straight there, entering the spacious building with a feeling of home-coming. I spend more time in the studio than I ought, perhaps; sometimes I don’t go back to my flat for two or three days together. All of my work, my art, is done at the studio, and I am at my best when I am absorbed in it.

  The top floor is mine. I took the lift, waiting with mild impatience as the contraption soared smoothly up and up. Glass walls drenched in mild sunshine met me as the doors opened, and a smile lit my heart: here was happiness.

  The smile vanished a second later, for the ocean-carpeted vestibule was not empty. Someone stood there, her back to the doors; she had the air of having just stepped out of my studio, with no immediate idea of what to do next.

  She was facing the lift, and therefore me, affording us an immediate view of one another.

  Thetai Sarra Antha.

  Tai.

  I’d known it, somehow, almost before I focused on her face. Her height, her figure — the very way she occupied space. All so painfully familiar. I couldn’t forget.

  She looked… changed, yet not. The messy sweep of her deep-brown hair, I knew very well. She had not used to wear it thus, long and loose; she’d favoured shorter hair, last time I had seen her, with the sleek, romantic waves considered glamorous at the time. Now she need no longer care for fashion; or perhaps she had simply lost interest. She wore dark jeans, boots, a black jacket: plain, well cut, unostentatious.

  Her eyes were different. Dark as her hair they’d always been, but there were new shadows there now.

  ‘Fionn,’ said Tai, and the syllable went straight to my coldwater heart, for I’d never forgotten her voice, either.

  ‘Tai.’ I had to pause before I could speak, and breathe, or I could never have uttered her name with such calm.

  I stepped out of the lift, and let the doors close behind me. There I stood, uncertain how I felt.

  Well, I felt: everything.

  We stared at each other for a few seconds only, but it felt an eternity. Finally, Tai produced the faintest of smiles.

  ‘Seems I can put my armour away,’ she said.

  ‘Armour?’ I repeated, stupidly.

  She looked down at herself, and waved a hand. ‘I’m not eviscerated! Not even a little bit.’


  I blinked. ‘I can’t even remember the last time I eviscerated anyone.’

  ‘Nineteen forty-five,’ said Tai promptly. ‘Ravensbrück.’

  That silenced me.

  ‘Unless you’ve made a habit of it since, which is possible, of course. Only you do seem more interested in fabrics than sharp objects, nowadays.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said faintly.

  ‘I… shouldn’t have said most of that,’ said Tai after a moment.

  My smile was smaller even than Tai’s; perhaps it wasn’t noticeable. ‘Don’t mention the war?’

  ‘Never mention the war, so of course I go there in about thirty-eight seconds.’

  I had a strange, surreal feeling of unreality, and I could barely think through it. Tai couldn’t be here, just standing here, in my studio. Not after eight decades. I had taken in too much river-water, perhaps. Pollution had got to my brain.

  I thought I saw a trace of uncertainty in her face. ‘Struck dumb?’ she said. ‘I’m more used to having that effect on men, but I’ll take it.’ She spoke lightly, but I know her. Knew her. The more Tai jokes, the more she’s trying to hide.

  But whatever might lie hidden under this particular bout of entertaining discomfort, I’d resigned all right to enquire into.

  ‘Um,’ I said, and passed a hand over my eyes, blinking them hard. Not an apparition. Thetai, Tai, once the best friend I’d ever had, was still there. ‘Apologies,’ I said, pulling myself together with an effort. ‘It’s been… ah, I have one or two things on my mind today.’

  ‘Funnily enough, so do I,’ said Tai. ‘I was hoping to talk to you about one of them.’

  ‘Ah.’ Not just a social visit. That made sense. Whatever prompted her to show up after nearly a century of silence, it wasn’t just a sudden whim to enjoy my company again.

  Still, my heart sank a little.

  ‘By all means,’ I said, and stepped past her. ‘We can go into my office.’

  Jane saw me the moment I stepped through the doors, and came bustling over. She stopped when she noticed Tai. ‘Fionn, excellent, I — oh, I see you’ve company.’

  Nosy as Jane is, she paused there, giving me an opportunity to explain who Tai was and what she was doing at the studio.

  I didn’t.

  ‘There are some things requiring your attention—’ she said, abandoning the subject of Tai.

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ I said. ‘And then I’ll be at your disposal. I have one or two things I want to consult you about, too.’

  Interest deepened; she looked avidly curious, but thankfully she left again. I ushered Tai through the work-space, still littered with the paraphernalia of garment construction and design, and into the small but brilliantly-lit office I keep at the back. The door clicked shut behind the both of us.

  I gestured to the seat on the supplicant’s side of the desk, but it felt too much to assume my customary position on the power side. I settled for perching on the edge of the desk instead, close enough to Tai for companionableness but not so close as to loom over her.

  Tai registered all of this with a glance, and — if I am still any judge — a trace of amusement. But she took the seat, flipped back her hair, and sat with one leg crossed casually over the other. Very much at home, at least by appearance.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘I hope nothing is amiss?’

  ‘Very much so,’ said Tai. ‘It’s—’ She stopped, and thought, eyeing me with an expression I found unreadable. Wariness? Doubts? ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have come to you,’ she began again. ‘I wouldn’t have if it weren’t an emergency.’

  ‘You begin to worry me,’ I said.

  She nodded, and went on. ‘I— don’t know any other selkies besides you, except just the one, and that’s the problem.’

  I straightened, suddenly alert. ‘What?’

  My reaction took Tai aback; she blinked. The wariness deepened. ‘If this is going to be a problem, I can just go—’

  ‘No,’ I interrupted. ‘It isn’t that.’

  ‘I know it’s a sore subject for you, and I don’t want to—’

  ‘Tai.’ The word emerged more harshly than I’d intended, and I regretted it at once when I saw her eyes widen. ‘Please,’ I said, more gently. ‘Just tell me.’

  She nodded once. ‘My roommate, Mearil,’ she said. ‘She went missing yesterday.’

  ‘She’s the other selkie you know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I closed my eyes briefly. ‘I see.’

  Tai nodded again. ‘I know. Familiar ground, and I’m sorry for that, but you’re the only person I know who might have some insight.’

  Tai was being extremely careful of my supposed feelings, and that was odd. Not that it was strange for Tai to care, but considering all the things we’d said to each other last time we talked, it stuck out.

  Was she afraid of me?

  The thought lodged in my mind, tangled there with the thousand new alarms her revelations brought me. Unhelpful distraction. I thrust it away. ‘It’s — I said I had things on my mind today. Might be related.’

  ‘What?’ It was Tai’s turn for alarm; her relaxed posture vanished. She sat forward. ‘What is it?’

  ‘One of my models was murdered last night.’

  Tai looked sick. ‘Let me guess. Selkie.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘I’ve just come from the place where they found her. Her sealskin is gone. She’d been — drowned.’

  Tai’s sick look deepened. ‘Hag’s blood and bones,’ she said. ‘That possibility hadn’t entered my head.’

  She did not look pleased that it had done so now. I felt a moment’s compunction, but thrust that away too. ‘Tell me what happened to your roommate,’ I said. ‘She’s been gone only one day?’

  ‘She was on her way to Athens. I went with her to Gatwick, and… she hasn’t been seen since. Never made it to the plane.’

  ‘Snatched from the airport?’

  ‘I think so.’ Tai went through a story about offloaded baggage, someone called Coronis and a disturbing lack of communication from Mearil. The picture she drew was a bleak one.

  ‘What worried me before,’ Tai finished, ‘was the possibility she was — slave-taken. She certainly had her skin with her, and it hasn’t turned up. But now I’m worried that it’s worse.’

  With good reason. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘What were you hoping I could do?’

  She ran a hand through her hair, her eyes going distant as she thought. An old habit. It fractured my heart just a little bit to see her do it now. Some things don’t change.

  ‘I worry that she’s slave-taken because I know such things can happen,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how. Or who… might do something like that.’

  I smiled briefly at the latter thought, but it was a mirthless expression. Who indeed. ‘The… transferral of a selkie-skin,’ I answered. ‘Is that what you’re asking about?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It isn’t as simple as picking it up,’ I said. ‘There’s an intent behind it, or there needs to be. It’s—’ I paused, groping for words. ‘It’s the difference between closing a door behind somebody, and locking them in. Not something that can happen by accident, if that was your question.’

  She sighed, frowning. ‘Not… really. I knew it was unlikely. But rule things out, right?’

  ‘Right. So. It’s possible her disappearance has nothing to do with her skin. There are, after all, other ways to vanish a person.’ I didn’t add how unlikely it was, but Tai’s face told me she knew.

  She’d come in hope that I might be able to reassure her, perhaps. Instead I had all but confirmed that Mearil’s disappearance was at least as bad as she’d feared, and possibly worse. There might be two totally unrelated selkie disappearances going on in the same city in the same three-day period, but the chances of its being a coincidence were vanishingly small. It’s not the sort of thing that happens.

  Until, that is, it does.

  ‘As for the que
stion of who,’ I said into the silence. ‘A fair question indeed.’ I drew a breath. I had been slave-taken once, as Tai put it, but I didn’t think that experience could inform us as to Narasel’s or Mearil’s fate. My fate had been… personal. ‘If we are to be brutally honest, a surprisingly large number of people might be at least passingly interested in a docile selkie about the place. Especially if it’s someone they — know, and would like to keep around.’ The words thickened in my throat; I paused until I’d calmed. I’d been going to say, someone they care for. No. That is not how it ever, ever works, and I was chilled that any part of my mind was still capable of framing it that way.

  ‘The fact, though,’ I continued, ‘that there are two such vanishments casts a different light on the matter. Most of the people I was thinking of just now would have neither need for, nor interest in, multiple such… slaves. It is the difference between a personal crime and a — wider one.’

  Tai nodded. ‘Some level of organisation.’

  ‘I would say, undoubtedly.’ Which raised some unpleasant possibilities.

  ‘Is there some way we can warn people?’

  I’d been asking myself the same question. There were more selkies in London, no doubt, but I had no convenient way of getting in touch with them. Whoever, or wherever, they were. It’s possible there are not many; I rarely encounter others in the water. But how far did this scheme go, if it was a scheme at all? Were those living outside of London safe? What could I, Fionn of Cuath-Tor, do about it if they weren’t?

  Tai’s face changed. Concern disappeared; her expression hardened, and that dangerous glint blossomed in her eyes. I remembered that look. ‘We need to find Mea,’ she said. ‘Immediately. If we do that, we’ll discover who took her, and Narasel too.’

  ‘Probably,’ I cautioned. ‘Assume nothing.’

  For some reason, that caused a smile to pass behind her eyes, if fleetingly. ‘We’ll discover who probably killed Narasel, too,’ she corrected herself. ‘And we can stop them from hurting anyone else.’

  We. She had said it a few times over.