51. Beneath the old compass

Flakes of ash fluttered off of Ada's cloak as she drifted down the cobblestone streets. She and Raeph walked ahead, scouting each turn through the city and straining to catch any potential rattle of chains. Behind her followed Armestrong, who had wrapped Min in her apron and was cradling her so closely the child could have passed for a sack of spring vegetables. Lark had wordlessly taken his place at the rear of the party, his limp less noticeable now as they kept a wary pace.

Ada couldn't explain to the bandits exactly why she was so certain that the old compass would lead them to the Stone Circle. She had only seen it once before—with Solen translating the words in Old Fae wreathed around its face—but something about it haunted her mind, as though the compass had a spectre of its own that was imbued with the spirit of a near-forgotten past. It was an object that murmured of magic, even if that magic was of a more subtle and sensory kind.

She had told Raeph where they were heading, as she had little idea of the quickest route back towards Wysthaven's tower. Ada's first thought had been to trace their steps back along the canal, but the risk of being seen was too great. A shudder skimmed her spine as she thought of the matchstick houses. Their cindered streets would make easy hiding for the Hounds clad in black.

The bandits had little energy left, and Ada could only hope that their trudging made them plain, as their ash-streaked faces invited attention. Even Raeph looked exhausted. Whenever they paused to peer around corners, he slumped back against the brickwork before declaring the next alley clear. Little energy meant little strength, and little strength made easy targets. But still, they walked on.

When buildings eventually rose up, they seemed bizarre in their sudden height. Ripples of mortar ran around wooden window boxes, each one stuffed with pink and yellow tulips. Silver bells sung from their strings, ringing out the triumph that their streets had not been chosen by the Hounds, that their pavements weren't lined with skeletal timber and carpeted with ash. It all washed across Ada's eyes, dreamlike in its strange reality.

Before fae came fragrance; sage and cedar, lamb shank laid in mint. The faint scents swelled from open hearths and chimney pots, sickly in their sweetness. A char clung to Ada's nostrils. She wondered when Min had last eaten, but found herself too timid to turn and see just how thin the child had become. Armestrong hadn't yet stopped to rest her arms, which said more than Ada's eyes would reveal anyway.

The bandits skirted around marketplaces and trading houses, keeping to the alleys that Ada had learnt to recognise. They were all back streets and cul-de-sacs, worn cobbles shadowed by swinging store signs. Ada distracted herself by thinking up window displays for the odd shop titles; Hamish's Hattery would have lime-green bowler hats feathered with peacock plumes, and The Night Nectar would be a perfumery stocked from floor to ceiling with bottles of essence absolue. It was better than imagining their path's end. Whatever end it was that awaited them.

At the turning from one alley to the next, they passed by a group of washboard women, all dressed in frayed aprons and dresses. They giggled together, suds soaping up their arms and bubbles bursting from their fluted boards. The sight of them brought back echoes of Ada's entrance into Wysthaven, and her first encounter with the fae-folk. They had paid little attention to her then, simply seeing another hooded stranger slip through the streets. Though when the women looked up now, their eyes lingered not on Ada, but on Raeph.

One gasped, fingers flitting up to stifle her own breath. The others cast their gaze away, laughter drowning in their water tubs as Raeph stalked past. He didn't spare a glance towards them, striding on ahead until Ada had to quicken her pace to catch up. When the bandits reached the end of the alley, Ada looked back and saw that the women had hurried away.

The bridge back into the inner city felt a mile long, with every step sounding a creak that Ada was sure would draw the Hounds. Fewer fae milled amongst the streets by the canal, though that didn't help to calm the bandits' nerves. A silence had settled in the air, an absence of noise so similar to the burnt-out houses across the city. It was the sound of people refusing to acknowledge destruction, a quiet so awful it set Ada's heart hammering.

Raeph seemed resolved to ignore it, keeping his eyes on the pavement and marking every thud of his boots. So it was Ada who first heard the rattling, and Ada who grasped Raeph's tunic and pulled him back into the shadows of their alleyway. They all pressed their bodies to the walls, rigid and breathless as three Hounds wandered down the street Raeph had been moments from entering. The Hounds wore their meshed masks, grating voices punctuated with the clatter of their chains. In a flash of black they were gone, oblivious to the bandits, but their presence seemed to loiter on.

The bandits changed their route and took to a side-street behind houses built from sandstone and studded with stained glass windows. The city's coloured glass had once caught the sun like a myriad of topaz jewels, but now they flickered over Ada's boots with a glow too close to fire for her liking.

Lark appeared to know the paths best, taking the lead through the maze of polished cobblestones and painted doorposts with faster and faster steps. Soon, Ada's breaths came harsh and heaving, and her stomach was tight with hunger.

The sun was sloping down when she began to recognise the streets. She spotted a silver-based sconce a short distance away, and was about to tell Lark when he rounded a final corner and brought the bandits out into the compass' arched pavilion. The cobbles were smoother beneath their boots, and the houses stooped low around them as if to whisper to one another from their hollows. Within one hung the copper bell, as still and soundless as Ada remembered.

Nobody approached the compass. It was a pale white, like a mirage brought about by the moon despite the day's seeping sunshine. Its rose still bore the script in Old Fae, each word marking a direction that curled together into a circle upon the stone.

"What now?" Raeph's fingers fidgeted over his dagger as he paced the edges of the arches, keeping his distance from the compass.

"I don't know," Ada admitted. She hadn't thought this far ahead and had forgotten how unsettling the compass truly was. It stood like a slab of bone, levelled and labelled while brittle and coarse. Ada still had no desire to touch it, but now there seemed to be no other option.

Her palm wavered for only a moment above the compass, lines darting out from its rose below like slivers of starlight. Then, she brought her hand down, resisting the urge to shudder away when she found the stone was warm as flesh. The bandits waited, breath baited, and even Raeph paused his pacing. Cobwebs shivered overhead and a cloud coasted across the sky. Nothing happened.

"Maybe..." Ada grasped for another idea. "Maybe if Min—"

"How about we ring the bell?" Everyone turned to face Lark. He stood beneath the copper bell, though it was hung too high for him to reach even with his great height.

"Ring the bell?" repeated Raeph, incredulous.

Lark sighed, a little too dramatically to be taken as exhaustion. "I know you find great pride in living rough and ready to rumble, but I thought you would at least be civilised enough to know that in any distinguished household you must ring the bell before someone will answer the door."

Armestrong shrugged, although it ran on into a shiver. "Worth a go. But you'd have to be twice your size to reach all the way up there."

"Well, luckily,"—Lark reached over his shoulder and tugged loose a belt buckled to his back—"I never work alone."

Lark slid his lute free from its bindings and balanced it upon his palms. His thumb fluttered over its strings, tracing each in turn as if waking it from a deep slumber. Raeph snorted and returned to his patrolling.

"Come, my dear," said Lark, hoisting the lute above his head until it touched the bell's copper clapper. "Just a tad higher."

He flicked his wrist, and the lute's pegs caught the clapper and nudged it against the bell. It chimed low and lengthy, echoing through the arches and around the pavilion. Min jolted awake.

Thundering up from beneath the compass came a new noise, like the grinding of stone. It started deep but drew closer, rising to a surface like some great beast below an ivory ocean. Ada stared down at the compass and saw that its directions were spinning, the script turning around and around as though pulled by invisible magnets. But then its centre began to sink, and Ada realised it was not just the words that were twisting, but the entire compass rose.

With a groan, the whole compass spiralled down into the ground until only an opening remained, unlit and empty, descending beneath the city of Wysthaven.