An Immortal Descent (6 page)

We resumed to King’s Street, weaving past bales of cotton and barrels of sugar, until James reined in front of a tavern. Glancing up, I took in the narrow three-story structure, built in the half-timber style of the Tudors with overhanging eaves. A large lamp hung above the doorway. Directly below the lamp, a sign creaked in the breeze, painted black with gold lettering that read The Llandoger Trow.

James dismounted. “We’ll stop here for now,” he said, coming around to help Justine and me to our feet.

I wanted to keep looking, and opened my mouth to argue, only to close it when Julian dismounted. Losing his balance, he stumbled backward into a knot of sailors who had just emerged from the tavern.

“Watch yerself!” one yelled, with a rough shove that sent Julian tumbling toward the road.

James snatched him back just as a man veered off course to avoid a collision with his handcart. The cargo rattled and clinked, and I started at the sight of the amber cloak and white hair. The old man tipped his head in acknowledgement of the near miss. “Mind me cart, lads,” he said in an Irish brogue. “Bones break easy as me glass.” He laughed good-naturedly and continued on.

With a curt nod, James turned back to the sailors, Julian propped under one arm. “Idiots!” he snapped. “Can’t you see he’s unwell?”

The knot of sailors unfurled into a loose line of four men. A particularly large fellow stepped forward, glowering from small eyes set beneath a heavy brow. “Who ye be calling idiots?” The three remaining men closed ranks behind their friend.

One look at James, and I knew the long ride had rattled his wits loose. Angry blood crept into his cheeks, and he appeared ready to commit murder. Or perhaps suicide, if he thought to take them all on at once. “Any man dimwitted enough to shove a sick man.” He waved his hand irritably. “Leave off before someone gets hurt.”

The sailors pushed closer. James moved in front of Julian, his shoulders squared. One hand rested on his dagger.

Oh, good heavens.
What the man had in courage, he lacked in rudimentary math. Four well-rested sailors against two exhausted men, one of which could hardly stand at the moment. It didn’t take a genius to see where this was headed.

Julian stepped alongside James, swaying from the effort. When he attempted to put a hand to his own dagger, the near useless appendage fell back to his side.

Bugger!
More points for courage, though a strong wind would suffice to fell the man. I shot an imploring look to Justine, while making a mental list of our options. For my part, I could attempt to immobilize the sailors long enough for James and Julian to escape. Or wait for the beating to finish, and then heal them once we were behind closed doors, though there would be little to do for Julian until he replenished his power from Brigid’s spring. Either way, it seemed a lot of wasted effort for a simple misunderstanding.

“Which do ye want?” one of the sailors asked his mates. “That dark headed one looks a foot in the grave already. What say ye we put the other there for him?”

James unsheathed his dagger. “Touch my friend and you’ll regret it.”

The sailors laughed, and two of them drew their own weapons. “Captain’s short of hands,” another said, gesturing at James with a knife tip. “That gent’s got spark. I say we bring him back for a present. Wager he’s worth a week’s ration of rum.”

The other men chorused in resounding “ayes.”

Oh, no you don’t.
James was my ally in arms, and under no condition was I about to let him be pressed into service. Shifting my weight to the stirrup, I prepared to dismount.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Justine said, her provocative purr rising above the din.

All six men turned toward her at once, drawn like bugs to a flame. James and Julian looked at her expectantly. One of the sailors whistled under his breath. The others simply stared, mouths hanging open as they drank in her sultry beauty. I moved my weight back to the saddle and waited.

Justine twined a coppery curl around a gloved finger. “My brother there is very ill. Would you mind helping me down so I may assist him into the tavern?”

The sailors tripped over each other in the race to get to her first. Even then, they jostled and shoved for position. The horse pranced nervously from the commotion, and Justine leaned forward to pat its neck. “My companion also needs assistance,” she said, tilting her head in my direction.

Two sailors came over and grinned at me. One showed dark gaps from missing teeth. The other had an angry boil on the end of his nose. They both smelled of whiskey and dirty wool. I returned the smile without hesitation, preferring to be used for bait rather than run the risk of having James pressed and Julian pummeled. Setting the reins aside, I reached down and found myself on the ground, nestled between the two sailors.

Justine did the same. “Aren’t you strong,” she said, placing a bold hand on each of their biceps.

One tensed ever so slightly, I assumed in an effort to flex for greater effect.

“O fie, milady!” a sailor replied. “Ye ain’t a smidgen more than a tickle dove.”

“And more lovely by far,” the other added.

“What sweet words.” Justine laughed, peering at me. “I do believe these men ate sugar for breakfast. Don’t you agree?”

And kippers, to judge by their breath.

The sailors grinned a mile as their cheeks turned a faint pink beneath thin layers of dirt.

“Sugar indeed,” I said, following her lead the best I could.

Justine looked to the horses, the amusement gone in the crinkle of her brow. “I dare say, the saddlebags ought to come off. And a lad fetched to bring the horses to stable.”

“Don’t ye worry yerself, milady. We’ll take care of everything quick as a trice...”

All but forgotten, James and Julian watched us in disapproving silence. While the sailors were engaged, I caught James’s eye and jerked my head for him to leave. His mouth thinned to an angry line, but he sheathed the dagger and accompanied Julian into the tavern.

Our bags were soon hustled inside, and a lad dragged out by his ear for the horses. The sailors escorted us the few steps to the front door. My eyes popped wide when a man snaked an arm around my waist. Another did the same to Justine, and for a moment I feared they would try to follow us farther. Ready to throw an elbow, or anything else to break free, I froze at the sound of my aunt’s voice.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, in the same honeyed tones from the woods near Branbury. “You have our eternal gratitude. Now please be on your way and do not think of returning to this place until next time you are in port.”

The sailors nodded, murmured an assent before turning to leave. I nodded as well, and would have followed if Justine hadn’t pulled me into the room.

“Not you, Selah,” she said.

My mind cleared the very second her voice reverted to normal. I looked at her in awe. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

She met my eyes and smiled. “Sorry. Not part of your gift.”

I sighed my disappointment.

Laughing, Justine patted my arm. “If you’re as strong as Cate says, you’ve plenty of neat tricks up your own sleeve.” She sounded oddly sympathetic, almost like a friend.

James approached with the subtleness of a charging bull. Leaning close, he spoke in an agitated whisper. “There was no need to expose yourself to those men like that. I had everything under control.”

Justine’s expression turned dry as dirt. “Oh, you know me, Mr. Roth, never one to turn down an opportunity to make a public spectacle of myself.”

“That’s not what I meant. Those men were dangerous, and you shouldn’t have gotten involved. They would have seen reason soon enough.”

I laughed under my breath. “And would that be before or after you reached West Africa as the newest member of their crew?”

He crossed his arms and snorted. “I’m more than capable of defending myself.”

This earned him a dubious look. “You and who else, Mr. Roth? Because the last I saw it was one against four. Unless you were counting Lord Stroud, though I’m fairly sure he would have been more hindrance than help in his current condition.”

“Of course I wasn’t counting him.”

“Then perhaps you should just thank Miss Rose for her efforts on your behalf.” I couldn’t believe I had just defended my aunt. The world had obviously gone mad since we arrived in Bristol.

Justine’s gaze moved into the room. “Where is Lord Stroud?”

James jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I left him at a table near the hearth while I spoke to the proprietor about rooms for the night.”

The meager fire outlined the shape of a man slumped forward with his head on the table.

“Did you get anything?” Justine asked. Worry lines creased her usually perfect face.

James held up an iron key. “There was only one available on the top floor.”

“That will do,” she said. “Help me get him upstairs before it’s too late.”

Too late for what?
Her sudden change of manner sent me scurrying across the room.

Julian was barely lucid when we arrived on the third floor. With Justine and James on either side, he dragged with every step until they were pulling him along by their effort alone. I carried a candle to light the way while two lads ran ahead with the saddlebags. I found them in a heap outside the second door.

Once in the room, Justine set straight to work. “Do you have a sheath and herbs?” she asked me.

“Yes.” I dug through one of the bags, careful of Brigid’s knife while I pushed shifts and stockings aside in my search. “Here they are.”

“Mr. Roth,” Justine said, the urgency clear in her voice. “Please undress Lord Stroud to his breeches and shirt.”

James knelt next to Julian, who was slumped on the floor against a wall, and started tugging at one of his riding boots. I glanced around, looking for a place to change. There was no screen to be found, but the bed had a curtain, which I drew to the full length for privacy.

Wrestling out of my clothing, I pulled on the simple white sheath Brigid preferred her children wear when visiting her gardens. As there was no established altar at the inn, I had no idea where Justine planned for us to kneel and burn the obligatory mixture of cowslip, angelica and goat’s rue that would help carry our souls to the Otherworld.

Once dressed, I returned to the center of the room, my hair free of its pins and my travel cloak wrapped around me like a robe. Justine had built a small fire in the hearth during the time, giving enough light to close the drapes without plunging us into total darkness. She withdrew a small parcel from her own cloak and set it on a chest at the foot of the bed.

“Selah, please get the basin from under the water pitcher.”

I placed it next to the parcel and a freshly lit candle. Retrieving a pillow from the bed, I dropped it beside the chest before kneeling to unwrap the herbs.

Julian was now lying on the floor, dressed only in a white linen shirt and black knee breeches. Justine knelt beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Almost there, Lord Stroud,” she said soothingly. His eyelids fluttered open for half a heartbeat before gravity reclaimed them.

James stood a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back. Shadows veiled his face and most likely a bemused expression from what was playing out before him.

“Mr. Roth,” Justine said, without taking her eyes from Julian, “will you please help me bring Lord Stroud to the chest? He needs to kneel across from Miss Kilbrid.”

Together they moved him. At the chest, Justine knelt again at his side, holding him up even as his head slumped near the bowl.

James stared down at us and shifted his stance, drawing attention to the awkwardness of the situation. Clearly the man needed a job other than spectator.

“Perhaps you would like to inquire about a ship for our crossing, Mr. Roth.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Right you are, Miss Kilbrid. I’ll return shortly.” The candle flickered in his haste to leave the room.

“Good thinking,” Justine said the moment the door closed. “That should keep him occupied for several hours at least.” She pulled the oilcloth from the parcel, revealing a small nondescript stone that I recognized at once.

“You got that from the mantel in Cate’s bedroom,” I said, picturing it alongside the other oddities.

Justine placed the stone inside the porcelain bowl. “It’s one of her most prized possessions. Brigid made it for her more than a thousand years ago, when she wearied of opening altars every new place Cate traveled.”

I studied the stone, seeing it anew. It had been carved into a rough column about five fingers high, with straight sides and flat circular ends. Char marks covered the top end. “Is it the pathway?”

“More like the door that opens the pathway.”

Julian groaned and started to sink toward the ground.

Justine caught him, readjusting her grip with both arms to keep him in place. She glanced at the herbs. “Break some off and place them on top of the stone.”

I did as she bid, then used a candle to light them. Red embers came to life, danced across the dried leaves and twigs. The fragrant smoke filled my nose, urging me toward the Otherworld.

My aunt maneuvered Julian’s arms to the top of the chest. “Take his hands. He’s so weak, he may need your help to cross over.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” I looked at her closely, just now realizing that she hadn’t changed from her gown. This alone would not have barred her from the Otherworld. But shoes and stockings were forbidden in Brigid’s garden.

Justine shook her head. “Would that I could, but there are too many rough folks downstairs for my comfort. With James gone, someone needs to keep an eye on your bodies while your spirits are in the Otherworld.”

“Then you should go,” I protested, uncomfortable with the idea of being alone in the garden with Julian. “I can keep an eye on things.”

She looked at me for a moment. “When was the last time you crossed over?”

“Just over a week ago, the same night you were at All Hallows.”

“And how many people did you heal at the theater after the riot?”

The actual number slipped my mind. “A lot.”