Constantino rubbed his chin. “Or we could take the job andalso collect the reward for your capture. Though it does make one wonder…” He tossed his booted feet up onto the stones ringing the fire. “If you were due to receive three thousand lourdes, what were you running for?”
Again, Mallory considered lying. But there was something about this boy—and something about Fitcher’s keen gaze, copper and amber, watching her. Something told her she would not fool anyone.
“The lord of the manor tried to kill me.”
Fitcher’s cup wobbled. He reached for it, but the massive paw bumped it instead, sending the cup crashing onto the ground.
“Fitcher! That was my mother’s set!”
Fitcher gave him an unamused scowl, to which Constantino cupped a hand to his mouth and whispered loudly, “It was not my mother’s set.”
Anaïs grabbed Mallory’s arm so quickly that coffee sloshed over the edges of both their cups. “Mother’s cards! And your sketchbook. And the silver! It was all in our packs.” She hunched forward. “On the horses.”
Fitcher snuffled and tossed a paw toward Constantino.
“You think I wasn’t going to do that?” He pressed a hand to the front of his blue-and-yellow-and-lavender tunic. “The lady is in distress. Of course I will retrieve the ponies.” Spinning toward Anaïs, he grabbed her hand, cupping it in both of his and looking at her with such intensity that Anaïs nearly toppled backward off the log. “Fear not, mademoiselle. I shall return with your treasures, or I shall perish in the effort.”
Fitcher grunted, perhaps rooting for the latter.
Glancing up at the sky, Constantino grabbed a cloak from ahook on the side of the stagecoach and tossed it into Fitcher’s lap. “Sun’s coming up,” he said to Fitcher, before taking off down the road, a jaunty bounce in his step. Apparently in no hurry.
He had just vanished into the woods when a swirl of starlight wrapped around Fitcher’s humongous body. In the next breath, he was human again, still seated on the log and entirely naked judging from his bare chest and shoulders, though Mallory was grateful that the positioning of the cloak on his lap prevented them from seeing much else. Still, she and Anaïs both awkwardly busied their attention elsewhere.
Fitcher cleared his throat and wrapped himself neatly in the fabric, before standing with an impressive lack of embarrassment and walking to the coach. “If you will excuse me.”
Mallory and Anaïs traded bewildered looks as they sipped their coffee and waited.
Fitcher emerged two minutes later, fully clothed in black boots and breeches, a black tunic, and the same black cloak Constantino had thrown at him, buckled at the throat with a silver clasp. Mallory wondered if it was her imagination or if there was an extra streak of white in the black ropes of his hair.
Pulling out his pocket watch, Fitcher glanced briefly at the face before he shut it with a loud click and tucked it away again, one side of his mouth twitching. He swished his cloak to the side and returned to the log like a prince settling upon his throne, trying to appear unflustered.
“That’s a very nice watch you have,” Mallory said. For even in that momentary glimpse, she could tell it was quality—more fit for a duke than a traveling magician.
Mallory knew from having seen it in Morant that it was notreally a watch at all—at least, not like any watch she’d ever seen. She recalled the single golden arrow, more like a compass, though she didn’t think it was any normal compass, either.
“It is,” he said, his tone lacking arrogance. “It is the only one like it in the world. Handcrafted by a Tulvaskian princess.”
It sounded like something she would say to someone she was trying to swindle.
Anaïs giggled, but when Fitcher’s expression remained stoic, she caught herself. “Really?”
Fitcher poured himself a second cup of coffee, thick with the dregs from the bottom of the pot. “I believe you were saying that Count Saphir threatened you?”
“He tried to murder me. After he killed one of the servants. A housemaid.”
A bird swooped down from nowhere and landed on the log Constantino had vacated. It peered at each of them in turn before releasing a stream of fierce twitters.
Fitcher grunted in surprise. “Constantino must have been feeding the birds again,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “You say it was the current lord of the manor that tried to kill you. Not the dangerous ghost?”
Mallory shook her head. “It was Armand. Though… the ghost has threatened me, too.”
“Friendly place,” Fitcher said. “Sounds like a joy to visit.”
“Look, if you don’t want the job for yourself, we can still make a deal,” said Mallory. “If you can take us to the nearest town, we’ll pay you double the reward.”
“In what coin?”
Though Mallory’s instincts withered, she reached into thepouch at her side and fished out the medallion Armand had given her when he hired them. She handed it to Fitcher.
