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We let the waves take us close to the rocks. When the hull scraped along something solid, Rafe jumped out and pulled us the rest of the way up the rocky shore. I followed, and soon both of us stood on solid ground, our boots and the hems of our trousers wet.
Unlike those on the piers, the few people here were engaged in the business of living. A cluster of tents stood between us and the street, and two women squatted in front of them, cooking something on an open fire. The scent of roasting meat had my stomach growling, and children played a game with small stones in front of another tent. At our approach, however, everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at us.
An older man approached, flanked by a pair of younger – but no less stern - companions. They all had straight dark hair and their clothing was worn.
“Who are you?” the old man asked.
Before I could answer, Rafe spoke up. “Rafe Gallagher, Martin’s son.”
The man nodded, as if he’d expected that answer. “What do you want?”
“Martin is dead, and some men from the city have taken our new weatherwitch.”
Another nod, this one more considering.
“We ask your permission to leave the boat here while we look for her.”
The old man pointed to one of the younger men. “See to it.”
“Thank you.” Rafe bowed, so I followed suit.
The old man laughed and said something in a language I didn’t understand. The others responded, and after a moment, they waved us on. Rafe kept a hand on my arm as I led us around the bigger rocks and between the tents. I kept my mouth shut until we reached the street.
“What was all that?”
Rafe didn’t answer until we were a good block away. “They lived here before any of us, but the mayor has made it illegal for them to be within the city limits. No one cares about that pile of rocks, though, so they camp there on their way to their winter home. I expect that group will soon move on.”
“How do you know all this? I’ve read about people having trouble with Indians, but I’ve never really seen any.”
“Sometimes they stop at the lighthouse, and we talk.” He tilted his head, as if examining my question from many different angles. “I would say we’ve caused them more trouble than they’ve caused us.”
I hadn’t ever looked at it that way. Rafe’s tone didn’t invite questions, so I kept quiet. Those three children had been barefoot, which made my cold toes even colder. I had a few dollars in my wallet and was tempted to run back and give them the money for shoes.
Instead, I moved ahead with determination, Rafe’s hand still on my arm. We walked up the muddy street without a true destination. Warehouses lined the block and a steady flow of men from the docks had me altering our path more than once.
We finally reached an open-air market. Carts full of potatoes, carrots, and greens were set up beside a display of fresh fish on ice and another with cuts of beef. In between was a macabre rack of dead chickens hung by their feet, and a swarm of housewives bartered for the best price on all of it.
“We need to find a saloon,” I said finally.
“Why?”
Rafe crowded close to me, as if the multitude of spirit energies made it even harder for him to see.
“So we can talk to people. Someone will know where there are tunnels, but we can’t simply shout our questions in the middle of the street.”
His grip tightened. “True.”
Then, as if I’d commanded it to appear, I saw a sign across the street. “This way.”
We had to wait a moment for the traffic to clear so we could cross. A gap between carriages and farm carts gave us a chance to squelch through the mix of mud and horse manure that covered the street. At the door of the saloon, I paused to scrape the muck off my boots.
“I wish we were here under more pleasant circumstances,” I murmured.
Rafe, still standing close to me, said, “me too.”
Heat rose in my cheeks, likely because my heartbeat took off like a stallion at the starting gun. I’d been so focused on the task at hand – getting to the city and finding Margaret – that my attraction to Rafe Gallagher had been banked.
Those two words brought it all back.
