Shadow Apprentice

Chapter 3

 "You missed one of your messages," Colin said, handing it to Ermin as they walked away from the mill. "It's from Georgie. The ink's still fresh. That's why I came. And before you ask, nobody saw me."

Ermin frowned down at the paper bird in her hand. Its wet wings quivered one last time. A chill shivered through Ermin's body. No matter how often she told herself that the message birds were nothing more than folded sheets of spell paper, the stillness—when it came—felt like a death.

She unfolded the paper bird to read the message inside. The purple scrawl did indeed belong to Georgie Scratch, their close friend and a former St. Anselm's inmate.

Sunday, November 15, 1829, at your earliest convenience.

BonMot

Sunday, November 15, was today's date and the note was signed with Georgie's nickname.

Ermin crumpled up the message bird in her fist. "That pincer press they use is finicky at the best of times, but Georgie usually gives me more notice than this."

"Her conjurements are usually better too."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Nobody's paying us any mind. They're all too busy watching the drainings, aren't they?" A note of bitterness crept into Colin's voice.

"Let's hurry," said Ermin, worry starting to grow in her mind.

A young person in a rush was a common enough sight in Garrison Creek. Miss Fetchkeep often sent orphans out on errands. The trick was to appear as if they weren't together so they wouldn't stick out, so Ermin and Colin headed to opposite sides of the street. Apprentices always included a precise time in their messages to tell Ermin when their mentors were away. It troubled Ermin that Georgie had specified no time. There was no telling whether or not the printer Rustman would be there at the shop when they arrived. Worse, the print shop was still blocks away. Georgie must have been in a hurry when she wrote the note–not a good sign. Hurry meant danger when you were an orphan in the Creek.

"We've still got a long way to go," Colin said, echoing her thoughts. "Maybe I could—"

"No! We can't take any chances, not so close to Redemption Square." Ermin pointed at a rusty expanse of pipe attached to a tiled gutter three stories up. "Rooftops—it's the quickest way."

She shimmied up the rain-slick pipe with practiced ease and Colin followed. Freezing water flowed over Ermin's hands as she grabbed hold of the gutter and hauled herself onto the roof. It was a good thing she and Colin were so small. Otherwise, the drainpipe might have collapsed under their weight.

The leaden belly of the sky pressed down on them. Smoke rose from the chimneys, sinking like fog in the humid air. Ermin didn't see them, not at first. They rose in a ragged huddle from behind one of the smokestacks: kid snatchers, wearing yellow-and-black-checked scarves. Ermin fairly threw herself off the edge of the roof and scrambled down the drainpipe, pushing Colin down.

"Wharf Rats!"

They slid to the ground as five greasy heads peered over the edge of the roof. One of them pursed her lips and blew out a three-noted trill. A similar cry echoed from several blocks away.

A signal.

Ermin raced back down Picking Cork Lane and into a maze of back alleys. She needn't worry about Colin; if they got separated, he knew the back ways as well as she did. Windows flashed past, like pictures in a gallery. In one sat a tailor, costly yellow satin spread out across his lap. Another revealed two gamblers tossing wooden dice across a gaming table. Another showed a large family sitting around a table in a very small room. Thick tallow candles illuminated the watery bowls of soup laid out before them. Still, the family clasped hands with such joy that Ermin had to look away. Memories rose up to tug at her like a moat full of hungry carp. She pushed them away.