24

AS THEY DISMBARKED from the bus in Highfield, Dr. Burrows unexpectedly turned down Main Street rather than up it. “Just want to take a quick look at the museum, Will,” he said.

“Dad … it’s not safe. I don’t think we …,” Will started to object, but from the determined way his father was striding along with his chin in the air, he knew he was wasting his breath.

Reaching the museum, Dr. Burrows went up the steps and pushed his way through the door, Will trailing a couple of paces behind.

Will was just thinking that the main hall looked more brightly lit than he remembered as his father took a few steps, then stopped in his tracks. Dr. Burrows surveyed the scene in a somewhat proprietary manner until his gaze alighted on a far corner.

“What’s all this over here?” he exclaimed, and immediately strode off again.

His boots squeaked on the polished parquet flooring as he drew up sharply in front of a tall glass display case. In it, a mannequin sporting a Second World War infantry sapper’s uniform stood in all its glory. “But what’s become of my military display?” he muttered, casting around for the pair of battered showcases in which he’d arranged a disorganized jumble of tarnished buttons, regimental badges, and rusty ceremonial swords.

Will made his way to a bank of new displays behind the mannequin. “Remembering Highfield’s Finest,” he read out loud as his father joined him. Together, they leaned over the sloping tops of the glass cases to study the ration and identity books, the gas masks and other wartime items, all beautifully labeled with names and explanations of their uses.

Sucking in his breath, Dr. Burrows turned to regard a TV screen set into a brilliant white melamine console by the side of the new glass cases. “Press to activate,” he mumbled as he read the instructions on the screen and thrust a finger at it. It immediately began to play a sequence of black-and-white films, which looked like excerpts from old newsreels. The first scenes were at nighttime and showed firemen with hoses battling to put out blazing houses. “I remember those days so well, as though they were yesterday,” began an elderly, wavering voice. “My father was one of the first in Highfield to volunteer as an Air Raid Warden.”

Will watched as scenes of the aftermath of the raid came on. In hazy sunlight, men in dusty uniforms were frantically picking over rubble strewn across pavements and the front gardens of houses. The commentary continued: “The heaviest bombing came in February 1942, when there was a direct hit on the Lyons Tea Rooms in the South Parade of shops. I remember it was packed with people having their lunch when the Germans dropped a land mine. It was just awful … the injured and the dead, everywhere. And there was another raid that night, even worse than the first.”

Then Will watched a clip of a pair of old men just sitting on a couple of chairs in the remains of the ground floor of a house, staring blankly at the camera as they smoked. They looked exhausted, and defeated. He tried to imagine their suffering — not only had they lost their homes and all their belongings, but their wives and children had probably perished in the bombing. All of a sudden their plight touched Will — he found it very poignant, and was struck by the realization that whatever he’d gone through, it couldn’t be worse than what these men and many hundreds of thousands of others had faced in that war. He concentrated on the commentary again.

“My father worked for two whole days and nights to find —”

Dr. Burrows stopped the film with a jab at the screen.

“I was watching that, Dad,” Will said. His father clucked and gave him a frosty look before stumping off toward the door at the far end of the hall, beyond which lay the archives and his old office.

But just as Dr. Burrows reached the doorway, a young man stepped out and blocked his way.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t go in there. It’s off-limits to the public,” the man said pleasantly but firmly. “Museum staff only, I’m afraid.” He was dressed in a smart blue suit with a lapel badge identifying him as CURATOR. He looked very young, even to Will’s eyes.

“I am —” Dr. Burrows began and immediately halted as, unseen by the man, Will nudged his father in the small of the back.

Dr. Burrows grunted, and the man took a step back. Will realized how odd his father must appear to him, with his old Navy duffle coat done up the neck, and the woolly hat pulled down low over his head.

“Can I be of assistance, sir? I saw you were admiring our new interactive display — I’d be delighted to give you a guided tour of our other exhibits.” The young man glanced around the floor of the museum and lowered his voice as if he was confiding some vital secret to Dr. Burrows. “I’m afraid that many of them are rather unexceptional. You might have noticed that this museum is a little, er … how shall I put it … in need of modernization. It was badly neglected by the previous management.” He drew in a long breath as if preparing himself for a massive task. “But now that I’m at the helm, I intend to revamp the whole place with the help of some p-r-e-t-t-y substantial funding I’ve secured.”

The man smiled, expecting an enthusiastic response from Dr. Burrows, but his smile evaporated as he got something altogether different.

“I like it precisely the way it is,” Dr. Burrows said as if someone was strangling him.

Will’s heart went out to his father. All Dr. Burrows’s work at the museum had been belittled in a few throwaway sentences. As Will watched him, Dr. Burrows’s head lowered and he seemed to deflate. Will wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of the right words. What was so ironic was that his father had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

With all the innumerable and outstanding discoveries he’d made in the Colony and the Deeps, Dr. Burrows would one day be lauded as a great explorer and scientist, perhaps the greatest of the century. But none of that seemed to matter to him right now, as he stood there, his shoulders bowed with disappointment. Will couldn’t understand why his father still seemed to care so much about this rather third-rate place, which could never hope to compete with the wealthier museums in central London.

“A lot of time and effort was put into all these displays, you know,” Dr. Burrows said. “I think they’re very effective.”

“Well, to each his own,” the young man replied defensively. “These days it’s a different game entirely. It’s all about interactivity and community involvement. The trick is to give the kids some buzzy new technology to get their attention, and also to pull in the local people by inviting them to participate in time capsules and the like. Yes, Interaction and Involvement spells Interest and Income. The ‘four I’s’ principle.”

As Will scanned the hall, he wondered if the new curator’s vision would prove to be successful in Highfield. Perhaps this rather dusty and neglected museum was a true reflection of the heart of the borough.

“So, do you live around here?” the curator asked, breaking the silence.

“Sort of,” Dr. Burrows replied.

“Well, if you’re interested, I’m always on the lookout for people to assist me with the running of the museum, you know, to help on —”

“Weekends,” Dr. Burrows cut in. “Ah, yes, the Saturday squad.”

The curator’s mood changed and he grinned, imagining he’d found a new recruit.

“I assume you’ve got Major Joe signed up, and then there’ll be Pat Robbins, Jamie Dodd …,” Dr. Burrows said, “… and, I’ll bet, Franny Bartok.”

The curator nodded at each name as Dr. Burrows reeled them off. Will had stepped to his father’s side and saw the twinkle in his eye as he continued to speak. He was definitely up to something.

“And how could I forget the one and only Oscar Embers,” Dr. Burrows ended his list.

“Oscar Embers?” The curator stopped nodding. “No, I don’t recall anyone of that name.”

“No? Are you sure … he was a retired actor and always the most passionate and committed of the bunch.”

The curator couldn’t help but notice the look that passed between Dr. Burrows and Will.

“No, I’ve never come across him,” the curator said categorically, then narrowed his eyes as if he was becoming suspicious. “And can I ask you, sir, how you come to be so knowledgeable about my volunteers when I’ve never met you before?”

“I was …,” Dr. Burrows began, but was interrupted by Will, who coughed loudly to warn his father not to say any more. “… I helped out your predecessor when he was here and, er, got to know him well.”

“Ah, that would be Dr….,” the curator said, then frowned as he grasped for the name. “Bellows or Bustows, or something like that.”

“Burrows, Dr. Burrows,” Dr. Burrows snapped.

“Yes, that’s it. I assume you know the poor chap went missing — it was before I took over the reins here, so I’ve no idea what he was like.”

“A very impressive man,” Dr. Burrows said tersely. “And now, I regret to say, we have to be on our way.”

“Are you sure I can’t give you a quick tour around the new exhibits?”

“Maybe another time. Thank you, anyway, and good luck with your plans,” Dr. Burrows said as he turned smartly. He was muttering to himself, but it wasn’t until he was outside that he really let loose.

“Interactive! Bah! That young just-out-of-university novice will burn buckets of money, and all for nothing. Then the museum will run short of funds and probably be closed down, and my collection will be mothballed for all eternity.” He stamped his foot on the pavement with such force that it echoed across the road.

“Dad, just cool it, will you?” Will urged him, concerned that his father’s behavior was attracting unwanted attention. “I know why you were asking about Oscar Embers,” he said, attempting to distract his father by getting him on a new tack. “It is really weird that the curator hasn’t heard of him. He was always hanging around, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Dr. Burrows agreed, “very strange.”

“So that twin was probably telling the truth about him being a Styx agent, and we should get the heck out of here. I tell you — we’re not safe in Highfield.”

Dr. Burrows pursed his lips thoughtfully and suddenly stuck his finger in the air. “I know! Oscar must have died, before that new doofus took over,” he declared cheerfully. “After all, Oscar was no spring chicken! And there’s one way to find out if that’s what happened.”

“How?” Will tried to ask, but his father strode off at full speed again.

They headed up Main Street, pausing outside a shop that was in the process of being gutted by a team of builders. Dr. Burrows surveyed the old green-painted shelves, which had been torn out and piled on the pavement in front of the shop.

“Clarke’s has gone. Is nothing sacred?” he said, referring to the old fruit and vegetable shop that had been there since anyone could remember. “That’s the supermarket chains for you!” he fumed. Will guessed immediately that there was more to the shop’s closure than that. He was on the point of telling his father about the Clarke brothers’ special relationship with the Colony, but decided against it. Dr. Burrows was having a hard enough time coping with what he already knew — Will didn’t want to make it any more complicated for him.

Turning off Main Street, they marched past the old convent and very shortly came to Gladstone Street, where Dr. Burrows paused in front of a row of almshouses.

“What are we doing here, Dad?” Will asked.

“Checking the facts,” Dr. Burrows replied as he advanced toward a narrow alleyway between two of the small houses. He seemed to know exactly where he was going as he disappeared into the darkness. Will followed a few paces behind, anxious that he couldn’t see anything at all around him. He slowed for a second as his foot clipped an empty milk bottle, sending it rattling over the cobblestones.

As he emerged into the light again, Will saw that the alley was bordered on both sides by garden walls, and that it was sealed off at the end by an old factory building with tall windows. There seemed to be no other way in or out of the alley except the way they’d entered. Will couldn’t for the life of him think why his father was interested in this place. Then Dr. Burrows went up to the wall on their right and peered over it.

“Who lives here?” Will inquired, joining his father at the wall and looking at the unkempt garden. A plump cat padded over the patchy grass, carefully avoiding the numerous plastic bowls of filthy water that seemed to be everywhere. Then Will remembered what he’d read in his father’s journal, which he and Chester had found all those months ago. “This is where the luminescent orb was discovered, isn’t it?”

“Yes — this is Mrs. Tantrumi’s house.”

Will shrugged. “So what are we doing here?”

“She was a friend of Oscar’s,” Dr. Burrows told him.

“So, what, are you going to ask her what happened to him?”

“Yes, that was my intention,” Dr. Burrows confirmed decisively. “And there was more than just the luminescent orb here.”

Will looked searchingly at his father. “What do you mean?”

“The orb was found in the basement just beyond those steps over there,” Dr. Burrows told him, glancing at the dark doorway. “There was also a wardrobe downstairs, stuffed full of Colonists’ coats.”

“Colonists’ coats,” Will repeated, then realized what his father had said. “Dad, what are you thinking!” he burst out. “You must be going mad!” He was looking nervously around now. “This is probably a route down to the Colony — there could be Styx in that house.”

“No, just a sweet old lady,” Dr. Burrows told him.

“But, Dad,” Will whined, stamping his foot. He was so frustrated that his father wasn’t listening to him, he suddenly felt like he was a child of five years old again, not getting his way. He seized hold of Dr. Burrows by the arm as if he was about to drag him forcibly away from the wall. “This is just crazy. We’ve got to get away from here,” Will pleaded. “We have to!”

Dr. Burrows turned to give him a stern look. “Unhand me, Will.”

Will did as he was told and released his father’s arm. He recognized the resolve in his father’s voice as he spoke. “I’ve spent too much of my life hanging back from what I should’ve done. It’s all too easy to find an excuse to put things off until another day. Heaven knows, I should know. But right at this moment, I need to investigate what your sister …,” he faltered for a beat, “… that twin said. I have to find out if Oscar really was some sort of Styx agent. I have to check the facts for myself.”

“I suppose you’re right, Dad,” Will agreed reluctantly.

“Good,” Dr. Burrows said, straightaway hauling himself on top of the wall, then jumping down the other side. As he landed in the mud, his feet slid from under him and he sat right on top of one of the numerous bowls. The sharp crack of breaking plastic resounded around the garden, and in the ensuing silence Dr. Burrows swore and hauled himself to his feet, wiping the algae from his duffle coat. “Not again,” he muttered to himself.

Full of misgiving, Will remained where he was, watching as his father went to the back door and knocked on it gently.

“Mrs. Tantrumi,” Dr. Burrows called. “Are you there? It’s me … Roger Burrows.”

The door opened a crack and an enormous ball of black-and-white fur bolted out. It flew straight between Dr. Burrows’s legs and into the garden. Startled, Dr. Burrows muttered “Cat?” as he tottered back a couple of steps.

A wrinkled face peeped shortsightedly through the gap.

“Hello? Who’s that?”

“Mrs. Tantrumi, it’s all right. It’s only me, Roger Burrows.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Burrows. I … um … dropped in to see you last year about the luminescent orb that Oscar Embers brought to me. Do you remember?”

The door opened fully. The old lady had wispy white hair and was wearing an apron that wasn’t tied properly, so that large yellow and white flowers ran at rather an odd angle across her body. She also appeared to be very unsteady on her feet, and was hanging on to the doorjamb as if she needed it to support herself. She adjusted her glasses, clearly finding it a struggle to focus on Dr. Burrows. “Yes, of course I remember you,” she eventually answered. “You’re from the museum. You wrote me that lovely letter.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Dr. Burrows said in a relieved voice.

“How lovely that you’ve come to see me again,” she grinned, her lined face lighting up. “You must join me for a cup of tea.”

“That would be very nice,” Dr. Burrows replied warmly as the old lady waddled back into the kitchen.

Dr. Burrows remained by the open door, stooping to stroke an ancient and painfully thin ginger-colored cat. To his surprise, the cat hissed and lashed out at him.

“Orlando! Mind your manners, you naughty boy! I’m so sorry, Dr. Burrows. He’s not used to strangers. I hope he didn’t scratch you.”

“Not badly,” Dr. Burrows said, rubbing his finger where a claw had caught the skin. He narrowed his eyes angrily at the cat, which was still standing there with its scraggy ruff up, like a feline guard dog. “Mrs. Tantrumi, I actually came here to ask you about Oscar Embers. Is he all right?”

Mrs. Tantrumi stood up from the sink, the tap running on full as she gripped the handle of the kettle so tightly Dr. Burrows could see her knuckles drain of blood.

“No, he’s not. Poor soul tripped on the pavement and broke his arm.” She stared at the water swirling around and dwindling down the drain as she spoke. “Then he picked up a nasty infection in Highfield General Hospital, and was terribly ill. He did get better, but they said he couldn’t look after himself and packed him off to a nursing home, so I don’t see him anymore.”

“Do you know which nursing home he went into?” Dr. Burrows inquired.

“No, I don’t, and I can’t visit him, anyway, not with my hips the way they are,” she said mournfully. “I do miss him so. He was a good friend.”

“I’m very sorry,” Dr. Burrows said, rather unconvincingly. “But you must have some idea which home he’s in.”

“No, dear, I don’t,” Mrs. Tantrumi replied, finishing the task of filling the kettle, then swaying over to the stove with a series of “oohs” and “aahs,” as if each step was causing her considerable discomfort.

“Poor old Oscar,” Dr. Burrows said distantly, turning to regard the doorway to the basement. “Would you mind if I took another look down there, where the luminescent orb was found?”

“Ludicrous orb, dear? What’s that?” she asked, squinting at him.

“The object you very kindly donated to the museum. Do you remember?”

Mrs. Tantrumi thought for a second, her frail hands trembling. “Oh, of course, I know — the glass ball. Yes, please do have a look, if you want.” She took a large tin from the kitchen counter. “Would you like a biscuit first?” she offered, as she struggled to get the lid off.

Clutching his Garibaldi biscuit, Dr. Burrows glanced at Will, whose head was just visible as he peered over the garden wall from the alleyway. Dr. Burrows raised his eyebrows at Will, then made his way down the mossy brick steps to the basement. Once there he went straight for the area that lay toward the front of the house. All was silent in the darkened basement, except for the sound his feet were making in the dirt.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the wardrobe wasn’t where it had been before. In fact, there was no sign of it anywhere. “What the blazes!” he muttered. “Somebody’s nicked it!”

Still muttering to himself, he took a moment to give the old piano another quick inspection. Moldering against a damp wall, it appeared to be in an even worse state than the last time he’d seen it; one side had become detached and the instrument sat lopsidedly, as if it was at the point of collapsing altogether. Lifting the lid, Dr. Burrows found that many of the keys now didn’t make any sound at all when he played them.

Stamping his feet on the ground by the base of the walls, he made a complete circuit of the basement, certain that somewhere he was going to find a trapdoor. But the ground felt solid enough, and he’d just decided to check the walls themselves when he heard a noise behind him.

He wheeled around.

Silhouetted in the light coming from the garden stairwell, a figure lurched at him. It was wielding something in its hand, something that glinted like polished steel.

“YOU’VE MEDDLED ONCE TOO OFTEN!” the figure shrieked.

“Mrs. Tantrumi!” Dr. Burrows cried as he recognized his assailant.

The speed at which the old lady was moving took him completely by surprise. Her face set in a vicious snarl, she lunged at him with the knife, not showing any trace of the frailty she’d exhibited before.

All of a sudden there was a resounding crash, and Garibaldi biscuits and custard cream cookies flew everywhere. Mrs. Tantrumi stopped dead in her tracks, the knife fell from her hand, and she keeled over.

“Will!” Dr. Burrows gasped. His son stood over the crazed old lady.

“I couldn’t decide whether to use this,” Will said, holding up the dented and now empty biscuit tin, “or a flowerpot to wallop her one.”

Dr. Burrows’s face was a picture of confusion as he attempted to deal with what had just taken place. “She … she was going to stab me.” He looked gratefully at his son. “Thank you, Will.”

“No problem.”

They both peered down at Mrs. Tantrumi, who was lying on her side. Although she’d been stunned by the blow, she seemed to be recovering quickly. She rubbed her cranium with an aggrieved expression, then immediately tried to get the knife again.

“What do we do now?” Dr. Burrows asked, as he watched the old lady’s hand snaking toward the weapon.

“Stop her from killing us?” Will suggested. He took a step toward her and, without applying much pressure, placed a foot on her wrist to pin it to the ground.

“Gerroff!” She seemed to have all her strength back now and, behaving like one of her feral cats, she proceeded to hiss and spit at Will and his father. “Your time is coming!” she ranted. “Nobody escapes the Colony!”

“Just a sweet old lady, huh?” Will said.

Shaking his head, Dr. Burrows watched the old woman with horrified fascination as she strained to free her hand from under Will’s foot. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured.

“You’d better,” his son told him.

“But —”

“No, you listen to me, Dad: They have people all over. Granny Gruesome here is obviously one of their agents, so it follows that Oscar Embers was, too, just like the Rebecca twin said. The Styx even have people in the police and in the government, so we can’t trust anybody. From now on, we tread really carefully. Got that?”

“DEAD! YOU ARE BOTH DEAD!” Mrs. Tantrumi screamed as Will stooped to pick up the knife, still not releasing her hand from under his foot.

“I don’t think so,” Will sneered back at her. “And we’re going to put a stop to you and your foul friends if it’s the last thing we do.”

“IT WILL BE!” she screeched. “THERE ARE TOO MANY OF US!”

“Come on, Dad, let’s get away from this stinking old witch.” Curling his lip in disgust, Will slung the knife through the doorway behind him. There was a startled meow from outside in the garden.

“Oops, think I got one,” Will said. Mrs. Tantrumi exploded into such language and at such volume that Dr. Burrows covered his ears.

Will took his foot off Mrs. Tantrumi’s wrist and backed away quickly, closely followed by Dr. Burrows, who had no intention of being left alone with the frenzied woman. As they climbed the steps to the garden, squinting in the bright light, a figure leaped from the top of the wall and landed on the muddy lawn, deftly avoiding the many plastic bowls of stale water.

“What happened in there?” it demanded in an urgent whisper.

Will couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Drake!” he exclaimed.

“Drake?” Dr. Burrows repeated.

“Tell me what just happened,” Drake demanded again, jerking his head at the basement. “Who’s in there?”

“A Styx agent,” Will answered. “I can’t — I’ve got — you have to — the virus — how did you —?” he gabbled, everything he wanted to say to Drake coming out in an incoherent torrent.

“Not now,” Drake cut him short. He whipped out a handgun and offered it to Will. “Take this. The safety’s off.”

“It’s all right — I’ve got my own,” Will said, hooking his jacket aside to show Drake the Browning Hi-Power tucked into his waistband.

Dr. Burrows clucked with disapproval at his son, but Drake flashed him a brief smile. “Cool. By the way, love the new look,” he said, as he took in Will’s short hair and combat fatigues. Then Drake was in action again, slipping past Dr. Burrows and cautiously descending the steps.

“She’s an old woman, but she’s vicious,” Will tried to warn Drake, but he’d already disappeared into the gloom of the basement.

“What’s he going to do? Put a bullet in her?” Dr. Burrows said.

“I would if I could, but she’s bailed,” Drake rumbled, overhearing the remark as he stormed out of the basement. “So now the White Necks will know you’re back in circulation, and the heat will be on.”

Will was astounded. “She’s gone? But she can’t have!”

“There’s no way out of there,” Dr. Burrows added, giving Drake a skeptical look. “I checked it myself.” He made as if he was going to go back into the basement, but Drake grabbed his elbow and spun him around.

“No, you don’t. It’s a waste of time—you’ll never find it,” Drake growled at him. “I heard there was a portal somewhere around here.” He shot a glance at Will. “Someone told me about it.”

This wasn’t lost on Will, who looked at him questioningly.

“We need to get away from here, and pronto,” Drake said to Dr. Burrows, then he stepped toward Will and his face crinkled into a grin. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again, Will. In fact, I’d say it’s a miracle! So you did the impossible — you all made it out of the Pore?”

“Yes … no, we —” Will began, but gasped as in the blink of an eye Drake had dropped to one knee and brought his handgun to bear on the kitchen door. Will also drew his Browning Hi-Power, although he was far less practiced than Drake and it took him a great deal longer. The door to the kitchen, which Mrs. Tantrumi had left ajar, moved the smallest fraction. Will was holding his breath as a mangy black cat stuck its head out and gave them an indifferent look before it ducked inside again.

“Yes, you’ve got to watch out for her pussycats — they’re vicious brutes. One gave me a really nasty scratch,” Dr. Burrows declared drily as he surveyed both his son and Drake poised with their weapons.

“Can’t be too careful. This place is riddled with Styx,” Drake said as he straightened up again. He regarded Dr. Burrows rather coldly before addressing Will. “I presume this is your father — the intrepid explorer?”

Will nodded.

“And you’ve come back to Highfield to see your mother,” Drake said.

“My wife — yes, of course we have,” Dr. Burrows jumped in before Will could answer.

Drake put away his handgun. “Well, if you thought you’d find her in your old house, you’re wasting your time. She’s sold it.”

“She did what!” Dr. Burrows said, aghast.

Will’s mind was beginning to function after the shock of seeing Drake again, and something didn’t quite add up. “But, how did you know we’d come here? How did you know that I was even still alive?” he asked.

“When you rang that number, your message was logged on a secure server in Wales.”

“Number? Message?” Will said, then the realization hit him: It had to have been one of the calls he’d made on the old telephone in the fallout shelter. “So the line wasn’t dead! And that was your number all the time!” Will said, shaking his head. “I had no idea what it was for.”

“You can only have got it from Elliott, so I assume she’s still alive, too. Is she OK?”

Will nodded. “I hope so. We got separated after she set off a huge explosion.”

“Typical,” Drake chuckled. “And what about Chester?”

“He should be with Elliott, but Cal … something terrible —”

“I know about Cal,” Drake interrupted softly. “I was there. I saw the whole thing.”

“You were there?” Will sputtered. “At the Pore?”

“Yes. With Sarah … for her last moments …”

“No,” Will said. “She’s dead, then?”

Drake glanced away from Will, as if he knew how painful what he was about to say would be for the boy. “Will, she threw herself off the edge, taking the twins with her. I reckon she did it because she’d messed things up so badly with you, and it was all that was left for her.”

“Oh God,” Will gasped. He’d hung on to the hope that somehow she might have survived, but now that had been dashed by what Drake had told him. Will tried to speak, to ask more about what had happened, but his throat had tightened to such an extent that Drake couldn’t hear him.

Dr. Burrows was completely ignorant of Will’s feelings, and of how both Cal’s death and now this account about Sarah’s final act of self-sacrifice struck him to the very core. Still put out at being manhandled by Drake, and even more so by the discovery that he was now homeless, Dr. Burrows spoke with uncharacteristic boldness.

“Hey, gunslinger — whatever your name is — you said we shouldn’t hang around here?”

Drake didn’t shift his gaze from Will as he answered, but a slight movement of his eyes betrayed his irritation. “It’s Drake, and yes, I did say that, didn’t I? I’m going to take you somewhere to lie low for a while, and maybe you’ll get a chance to see your wife at the same time.”

“You know where she is?” Dr. Burrows asked immediately.

“Come along, Will,” Drake said softly, placing a hand on the overwrought boy’s shoulder and steering him toward the garden wall. “We’ve got a load of catching up to do, but not here. Let’s go.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Burrows declared to their backs as they moved away. Even if he didn’t admit it to himself, he was more than a little resentful that he seemed to have been supplanted in Will’s affections by this rather imposing stranger, who evidently had such a strong bond with his son.