Duckling had seen death in the salt mines, but never so close and so violent. Now it was right in front of her, and she trembled all over. There had been a moment when the Grafine was alive, and a moment when she was gone, and those two things were as different from each other as night and day.
Behind her, the cat said, ‘Raashk?’
For a long moment, no one answered. Then Pummel said, in a hushed voice, ‘She hasn’t got it. I’d be able to feel it if she had.’
‘Then where is it?’ whispered Otte. His mice were in his hand, and he stroked them over and over, as if seeking comfort.
Sooli gazed down at the body of the Grafine and swallowed. ‘She did have it. I could feel it in her path.’
The chicken leaned against Duckling’s leg, and that small touch of warmth helped bring her back to herself. She took a deep breath, and that helped too. She was still alive, and so were her friends. And they had a job to do.
She stood up, trying not to look at the corpse of the Grafine. ‘We’ll just have to keep searching for it then, and searching for that book too. Otte, is there another one of your hideaways near here?’
Otte nodded. ‘On the third floor. And on the eighth. Do you wish me to show them to you?’
‘Yes, in case we get separated,’ said Duckling. She helped the younger boy to his feet. ‘Come on. We’d better get out of here before someone comes.’
Sooli didn’t move. Neither did Pummel. ‘What about the Grafine?’ he whispered. ‘We can’t just leave her here. We should – cover her up or something.’
‘Deeead,’ said the cat.
‘I know she’s dead,’ said Pummel. ‘That doesn’t mean we can treat her like a bit of rubbish.’
Beside him, Sooli was also staring at the Grafine. Her face was pale, her brow was creased and her lips were moving, as if she was arguing with herself about something.
‘Sooli?’ said Duckling.
The other girl sucked in a shaky breath and said, ‘I could – trace her path back.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Otte.
‘We must find the raashk,’ said Sooli. She licked her lips, as if they were suddenly too dry. ‘If I could trace the Grafine’s path back a little way, perhaps I could discover what she did with it. If she left it somewhere. Or – or someone took it from her.’
Pummel blanched. ‘You could do that? Trace the path of someone who is …’ His voice trailed off.
‘Is it dangerous?’ whispered Otte.
‘I do not know,’ said Sooli. ‘I have never heard of anyone doing it but – but perhaps no one ever had a need as great as ours.’
Duckling chewed her lip. ‘Sounds horrible. Could you do it?’
‘The Harshman eats the land magic,’ said Sooli. ‘I must do it. But I will need your help. You must anchor me, to make sure I do not – go the wrong way.’
She looked awfully uncertain, but determined at the same time. ‘Come, sit beside me. Lean against me.’
Duckling and Pummel sat on either side of Sooli with their eyes turned away from the Grafine’s body. The cat, the chicken, Otte and his mice stood close by, watching.
‘If I get caught up in the Grafine’s path, you will have to pull me back,’ whispered Sooli.
‘How will we tell?’ asked Pummel.
‘I do not know. Just … if anything strange happens.’
The breath hissed out of Duckling in something that was almost a laugh. ‘Anything strange,’ she repeated. ‘Ha.’
‘We’ll keep an eye on you,’ promised Pummel.
Sooli breathed in and out. She screwed up her face. She nodded, as if to reassure herself. Then she reached out towards the paths that Duckling could not see.
She didn’t pick any of them up this time. Instead, she traced them with her fingers.
‘There are so many,’ she whispered. ‘And the Grafine’s will be faint, and growing fainter.’ Her fingers hovered over the wooden floor. ‘But I think – yes, I think I see it.’
Duckling leaned against her and started to hum. A breeze hovered around them, warm and comforting.
‘I must follow it backwards,’ whispered Sooli, almost to herself. She touched something and shivered. ‘It is very cold. But I can do this. Here is where – we try to wake her. So I must go back before that.’
Her fingers drew lines in the air; her face showed intense concentration. ‘Here – she is dying. Alone.’ Sooli gasped, as if she was the one dying.
Duckling looked up, and saw that Otte’s face was blank. He had gone into another of his trances. Her fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. Someone was going to get hurt. Was it Sooli? Should they stop her, drag her away from what she was doing?
But Sooli was talking again, the words spilling out of her. ‘The Harshman is walking away from her – oh, how she hates him! She watches him go and cannot speak.’
Otte bent down and picked up the chicken. His eyes cleared.
He didn’t go hunting for bandages, so maybe it’s not so bad, thought Duckling.
Sooli’s fingers twitched. ‘Further back. Further back to – yes, to here! He is standing over her. He is bending down. He takes something from her – it is the pouch. He has—’
Suddenly her voice stopped and her face grew still.
‘Sooli?’ said Duckling. ‘Are you all right? You can stop now. Sooli?’
‘Duckling,’ gasped Pummel, ‘look!’
He pointed to Sooli’s hands – or rather, to where her hands should be. They were hardly visible.
Just a faint outline, growing fainter all the time.