The room had grown more chilled and outside the horizon was shrinking. Streaks of red scratched the sky. I made my way down the path. Below me, fish were being brought in and a group of women worked at untangling nets. The sounds of life filtered into the late afternoon, a song, a laugh, the squawks and chuckles of chickens from the coops, and I slowed my step, taking warmth from the proximity of so much industry.

On the beach it was silent, the sea almost still. The smell of Iskar’s chimneys sharpened in the air. Turning, Stack Mor and its soaring angles cut into the cloud. Had he called out as he fell? I imagined the rush of wind against his skin, blinding him to sound, the granite rising to meet him and the final desperate thought that hung in his head.

7

As I neared Iskar, my eyes drifted to Hettie’s window, and something against the pane stopped me in my tracks. I pinned my attention to it and was assailed with a spike of disquiet. As I tried to mould what I had witnessed into cloud, whatever it was moved closer to the glass and revealed itself. There in Hettie’s window was Mary herself, her expression solemn as she gazed back down upon me. My heart stilled in relief. Then, as my vision adjusted, another shape appeared behind her, before the light failed and cast the image into darkness.

Once in Iskar’s hall I waited and listened – there were no voices and I took swiftly to the stairs. Faintly, the wind fluted far off, but somehow the quiet inside felt unnatural, as if it were the pause in speech before a piece of bad news was to be imparted.

Greer was standing at the foot of the staircase leading to the old nurseries. Pausing out of sight, I waited for her to move on, but she remained quite still. Too still – and there was something in her stance I did not like. I could have trodden more heavily, announcing my presence, but somehow I found myself creeping backwards to watch her through the banister rails.

It seemed too long a time before she moved, dragged a hand down her apron and walked to the servants’ staircase. Was it Greer I had seen behind Mary in the window? And was Mary still up there?

With Greer gone, I climbed to Hettie’s room.

It was empty. As I went to leave, my eye caught on something on the dressing table. I lifted it curiously. It was a wooden doll, only inches in height, as might belong to a doll’s house. It was faintly warm, as though Mary had left it only a moment before. I turned the doll over and noticed with a grimace that its face had been scored away, leaving it entirely featureless.

I shuddered. Imagined Mary up here by herself with this strange object. Only she had not been alone.