“Look through that gap between the trees,” says Lady Geiléis to Blackthorn, “and you will see the tower.”

I look too, and there it is. Eerie, with the light starting to fade. Made all of pale stone, taller than the trees, and they’re old oaks, some of them. Window at the top. Can’t see if the shutters are open. Can’t see if the creature’s there, but the sound’s still coming, cracked and broken. Wisps of mist coming up from the river, creeping between those big trees, making a shroud for the place. Of course, it’s on an island. That’s what the lady said. Woods are so thick around the tower, all I can see of the river is a gleam here and there.

Birds, suddenly. Birds all around the tower, a dark cloud of them. The sun’s sinking; nearly dusk.

“Ride on,” says Lady Geiléis.

“Wait!” Blackthorn’s not moving, and even though she’s not much of a rider, her horse keeps still too.

“We must move on, Mistress Blackthorn. The path is not easy; we must reach our destination while there is still sufficient light.”

Blackthorn’s not hearing her. She’s staring at the tower, the birds, the window that might or might not be open.

“Mistress Blackthorn!” Geiléis is sharp now. “We must move on.”

Those birds; if they were making a sound, could we hear it? Or are we too far away? Could be it’s like Dreamer’s Wood. Full of magic, dangerous stuff, so birds know to keep quiet. One thing I can guess, looking at that tower. Whatever’s in it is uncanny. Or it’s something trapped there by a spell. A spell so strong, even I can feel it.

The lady reaches out to grab hold of Blackthorn’s bridle and haul her away, which I could tell her wouldn’t be a good idea at all.

“Give her a moment, my lady,” I say, speaking loud so she can hear me over the monster. “Could be important.”

Don’t much like the look Lady Geiléis gives me. Chilly as a lake on midwinter morning. That look tells me what she really thinks—that I’m too stupid to take any part in this, and that she can’t understand why Blackthorn lets me tag along.

Flannan takes the wool out of his ears. “Holy Mother of God,” he says. “That’s the saddest sound I heard in my life.”

“Mm,” murmurs Blackthorn. “I want to wait here until the sun sets, Lady Geiléis.” Seems she did hear after all.

“Impossible. The track would be far too dangerous in the dark.”

“You said the crying stops at sunset. I want to hear that. I want to see what those birds do when it ceases.”

“The birds? What part can they play in this?”

“I don’t know. But I’m here to find a solution for you, and I cannot do so if you restrict me.” Got that note in her voice, the one that means trouble’s coming.

“We could come up another day,” I say. For once, I think the lady’s right. Makes no sense to risk the horses just because Blackthorn’s got a bee in her bonnet about something. “On foot. Wait for the sunset. Bring a lamp for the way back.”