Free Darkwater by Catherine Fisher

enough.”
    â€œAye?” He nodded gravely. “Well, look now. I’ll be outside, in the Bear Garden, before dark. Don’t come out after. Reckon you can get me summat to eat?” She nodded, rubbing the dog’s dirty fur.
    â€œWell, bring it. And in return I’ll tell thee some home truths about thy precious Lord Azrael.”
    He shuffled off down the path toward Mamble. At the bend he turned, hitching up his belt of rope. “Be careful. Don’t tha make any agreement with him. No wagers, mind.”
    For a long time, cold, ignoring the rain, she watched him go.

    In the library, Azrael was sitting at the telescope, preoccupied. Behind him Scrab fussed around with a feather duster.
    As she took off her coat, she felt his dark eyes watching her.
    â€œSarah,” he asked quietly, “who was that you were talking to?”
    She turned, surprised; saw the lens cap was off, the brass tube tilted down. Scrab, now sweeping a burnt, twisted mass of glass off the floor, grinned to himself.
    â€œHave you been watching me?” she snapped.
    He looked abashed. “It was accidental.”
    â€œOh, was it! Well you’ve got no right. I can talk to whomever I want!” Then she remembered he was her employer and took an angry breath. “It was just some tramp, anyway.”
    Azrael looked worried. He got up and wandered to the fireplace, crunching on the glass shards without noticing. Scrab scowled up at him. “Watch yerself!”
    â€œI don’t want you to speak to him again,” Azrael said.
    Sarah stared. Then she said, “Why not?”
    He picked up a small glass globe and shook it gently. Hundreds of tiny white snowflakes swirled and drifted inside. “He reminds me of someone I once knew. A troublemaker. A liar.” He looked at her sidelong. “I don’t want him on my land. I don’t want you to speak to him.”
    â€œYou can’t tell me whom to speak to.”
    He put the globe down, watching the flakes settle. Then he said, “You work for me now, Sarah. Don’t forget that.”
    His face was troubled.
    â€œYou don’t own me,” she said. “Yet.”
    But she knew a threat when she heard it.

ten
    T he Bear Garden was cold. And so was she. The tramp was late.
    She glanced up at the house, uneasy and defiant. After sitting in her room for an age telling herself not to be reckless, she’d grabbed her shawl, sped down through the kitchens and out into the smoky purple twilight. Maybe Azrael was afraid of what she’d find out. The yew trees beyond the terrace were already black shapes, monstrous. Small statues of dancing bears capered on columns of stone higher than her head. She didn’t like them, or their stony stillness. She kept thinking the one by the gate had turned its head to look at her.
    An owl hooted in the wood.
    Sarah paced restlessly up and down, trying to keep warm. Her breath smoked and the sky in the west was clouded. It must be getting late. She had no idea of the time; none of the clocks in Darkwater Hall ever worked, even though she’d wound the library clock herself. Tonight was All Hallows Eve—the Night of the Dead. She didn’t want to be out in it. If he didn’t come now, she’d leave the food and go in.
    There was candlelight in the laboratory. As she glanced up at it she saw the window shutters being closed; for a second she caught Scrab’s stooped outline.
    Then a stone rattled on the path.
    The tramp was very quiet. He crept in through the gate like a shadow, slightly breathless, the dog slinking behind.
    â€œThat you, girlie?”
    â€œYes. Over here.”
    She’d put the food on the bench in a little wicker shelter she sometimes sat in; there were a few of them around the gardens.
    â€œThere’s none but us?” The tramp sounded wary.
    â€œNo.”
    He came inside and sat down, smelling of wood smoke and onions. It was darker