Free Ether & Elephants by Cindy Spencer Pape Page A

family and friends. She drew in a deep breath. Would he be so interested once he knew all the dirty secrets? She hoped so. That ordinary life depended upon it.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    Tom and the others started their search at the local boys’ favorite fishing hole. At Wink’s insistence, they’d brought along her clockwork mastiff, George, who had an unmatched ability to follow a scent. They’d also collected Melody and Victor’s pair of MacKay-bred Scottish deerhounds, just in case George somehow managed to miss something, and because the dogs enjoyed a walk. The boys’ mothers had each provided a piece of clothing so all three dogs could take the scent.
    “There was definitely a struggle,” Victor noted, getting off his horse to inspect the torn-up terrain. Chunks of turf had been scuffed up and one nearby shrub was broken, as if someone had recently fallen into it. Other searchers had left dozens of tracks, making it difficult to determine much more. “Barnaby was right. The boys didn’t go without a fight. Unless they beat the hell out of each other and both drowned, I’m pretty sure someone took them.”
    Tom squatted beside the stream, finding isolated footprints. “Small feet, bare, one set wider than the other.” He laid a hand over the prints and murmured a spell. To his immense relief, the spell didn’t slam into him like an avalanche, as it had in the headmistress’s office. Instead, he was simply able to sense the surface emotions of the boys who’d left the tracks. “So young. Happy and carefree.”
    Then he moved to the scuffed terrain and tried the spell again. The emotion was more intense here, but didn’t soak into his being. “Anger, fear, determination and someone just doing a job. Look for man-sized prints leading away from the village, outside the scuffed area. Probably at least two, to subdue and haul off both boys.”
    Obediently, the others got off their horses and looked. Connor held the boys’ clothing down so the deerhounds could get the scent, then gave the command to search before doing the same with George.
    It didn’t take the dogs long. Within a moment, George started off along an overgrown trail leading inland, away from the small fishing village of Blackwell. The big gray dogs loped alongside him. They’d have taken the lead if they hadn’t been leashed. The men followed along, leading their horses.
    The trail had obviously been used in the recent past. Years of undergrowth had been trampled to lay flat on the ground, while the encroaching shrubbery bore bent and broken twigs all along the route. After perhaps half a mile, the path opened up onto a rutted country lane.
    “Damn,” Fergus muttered. “The dogs might be able to track an open wagon, but not a closed coach.”
    The men studied the ground while the dogs sniffed it. “Something definitely sat here a while,” Connor said, pointing to deep ruts, the right width apart for a wagon.
    Barnaby grunted. “Aye. It rained the night before the boys went missing, so the road would have been damp. That’s a boon to us.”
    The dogs hesitated, except for George. He moved a few yards in the same direction the wagon tracks seemed to lead and barked, the sound rough and brassy.
    “Search, George,” Tom commanded, and the bronze mastiff continued down the road at a steady pace, moving away from Blackwell, inland toward Dartmoor. Soon, the other dogs seemed to scent something in the air. The men mounted their horses and continued to follow.
    “What’s down this way?” Fergus asked Victor. “Another town?”
    “Not for some distance,” Victor said. “There’s an old tin mine, but that was played out and abandoned decades ago. They sold off all the equipment. I believe my father purchased one of the water pumps for Black Heath’s well.”
    “Are any of the buildings still standing?” Tom asked. “A deserted mine might make a good headquarters for someone up to no good.”
    “And some of those ancient mines