‘Indeed not. As I recall we skipped that part.’ He smiles again and I want to dig my thumbs in his eyes and gouge.
‘Did you murder my grandmother?’ I ask, my voice low, the words almost painful as they push up from my throat and out my mouth. He inclines his head and there’s something regal about the admission; a prince amongst assassins. ‘And Aidan paid you to do that too?’
Again, the nod, this time with a shading of pity.
‘Why?’ I ask and it comes out as a child’s cry. It hurts even though Aoife sold me, even though she was seldom kind. She was there. She was there all my life. She was my family, my blood, my pillar and it is hard to let go of that no matter what, impossible for it to be so quickly dissolved and washed away in a tide of hatred. Love is a barbed hook and family the line to which it is tied. It digs deep and sometimes trying to remove it entirely does more damage than simply leaving the obstruction beneath the skin for a scar to grow over.
He shrugs and it enrages me, that Aoife O’Malley is so easily dismissed. ‘I don’t ask the reasons – one can’t afford to have a conscience in this business or one would never eat – I just take my fee.’
I shake my head. ‘He’d already made his bargain with Aoife! She’d agreed to everything. What could he possibly have to gain from murdering her?’
He shrugs again and I can see a red tide rising front of my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. I put my face in my hands as he speaks, ‘Mr Fitzpatrick is an impatient man. He works with a variety of folk who are equally if not more impatient. I often find that when people do more than one deal, sometimes the demands of one agreement overcome another.’
‘Meaning?’ I ask through my fingers, but I think of Ellingham’s comments about Bethany Lawrence, about the changes in Aidan when he began having truck with her.
‘Meaning bigger fish eat little fish.’ He pulls up the chair from beneath the window and sits with a sigh, as if he’s a housewife who’s had a trying day tramping around the markets. He gestures I should do the same, and I perch on the edge of the bed.
‘How did you track me? From Breakwater?’ If he’ll tell me I might learn something to avoid in future; oh, there’s no doubt I’ll run again.
He cocks an eyebrow and grins. ‘Afraid Mr Fitzpatrick might learn who helped you?’
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘My friends don’t deserve hurt for rendering aid.’
He waves a hand. ‘Never fear. I don’t reveal my sources, no point in giving away the tricks of the trade. That’s not what clients pay me for anyway. Your Mr Ellingham and his people are safe... and Miss Brigid.’
‘Gods, please don’t tell him about Brigid.’ Somehow I’m not sure she’d survive. My, Miren O’Malley, I think, how your heart has turned.
‘On my honour. But I would point out that more than one person saw you and she that night, wandering Breakwater’s inky streets.’
I try to breathe evenly. If the assassin brings me back, there will be no reason for Aidan to find out. Of course, he will ask questions, he will want to know who my allies were so I can be stripped of them. How much can I withstand before I beg him to stop hurting me? Another thought hits.
‘What about...’
‘The old people at the Hallow?’ His expression grows grave. ‘Ah, now that’s another story.’ Suddenly he seems hesitant to talk. ‘They chose their own end, Miss O’Malley. That should give you some comfort, although I’m not sure how much.’
‘What…’ I swallow but there’s not enough saliva left in my mouth, my entire body. An entire lake couldn’t water my parched throat at this moment.
‘They took poison. The maids found them the morning after your departure, I’m told.’
‘No…’ I think of Aidan, that he somehow orchestrated matters, but the green-eyed man must see this in my expression.
‘Mr Fitzpatrick told me about them when he sent me after you. He was quite enraged he didn’t get the chance to interrogate them for your whereabouts. I’m a good judge of men, Miss O’Malley, I know when one’s lying. Your cousin’s fury was his truth.’
I think of Maura and those potions she kept in the pantry, the tinctures and tisanes we brewed together. The lessons she taught me, planting and picking the kitchen garden, harvesting the other things that grew best wild along the sea brim, or just below the surface of waters salty or fresh. I think about the herbs that could burn the cold from you, relieve a headache, make you sleep for weeks, give you dreams for joy, or ensure all your days were those of forgetting. I think of Maura making her own choice about how she departed Hob’s Hallow, and that she’d have let no one take that from her. I think of Malachi who’d never have gone, not when his wife and babe were buried there, not when he’d lived more of his life there than anywhere else. And he’d have not left his sister, as much as they grumped and grumbled at each other, much as they annoyed one another. He’d not have deserted her anymore than she would him. One last drink together, one final winter-lemon whiskey to chase away the chill, and then to slumber forever.
‘For what it’s worth from one such as I, I am sorry.’ The green-eyed man breaks into my thoughts. ‘And now, Miss O’Malley. I feel strongly that we should depart before daybreak. The sunlight gives too much power to witnesses and who knows what you might do if you think you can enlist the sympathies of some bold passerby?’ He gestures to the coil of rope on the floor by his
