Page 47 of Crown of Tides and Fury

“And thecloch realta?”

“Ye found one, then?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. As was his habit, he assumed things so Wickham would correct him. “How?”

“Ye sent me…”

The man paled and laid his free hand on Wickham’s shoulder, to steady himself, then swallowed audibly. “Isent ye to find it? And I said nothin’?”

Wickham knew in his gut he shouldn’t mention Lennon, or the fact that the Grandfather had insisted she was essential to his mission. So he parroted, “Ye said nothin’.”

The old one took a deep breath, released Wickham, and stepped back. His new smile was strained, pained. His voice broke. “Then I must have had a reason.”

18

House Of Trousers

Wickham felt it necessary to let the folks of Muirsglen see them leave town, to know they were gone. At the base of the mountain, however, he was content to take Kitch out ofTimeandPlace, and any witnesses to it be damned.

When they stepped into the twenty-first century, however, they stood in the trees near Tigh An Truish, a famous pub in the tiny coastal town of Clachan-Seil, southwest of Oban. If Kitch was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“Often, before I go back, I stop here for a pint and a think,” Wickham explained. “Tigh An Truish,House of Trousers. The Jacobites would stop here to change out of their kilts and into trousers.”

“And ye like to change out of yerSeanairskin, do ye?”

Wickham nodded. “Just so. And after we’ve briefed the others, I’ll have a fine long shower and go see my family.” He thought about Ivy, about where he’d left her, playin’ in the sand with the laddies. She wouldn’t have moved a muscle since then. “Or maybe I’ll wait and take that long shower with my wife.”

Once they were seated with a pint and a whiskey on the table, Wickham pulled out his phone and tested the recording. The voices were muffled, since he’d kept the device in the folds of his sash, but the gist was there. He needn’t rely completely on his memory, then.

They listened whilst they drank, in case the recording had missed something. It hadn’t.

Kitch slapped the table. “Ye should have had the bastard pose with his book, so we’d ken what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Nay. After four hundred years, who kens what form it might take.” Wickham turned his empty shot glass and peered into the facets as the light moved in and out of them. “He’ll have left me a clue somehow. Despite the burnin’ of Muirsglen, he’d have left me somethin’. Somewhere only ye or I would find.”

“In the tunnel, ye reckon?”

Wickham shook his head. “If he’d have been there in the past decade, I’d have sensed it when I was last there. I’m the only one who’s disturbed the dust since I sealed it for the Rosses. Nay,” he said again. “I’ll rest my brain for a day or two, with my family, and when I come back, I’ll sift through every conversation. It’ll be there.”

He sent the recording to Kitch’s number, gave him permission to share it with the rest of the team, then popped them both back to Hope House. As soon as Kitch stepped away from him, Wickham popped out again, to find that stretch of beach where Ivy’s tanned feet would be buried in the sand.

When he emerged from the trees, where he’d supposedly gone to take a piss, his wife wasn’t happy to see him. Neither were his sons.

* * *

Sitting in the living room,I was shocked to see Kitch coming down the staircase. That meant they’d survived the trip. It meant we wouldn’t have to try to save the world without Wickham.

I hurried out the door and searched the stairs as I ran into Kitch’s open arms. “Where’s Wickham?”

“Nice to see ye too, Lennon,” he laughed. “He’s with his family for a bit.”

“For a bit? He’s going to make us wait?”

Kitch wagged his brows and pulled out his phone. “Nay. There’s a recordin’.”

Relief escaped me in a whoosh from my lungs. Wickham had promised he’d ask the Grandfather aboutcloch realtas, and I thought I’d go out of my mind waiting. After our fearless leader’s parting words, I’d been preparing myself for a long week of torture possibly ending in disaster. Less than half a day later, I was already a mess.

I would have never made it.

“We’ll play it after dinner, shall we?”

---