Page 9 of Once a Villain
Three
They hurried through the back door, emerging onto a narrow lane bordered on one side by dark shops, and on the other by the rear wall of the pub.
A signpost readingRavencroft Marketpointed north. Last time, the Serpentine Inn had been something like an Inn of Court—a complex of housing and shops. That seemed true in this timeline too.
Joan followed the sign, walking quickly. All she could see, though, was the receptionist’s face, his slight frown. “Do you think that receptionist recognized me from the poster?”
“Shit,” Aaron hissed, stopping in his tracks. In two long strides, he was at the pub wall, tearing something from the brick. Joan glimpsed her own face before Aaron viciously crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
Joan drew a sharp breath. There were more posters all over the pub’s back wall. Strangers stared at her, terrified, furious, pleading.Wanted for... Executed for...
“That picture didn’t lookthatmuch like you,” Jamie said to Joan reassuringly.
Maybe he was right. There’d been something off about the illustration—as if the artist had drawn Joan from a secondhand account. “They should have commissioned a Liu,” she said, andJamie quirked his mouth.Hecould have drawn a photo-accurate version.
“They got your eyes wrong,” Aaron agreed, sounding serious. “And your mouth is more...”
Joan waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. “More what?” she said. To her surprise, he reddened a little in the darkness.
“It looks enough like you,” Nick said tightly.
From the outside, the Ravencroft Market looked just as it had in the previous timeline—above a grand arch, the name was carved in stone, surrounded by birds and curling leaves.
At the entrance, a map, rendered on a metal plate, showed the internal structure of the building. It was shaped like a wheel, with a central hub and corridors jutting out like spokes. The corridors seemed to be accommodation, and the center circle a covered market.
Joan pulled out the cardboard envelope with their room key. The receptionist—Ronan—had writtenCorridor 1, Room 14on the front.
As they walked in, the flooring changed from stone to a black-and-white mosaic of ravens, surrounded by feathered twirls. An encircled number1appeared at intervals between the birds—the corridor number, Joan guessed.
It was a long corridor, and it ended up ahead in a huge circular space, with a great dome above it. Black ravens had been worked into the glass. At night, it was dour, but during the day, it must have been magnificent—reminiscent, maybe,of the Reading Room at the British Museum.
“Our room must be up there.” Nick indicated balconied mezzanines on the floor above. He examined the numbered doors along the mezzanines. “They’re organized like a street of houses. Odd numbers at the left; even on the right.”
They found a tightly coiled wrought-iron staircase, and hurried upstairs. “Room fourteen...,” Aaron murmured as they reached the next level.
A swell of sound from below made them all pull back against the shelter of the wall. Half a dozen people were tottering through the corridor toward the market, chirping high, tipsy laughs. Most had tattoos on their hands and arms: griffins and elm trees.
“I thought the Griffiths and Argents were enemies,” Joan whispered.
“Theyare,” Ruth murmured. “They hate each other even more than the Olivers and Hunts.”
“It’s because Argents train themselves to resist Griffith power,” Jamie said. “They’re practically immune.”
One of the Argent girls playfully pushed a Griffith boy, making him laugh.
Ruth made a face. “Oh, that isunnatural.”
“The alliances must have changed,” Joan whispered. A thought occurred to her. “What if the Olivers and Hunts actually like each other in this timeline? What if we’re allies here?”
For a second, Ruth and Aaron had identical horrified expressions. Aaron broke first. “I think this world is bad enough without creating even worse scenarios,” he said severely. And then—apparently to prevent further speculation—he trompeddown the corridor toward their room.
Joan started to follow him, and then hesitated, thinking again of the receptionist’s expression.Hadhe clocked her? Instead of following Aaron, she went to room 2 and knocked. “Cleaning service!” she called.
What are you doing?Aaron mouthed from the other end of the corridor. Joan listened at the door. No sound. She knocked again. “Cleaning service!”
Ruth came over, unrolling her soft leather case of picks. Within seconds she’d picked the lock.
“That’s someone else’s room!” Aaron whispered, jogging over.
