“The Guardian of the Slap,” Sir Andrew said, and the name hung like a curse in the air.
“Yes, Sir Andrew,” Sim agreed. “A dark guardian.”
“I’ll rest here tonight,” Sir Andrew decided, “and leave at first light.”
“God keep you safe, Sir Andrew,” Isabel said.
* * *
Eleanor was tired when she woke and realised she had been digging her nails into her hands again. She sighed at the semicircles of blood on her palms, glanced over at the sleeping Thomas and lifted one of the books from her bedside table. A moment later, she scratched a match and lit the gas light at the head of the bed, for electricity had not yet reached the Wardlaw Inn.
Thomas woke half an hour later, yawned, scratched his head, and sat up. “What are you reading, sister-of-mine?”
“What do you know about crows, Thomas?” E
