A door in the wall to her left crashed open. Two maids hurried through, carrying trays of used pots and jugs. They glanced at Flick, plastered back against the wall, but they didn't stop-they rushed on, down the corridor.
Flick dragged in a breath, steadied her pounding heart, and determin
edly stepped to the door. It opened easily.
It gave onto a narrow cobbled area around the corner from the courtyard. From her left, noise rolled out and away, into the dark; the flickering flares made little impact on the night beyond.
Closing the door behind her, Flick faced Angel Hill.
Unfortunately, the cobbled area was used to house crates and barrels; it had been extended away from the inn, encroaching on the flank of the hill, where it ended in a high retaining wall. The only way she could gain the hillside and follow Bletchley was to skirt around to her left, cutting through the area dimly lit by the flares.
And risking someone-some man in the courtyard-seeing her.
Flick hesitated. Her back to the wall, safe in her dark cloak in the shadows, she thought of Demon, and Dillon, and the unknown syndicate.
Then she thought of the General.
Drawing a deep breath, she straightened and stepped away from the wall.
She didn't look back-didn't risk the light gleaming on her face or hands. She walked quickly and silently across, skirting the low bushes edging the courtyard and onto the lowest slope of Angel Hill.
Without pause, she walked on, even after the light of the flares had died behind her. Only when the night had swallowed her up and the noise of the courtyard was fading did she stop, draw a deep, reviving breath, and exhale with relief. Then, lifting her skirts, sending fervent thanks to her guardian angel, she hurried on. In Bletchley's wake.
After arranging stabling for Ivan with The Angel's harassed grooms, Demon strolled under the arch separating the courtyard from the stable yard. He stopped and scanned the scene just as Flick appeared briefly in the weak light of the flares on the rising ground on the far side of the courtyard. If he hadn't been looking for her, if she hadn't taken complete possession of his mind, he would have seen nothing more than the outline of a swinging cloak, a shadow against the deeper shadows of the night.
As matters stood, that was enough-he knew it was Flick.
He didn't know where she was going, but that wasn't hard to guess. Swallowing his curses-saving them for later-he stepped into the crowd.
And immediately, inwardly, cursed some more.
He couldn't race after her.
He had more than a few friends there-he'd known of the fight, and would probably have attended if he hadn't been so busy with Flick and her syndicate. His friends, of course, thought he'd come to join them.
"Demon!"
"You took your time. Where're you staying?"
"So-who've you got your money on?"
Adopting an expression of fashionable boredom on his face, Demon answered at random.
If his friends saw him striding into the night, they might follow out of idle curiosity. There was, however, an even greater danger. Many of the young bloods, bucks and blades considered him a man to emulate. If they saw him racing off up Angel Hill, they might send up a hue and cry, and then Flick would find herself enacting the role of fox pursued by a pack of slavering hounds.
Wonderful. This time, Demon vowed, he would strangle her.
After he rescued her from whatever danger she was so determinedly marching into.
Mentally gritting his teeth, he smiled and joked; gradually, he made his way to the far side of the courtyard. Only by telling one friend that he was going to join another did he manage to progress at all.
He caught sight of Gillies in the throng; it was instantly apparent his henchman had problems of his own. Demon considered, but detaching Gillies from his mates without attracting attention would prove difficult, and he didn't have the time. Flick had long since disappeared.
Finally reaching the bushes bordering the cobbles, Demon paused to scan the throng. He shifted his weight, first this way, then that, then frowned, turned, surveyed the bushes, then stepped through them. Hopefully, anyone who'd seen him would imagine he was merely caught short and looking to relieve himself.
He walked, definitely but with no panic, out of the circle of the flares.
Then he strode out.