“Yeah. For now. How are Harald and his mate?”
“Her name’s Karin. Poor kid, too scared to even talk, but she seems relieved to be here. They’re safe, still resting. I’ve got someone staying with them who’s very good at this sort of thing.”
“Good.” I sighed.
Caleb knew his way around the city and steered confidently through the maze of streets. I was lost in moments. Nothing in this city was set up on grids. I imagined London’s citizens laying out medieval streets based on curving them around random trees, barrels, horses, whatever, that they didn’t want to bother moving. What other explanation could there be? He managed to avoid the worst of the evening traffic, until we were on a wide—even relatively straight—highway. The central congestion of the city gave way to suburbs, parks, industrial sections, dockyards. I caught glimpses of the river now and then, a wide, dark band reflecting lights.
The phone rang. Now I hear from everyone. “Hello?”
“Kitty. Ned here. We have some catching up to do, I think.”
“Yeah. I don’t even know where to start.”
“I’m hearing some very odd rumors. Did you really rescue those two wolves from Njal?”
“I guess we did,” I said, bemused.
“I’m getting visits, calls—foreign Masters wanting to know if I’ve really withdrawn neutrality, why Masterless wolves are running around, why their own wolves are standing up to them, asking them to keep out of the war. They’ve been talking to each other, haven’t they? And Vidal of St. Petersburg asked if I’ve really killed Roman. I admit I was cagey with him, and he seemed so pleased … Whatever you did this morning has everyone flustered.”
I closed my eyes, enjoying a second’s worth of victory. No one knew what was happening—our enemies couldn’t unite. We’d bought ourselves time. Maybe even allies. Any of the Masters who’d been waiting to see who was stronger in the coming conflict might side with Ned, now.
“I hope … I hope this works out,” I said.
“‘Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage,’” he said. “Where are you and your pack now?”
“In a car with Caleb, heading east to look for a friend who’s gone missing.”
“Your Sergeant Tyler, yes? What happened?”
“He was kidnapped out of his hotel room earlier this afternoon. We’re following a lead that says they’ve taken him to Creekmouth.”
“That isn’t good.”
“That’s what Caleb says.”
“You’ll need help.”
“Any you can spare. But you’ll never get there in time, they have a huge head start, it’s miles away—”
“Oh, have no fear at all about that.” His tone held a wicked smile.
“What—”
He hung up. I stared at my phone.
“That was Ned,” Ben said, a statement. “What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, frowning. I wanted to blame my exhaustion and muzzy-headedness on jet lag but wasn’t sure I still could, a week later.
While I’d talked to Ned, Caleb had gotten a call, and had driven the last mile or so with his phone pressed to his ear. He put it in a pocket and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I think we’ve found him. But we don’t have a lot of time.”
“What? Why not, what’s happening?”
“I told you there’s a shipping dock—they may be trying to smuggle him out of the country.”
Chapter 22
WE LEFT the highway and turned into a clutter of warehouses. This wasn’t the pretty postcard, touristy part of London. This was east of the city, along the river, past the bridges and castles and giant Ferris wheel and twenty-first-century development. London was still a busy international port, full of big steel warehouses, concrete docks, cranes, industrial sites, refineries. It seemed otherworldly, like we’d entered some industrial hell. A dystopian Terry Gilliam film.