Tyler Kyle's Arc

Chapter 3 of 7

The smoke from the tin bowl was still thin in the air when Obsqora's aardvark ears twitched toward the willow. She hissed a warning under her breath. Tyler heard it too — boots in the leaves, more than one pair, working a line through the trees behind the hut. A hunter patrol, sweeping for the cardinal that never came home. Faster than he'd guessed. If they found him at the witch's door, the whole plan burned with him. "Out," Obsqora said. She jabbed a long finger past the vinegar kitchen, toward a narrow side yard. "Iron cover in the weeds. Goes under the lane. Move." Tyler moved. He shoved through the willow branches and found it in the grass — a heavy round sewer hatch, rust bleeding along its rim, a patterned cross stamped into the cast iron. He crouched and hooked his fingers into the notches. The lid weighed more than he did. He braced, pulled, and it lifted a hand's width. Boots crunched closer on the other side of the hut. "Bird's harness was hunter-issue," a flat voice said past the wall. "Somebody grounded it here." Tyler knew that voice. He had heard it three nights back at the market cart, calm and short-worded, calling out his sketch. Angello Fredricksen. The hunter who did not let go. Tyler's stomach cinched. He set his shoulder against the hatch and heaved. It scraped open enough for a body. "Check the willow," Angello said. "Now." Tyler dropped his legs through the hole and let the rest of him follow. He caught the underside of the lid with both hands and dragged it back over. It settled into the rim with a dull clang. He froze on the rungs. Above, boots stopped over the metal. One set. Angello. Tyler could hear him breathing through his nose, slow, thinking. A gloved hand tested the lid. It did not lift. The seal had dropped clean. "Grate's rusted shut," Angello said to someone farther off. "Years. Check the back fence." The boots moved away. Tyler climbed down into the wet dark. The tunnel smelled of standing water and cold brick. He waited until the footsteps overhead were gone, then walked. His hands stayed in his jacket pockets. He counted turns. He had wanted the missing cardinal to be a spark between the factions. Instead it had pulled a hunter straight to Obsqora's door — and Angello Fredricksen had a face for Tyler's now, and a lane he could not use again. The witch was burned as a safe stop. The tunnels were his only road above ground was closed. But Angello had come alone from that faction's side of the woods. The other two factions had not shown. That meant the cardinal had reached the wrong den, and the wrong den had answered. The tinder had caught. Tyler kept walking.