Page 62 of Fortune's Ashes
The old pixie, whose dog continued to be oblivious to the chatter, piped up. ‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I’ve donated.’ She patted my arm. ‘We’re with you. And we’re all hoping those two boys of yours recover.’
Abruptly, I realised that the people on the street had been staring at me not because they were horrified at what they thought I might have done but because they were horrified at what had happened to Supe Squad. Hot tears welled up in the back of my throat. This was unexpected,whollyunexpected.
‘Thank you,’ I managed. ‘Both of you. Thank you. I needed that right now.’
The young goblin’s cheeks coloured. The pixie merely nodded briskly. ‘You’re looking for information about Quincy Carmichael, right?’ she asked.
I blinked in surprise. ‘Yes.’
She smiled at me. ‘Word gets around,’ she said. She pointed towards the end of the street. ‘He used to work out of number forty-three. I know you’ll likely check in there no matter what I say, but the people working there now didn’t know Quincy at all. When he disappeared, it was the folk from the cobblers over the road who moved into the premises. They moved again a few years back because they needed somewhere bigger.’
The goblin youth spoke up. ‘You should check with the café at the corner as well. It’s owned by a goblin couple who’ve been there for decades. They knew Quincy Carmichael too – they told me he used to go there every day for his lunch.’
All this intel would save me valuable time. I opened my mouth to thank them once again but, before I could, my vision lurched and black spots appeared in front of my eyes. The images came swift and fast, flickering through my brain at lightning speed. The teenage goblin. A bike. A cat running across the road. An old oak tree. A sickening thud echoed through my ears followed by a flash of the boy lying on the ground, his eyes staring sightlessly upwards and a trickle of blood dribbling onto the cracked pavement from the side of his skull.
I staggered to the side and immediately threw up. Squashed chunks of banana infused with bile splattered by my feet. The goblin placed a tentative hand on my back. ‘Are you okay?’
I sucked in several shallow gulps of air and waited for the worst of the nausea to pass. When I straightened up and looked across the road, I spotted the bicycle chained to the lamp post behind the bus stop where the goblin’s friends were waiting. It was the bike from my vision.
I whirled around and met his eyes. ‘Listen to me. This is important.’ I pointed at the bike. ‘You do not get on that thingeverif you are not wearing a helmet.’
He took a step back, clearly confused both by my public vomiting and my abrupt change of subject. ‘How…’ he stammered. ‘How did you know that was my bike?’
I didn’t take my eyes from his face. ‘Do you hear me? You never cycle anywhere without a helmet. Not ever.’
The young goblin seemed to think I was reprimanding him. ‘I usually wear one,’ he said. ‘I just forgot it this time.’ His gaze shifted. ‘Okay, maybe I forgot it a few times. My mum’s always on at me but—’ His voice trailed off and he shrugged.
I wagged my finger in his face. ‘You wheel that bike home and don’t get back on it until you have that helmet securely fastened to your skull. And youneverforget it again.’ I glared at him. ‘Promise me.’
He licked his lips. ‘I promise.’
‘I mean it,’ I said. ‘If I find out you’ve not been wearing it, even once, then—’
He backed further away. ‘I’ll wear it.’ He looked at his friends. ‘I should go now. The bus is about to come. I won’t get on the bike when I come back. I won’t.’
‘Good.’
He sent me another anxious look then he ran across the road without checking for traffic. I ground my teeth.
The pixie, whose experience was obviously telling her more than I wanted her to know, gave me a thoughtful look followed by an approving nod. ‘I best be on my way, love,’ she said. ‘We’re all thinking of you and your friends.’ She tugged on the dog’s lead and together they wandered away, just as the goblin’s bus finally appeared and he clambered aboard with his mates.
I looked at the bike against the lamppost. I could have walked across and removed it, leaving the kid without it and the mortal danger it presented, but he might have another one at home or he might borrow a friend’s bike. He might realise that I’d removed the bike and ride without a helmet out of resentment. Taking the bike away from him wasn’t the answer, but the order I’d given him was.
I reached into my bag and found an old receipt and the stub of a pencil covered in fluff. Perfect. I scribbled a note.No riding without a helmet. I will be watching!I marched across the road, tucked the note onto the handlebars where he’d be sure to see it and gave a satisfied nod.
Barber seemed certain I’d helped the tour guide who’d been attacked. I’d have to pray that my note would be enough to help the goblin and that my visions weren’t flashes of an immutable future.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The old pixie was perfectly correct about the premises that Quincy Carmichael’s string of businesses used to occupy; the owners of the gift shop that now operated from the space had barely heard of him. I was in and out of there within three minutes flat. The old-fashioned cobblers were more helpful; for one thing, they’d been Quincy’s neighbours before they’d taken over the shop – and they were also gremlins.
‘I wouldn’t say we were close friends,’ the proprietor, Reginald Dooley, told me, ‘but I knew him well enough. He was polite and well-mannered, even when he was at his lowest. He always made me think of the sort of lad who would flog you slightly stale apples that he’d nicked from somebody’s tree, but would help you carry those apples home and peel them for you. He wasn’t a bad chap. I always wondered what had happened to him.’
I picked up an old, scuffed shoe from the counter and absently looked it over before returning it to its place. ‘Did you see many of his customers when he ran the dating agency?’
‘A few. I thought that he didn’t have many clients, but my wife told me that most of them came late at night when it was already dark.’ He pursed his lips. ‘I guess they were a bit embarrassed to be using a dating agency. I don’t know why. It’s pretty normal nowadays.’
Beatrice, Reginald’s wife, looked up from the leather she was working on. ‘A lot of the people who used that agency were looking for something a bit unusual,’ she said in a judgmental tone. ‘Unnatural couplings, that sort of thing.’
