Someone was looking for the sisters. Andrew couldn’t guess who it might be, but it had to be someone with enough money to hire a detective for the job.

That, or the detective was just as good a liar as Andrew was.

Andrew didn’t know which possibility was more terrifying. He focused on getting home for now. Each second out here was beginning to feel like strolling by the mouth of a hungry lion. Andrew picked up the pace, but with how wet the ground had become, he kept stumbling. His mind wanted him to move faster, to flee, take him out of this place and back behind the safety of obsidian walls, but his legs couldn't keep up. Andrew fought the fear that the detective could be following. He knew the quickest way to give himself away was to make it seem like he had something to hide, so he deliberately slowed his pace.

Andrew made it past the sycamores and carried on past stone-laid houses with brightly lit windows. He glanced inside some of them, only to wish he hadn’t. Gathered around candle-lit tables and smoking hearths, he saw families and children, lovers and elderly alike, their faces smiling and mouths full of food. It was still too early for wintry dishes, but the rain gave the perfect excuse for steaming stews and fire-kissed potatoes.

Andrew pulled himself away. Again, his legs betrayed him. They wouldn’t move.

Stop, Andrew said firmly to himself. Remember the Doctor’s teachings. "Want not the life reserved for the lower people. Ours is a calling not yet worshiped."

The words did their job. Andrew turned away, only to see a man emerging through the curtain of rain.

But it wasn’t the detective. This time, it was a constable. The man had a rounded black cap and a long baton hanging by his belt.

“Get away from them windows, boy,” he said, voice ringing through the empty streets. “Quickly now, come on.”

Andrew did as he was told. He stood out in the rain and looked into the constable’s hard face. “I was just looking,” he said.

“Looking is a crime in some places, boy,” the constable said.

“Only when it’s a place you shouldn’t be at in the first place,” Andrew argued.

The constable’s hand went to his belt. “That so?” he said. “Well now, see, if you ask my buddy here if a boy ought to be peeping into anyone’s homes on a raining evening, I’m afraid he will be saying no.”

Andrew took a step back. “Look, officer, I’m not-”

“Don’t tell me to look!” The constable advanced with his baton out. “What’s your name, kid? Where do you live? What are you really doing out here?”

Andrew’s mind reeled at the questions. He was exhausted from his dealings with the smoking detective, and now this? It was too much.

“I’m a traveling merchant.” He tried to come up with another lie but he was mixing up his stories. “My parents have a boat on the docks.”

“Show it to me,” the constable demanded. “I would like a word with them.”

“Yes sir,” Andrew said. He started walking towards the docks, keeping his head down as he brushed past the constable. Then, as the constable was holstering his baton, Andrew threw his weight into him, knocking the man off balance before taking off into a dead sprint down the street.

“Hey!”

Andrew put his head down and barreled through the rain. His feet crashed into puddles and slid across the cobblestone. Behind him, he could hear the constable’s yelling growing quiet. He was leaving the man behind.

Then, a sharp whistle blow ignited the night, shattering whatever peace darkness brought.

“Stop!”

Andrew pumped his legs harder. Rain lashed against his face and arms. He could see the end of the street, the sand which bordered the ocean. Freedom. With a final burst of speed, Andrew threw himself out onto the docks, only to skid to a stop at the sight of two more black dome caps.

The two constables were standing on the edge of the docks. Both were turning towards Andrew, no doubt having just heard the whistle call. One of them was armed with a baton, but the other had a holster.

Andrew didn’t stop to think. His words won’t help him now. He dug into the sand and took off running, straight towards the two men.

The constables, no doubt confused by the sight of a boy charging full speed at them, didn’t seem to know exactly what to do. Andrew took this chance and reached into his coat pocket for the leather case.

The constable with the baton reacts first. He stepped in front of Andrew’s path and held his hands out as if to catch a rabbit. Andrew drew out a needle and stuck it into the man’s arms as he crashed into them. The constable gave a yell as he stumbled back. Andrew felt himself pitching forward as the constable’s legs gave out. They both crashed to the ground. Andrew let momentum aid him and slid out of the constable’s loose grip, reaching the other constable. Then before the man could think to jump away, Andrew stuck him in the leg with his second needle.

“Argh! You little cretin!” The constable lurched towards Andrew to try and grab him, but his body continued to lean forward and soon he was falling face-first onto the dock. As the man hit the ground, a crack of thunder rolled through the sky. Andrew felt his shoulder tensing, the muscles going hard like stone. He got up, looked down and saw his arm painted in red. Blood was flowing down him in waves but Andrew didn’t spend a moment longer to see where it was coming from. The two constables were trying to crawl. He had to go.

Andrew heard a whistle. The first constable was barging out from between the houses, rain flying behind him as he ran. Andrew turned and raced for his sailboat. It was still moored in the place he left it. He jumped in and grabbed the oars, putting all his strength into them.

Pain dug into his right shoulder. Andrew groaned and dropped the oars. He heard shouting. The two men were getting up. The one with the gun raised it. This time Andrew saw the flash, the thunder half a breath behind. A piece of the stern blew past, splinters grazing Andrew’s cheek. He picked up the oars again.

Shots rang out. One after another. Stars expanded across Andrew’s vision. He kept his head down. He heard the zinging of bullets, the explosion of wood. He felt the damage being done to his boat through the vibrations traveling along his body. He kept rowing and rowing, long after the shots and men were lost on the horizon. Andrew kept rowing until his shoulder locked up and the pain was shooting fire into his joints. Then, at last, he stopped.

The water was silent. Moonlight glanced across its wavering surface. The rain had stopped. Andrew untied the sail and let the wind carry him further away from shore. It was a heavy northern breeze. He should see the island by dawn. Sitting back down, Andrew carefully peeled back his clothes, hissing as the wound in his shoulder stung anew. Slowly, he prodded the swelling flesh with his fingers, trying to work out the extent and size of the bullet hole. Andrew reached back and felt the back of his shoulder, finding to his relief an exit wound the width of a coin.

Good. The bullet passed through him. Now, he just needed to stop the bleeding.

Andrew was already beginning to feel lightheaded. Holding onto the sides of the boat, he went into the cramped crawlspace that acted as a cockpit and fished inside until he found a black bag. He opened it and dumped its contents onto the deck. Gags, blindfolds, handcuffs, and a blanket. Andrew nearly laughed at the sight. Should the two constables had actually gone into his boat and found these, they wouldn’t have hesitated to take him.

Wind whipped across the boat’s sails. Andrew felt the waves swelling. A storm was coming. But it was still days away, and he’d be safe in the castle by then. If he can get back alive tonight. Andrew grabbed the handcuffs and pulled them apart, then combining them with the blindfolds Andrew made a sort of tourniquet around his shoulder. He then bound the whole joint up with the leather gags and prayed that it was enough to keep him from bleeding out.

Then with the wind carrying his sailboat deep into the open waters, Andrew curled up in the cotton blanket and tried to get some rest.