William Monk 05 - The Sins of the Wolf

streetlamp, and again looking at his watch, Deirdra appeared, creeping like a shadow out of the side gate. After a brief, intense exchange, but no overt gesture of affection, they turned away from the house and, side by side, walked rapidly across the grass and down Glenfinlas Street south, exactly the same way Eilish had gone.
    This time Monk kept well behind them, which was not difficult because they moved extremely rapidly. For a small woman, Deirdra had a remarkable stride, and did not seem to tire, almost as if something lay ahead of her which filled her with energy and enthusiasm. Monk also stopped and turned around several times to make sure he was not being followed. He still remembered with pain his previous foray along here after Eilish.
    He could see no one, apart from two youths going in the opposite direction, a black dog scavenging in the gutter, and a drunk propped against the wall and beginning to slide down.
    There was a light wind with a smell of grime and damp on it, and overhead thin clouds darkened the three-quarter moon. Between the pools of the streetlamps the spaces melted into impenetrable shadow. The great mound of thecastle towering above them and to the left showed a jagged, now-familiar line against the paler sky.
    Deirdra and the man turned left into the Grassmarket. The pavement was narrower here and the five-story buildings made the street seem like the bottom of a deep ravine. There was little sound but that of footsteps, muffled by damp and echo, and the occasional shout, bang of a door or gate, and now and again horses’ hooves as some late traveler passed.
    The Grassmarket was only a few hundred yards long, then it turned into Cowgate until it crossed South Bridge, running parallel to Canongate, and turned into Holyrood Road. To the right lay the Pleasance and Dumbiedykes, to the left the High Street, the Royal Mile, and eventually Holyrood Palace. In between was an endless maze of alleys and yards, passages between buildings, steps up and steps down, a thousand nooks and doorways.
    Monk increased his pace. Where on earth was Deirdra going? Her pace had not slackened at all, nor had she glanced behind her.
    Ahead of him Deirdra and the man crossed the road and abruptly disappeared.
    Monk swore and ran forward, tripping over a cobble and all but losing his balance. A dog sleeping in a doorway stirred, growled, and then lowered its head again.
    Candlemaker Row. He swung around the corner and was just in time to see Deirdra and the man as they passed the beginning of the graveyard to the right, stop, hesitate barely a moment, then go into one of the vast, shadowy buildings to the left.
    Monk ran after them, reaching the spot only minutes after they had gone. At first he could see no entrance. The street walls and high wooden gates were a seamless barrier against intrusion.
    But they had been here, and now they were not. Something had yielded to their touch. Step by step he moved along, pushing gently, until under his weight one woodengate swung open just enough to allow him to squeeze inside and to find himself in a cobbled yard facing a building something like a barn. Yellow gaslight streamed from the cracks around an ill-fitting door which would have let through a horse and dray, were it open.
    He moved forward gingerly, feeling every step before putting his weight down. He did not want to brush against something and set off an alarm. He had no idea where he was, or what manner of place to expect, or even who else might be inside.
    He reached the door in silence and peered in through the wide crack. The sight that met his eyes was so extraordinary, so wildly fanciful and absurd, he stared at it for several minutes before his brain accepted its reality. It was a huge shed, big enough to have built a boat in, except that the structure that crouched in the center of the floor was surely never intended to sail. It had no keel and no possible place for masts. It would have resembled a running chicken, but it had no legs. Its body was large enough for a full-grown man to sit inside, and the wings were outspread as if it fully intended to take off and fly. It seemed to be constructed primarily of wood and canvas. There was some kind of machinery where the heart would have been, were it a real bird.
    But more incredible, if anything could be, was Deirdra Farraline, dressed in old clothes, a leather apron over her gown, thick leather gloves over her small, strong hands, her hair scraped