CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Black News

The Walker paced back and forth on the corner of Bury Street and St. James’s Court. His hands were clasped behind his back, and as he walked, his head was cricked to one side, watching himself.

He was looking at his reflection in the highly polished black granite stone adorning the corner of the building.

The edge of the building had been sculpted so that a stylized steamship appeared to be plowing its way out of the corner and into the street. The Walker let his hand trail over the frozen bow wave the boat was making—a V of tight stone curls peeling off the facade like black wood shavings.

The Raven sat patiently, watching him from its perch on the bowsprit of the boat, the only thing blacker than the granite around it, apart from its eyes. The eyes flickered, and then the Raven hopped on to the Walker’s shoulders.

“The eyes of Tallyman have seen something?” hissed the Walker.

The bird clacked its beak in the Walker’s ear.

The Walker listened and then nodded. “Puddle Dock, they say?”

He turned on his heel and walked back in the other direction.

“A glint walking down Puddle Dock, seeking succor or knowledge would likely be on her way to see a friar. A Black Friar.”

The Walker ran his hands over the black mirrored surface, as if testing it. Then he turned away with a snap.

“Black is a lucky color. Tell the Tallyman where she is bound. Now that she is found, it would pain me to have her lost again.”