Sweet Things Dying - Chapter XVI

In which Cole risks losing his quarry to the sea...

XVI

The morning brought a pavement-coloured sky and a knife-edged westerly wind that pushed thick mists down from the countryside and let them settle, like sleeping ghosts, over the red-peaked houses around the harbour. The rain had stopped but the roadways stayed slick. Lights began to flicker to life in the huddled, cliff-side houses and the tarry scent of coalsmoke, swept up by the rolling mists, choked out the earthy dawn air.

Cole stretched. His joints popped. He was hungry and out of cigarettes.

A few sailors sauntered out of the inn. The ashen light allowed him to confirm that none were Thorne.

It was five-thirty when Thorne, in peaked cap and with a red kerchief around his neck, and wearing a heavy dark coat and oilskins, stepped out. With head bowed he started down the lane.

Cole followed.

The laneway, at times little more than shoulder-width across, turned and sloped all the way down to the mouth of the Esk, where it opened on to the West Pier. Thorne stopped at the bottom, yawned and stretched and looked length-wise along the pier. He made left, toward the harbour and the foam-lined crests of the North Sea beyond.

Cole crept to the end of the lane, giving Thorne several seconds to move on. Across the harbour, along the East Cliff, the houses showed as vague shadows. Above them, the crumbling body of the centuries old abbey with its graveyard of lichen-etched tombstones loomed over the town. Cole was transfixed by it. At times the arched and ruined stonework of the abbey was there; then, as the grey mists rolled through, it would suddenly vanish in a display of eerie magic.

He snapped back to his task before Thorne vanished.

A blast of icy spray hit Cole as he exited the laneway. Salt stung the back of his throat. He was grateful to see Thorne enter a coffee-scented tavern near the end of the pier. Even from outside, he could hear that it was busy. He should be able to bury himself amongst the two dozen or more other men inside taking their breakfast.

From a table across the wide, straw-covered floor, he was able to conceal himself with a view of Thorne. He ordered coffee, fried eggs, sausage and toast, and a handful of cigarettes, picking through his food with a constant eye fixed on his quarry.