Ronan kept walking even after the streets he knew from Percy's memories fell away behind him. The buildings grew older and pressed closer together, the lanes narrower and slick with old filth that the daytime crowds had left behind.
Percy's memories stopped being much use for finding his way. Every so often he had to pause at a corner, trying to recall which way led toward the small room Percy called home. The night air had turned colder here, carrying a damp bite that sank into his skin.
He turned down another dim passage and came to what looked like a spot where people dumped their waste. Wooden bins leaned against the wall, some split at the seams, with broken chairs and torn sacks scattered around them.
The smell rose thick and sour. Moonlight reached this patch better than most places, so Ronan pulled out the pocket watch, checked the time under the pale red glow, and saw it was already eight. Later than he had meant to be out.
He slipped the watch away and told himself that if he had stopped for a drink the way Percy usually did, he would have been even later anyway. The thought eased him a little. He could afford to look around a bit more.
Then a sound reached him from farther down the alley. Low at first, almost lost under the city's distant hum, but it sharpened as he stood still. A growl, followed by something that sounded like a weak, broken cry. Ronan's scalp prickled.
His body went stiff before he could think. For a second he wanted to turn and walk the other way.
This was not the world he had come from, and strange noises in dark alleys were not things a sane man went toward.
But he had already decided he would not do only what Percy would have done. He swallowed, set his jaw, and told himself it would be just a quick look.
He moved forward slowly, eyes moving over the shadows. Part of him still hoped it was nothing but stray dogs fighting over scraps.
You could insert it just after:
> He moved forward slowly, eyes moving over the shadows. Part of him still hoped it was nothing but stray dogs fighting over scraps.
Like this:
> He moved forward slowly, eyes moving over the shadows. Part of him still hoped it was nothing but stray dogs fighting over scraps.
His foot suddenly came down on something soft.
Ronan froze and instinctively jerked his boot back. Whatever it was had burst beneath his weight with a wet, unpleasant squish. Something sticky clung to the sole.
"Damn it."
The smell hit him a moment later.
It was awful.
Thick and rotten, strong enough to make his nose wrinkle. He glanced down, but the darkness hid whatever he had stepped on. For a few seconds he stood there trying to place the scent, convinced he should recognize it from somewhere, yet nothing came to mind except the certainty that it was foul.
Grimacing, he scraped the bottom of his boot against the stones. The sticky mess refused to come off.
After a brief search he spotted an old rug lying among a heap of discarded rubbish. Time and weather had reduced it to little more than a stained patch of fabric, but it was better than nothing.
Ronan walked over and rubbed his boot against it with far more force than necessary. Once then twice and Again. But he was descreet with it .
The smell lingered, though not quite as strongly as before.
Muttering under his breath, he gave the sole one last violent scrape across the rug and stepped away. Whatever it had been, he wanted no part of it.
He continued forward, attention returning to the strange sounds deeper within the alley.
When he reached the turn he did not step out into the open.
That would have been foolish. Instead he found a crack in the old wall beside him, leaned in, and looked through.
At first he saw only shifting darkness and vague shapes struggling. He frowned, ready to pull back. The clouds moved overhead and more of the crimson moonlight spilled into the alley. What he saw then made his breath catch and hold.
A figure stood there, or lingered, because it did not quite stand the way a person should.
The shape looked like a man in torn clothing, yet parts of it seemed to fade and return under the light, as if smoke had been forced into a human outline and was already trying to drift apart.
Its eyes glowed dark red. The weak cries came clearer now. The thing was dragging something heavy across the stones.
Ronan's mind went blank for a moment. Every part of him shouted to stay still. Whatever that was, it was not human.
He began to ease away from the crack, one careful step at a time, repeating the same words inside his head. Don't notice me. Don't notice me.
Cold sweat gathered along his spine. His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. He no longer cared what was being dragged. Getting out alive mattered more.
He lifted his foot for the next step back and felt something solid stop him. Not the wall. A person. His body locked. Slowly he turned his head.
A man stood there in a black overcoat and formal suit, a curved pipe held in one gloved hand. Ronan knew the face at once. The older investigator from the hospital room. For several long seconds his thoughts would not line up.
Why was the man here? How long had he been standing behind him? Had he been followed the whole way?
Ronan stared, the creature in the alley suddenly forgotten. The investigator only glanced at him, then looked past toward the crack in the wall. His face stayed calm, almost bored. When he spoke, he did not lower his voice.
"You should leave, Mister Percy."
The growl inside the alley cut off at once.