Deciding it was too dangerous to linger at the ruined camp, they gathered what supplies they could carry and traveled through the night cradled in the sturdy arms of the forest guardians. The tree spirits rolled like thunder across the wide, open tundra, never slowing, never stopping, and by dawn they could see the skyline of the city silhouetted against the horizon.
"There it is," Rollan called out.
As they drew closer, Claire could make out dozens of turrets towering over the landscape. They varied in size and each one was topped with a round, spherical dome. Upon each dome was a long, iron spike that she assumed once bore colorful flags or other decor when the city was in its prime.
As the sun rose higher, she could see that the towers had once been painted in bright, vivid colors and a variety of patterns, but years of neglect had left them a faded shadow of their former selves.
Strung between the towers, connecting them in a web like fashion, were dozens of rope bridges that Claire was certain she could see swaying and rocking back and forth as though by some unseen hand.
They were roughly a mile out when the caravan of roving trees slowed and then stopped, the sound of their approach fading into the distance.
"Place bad," Rin said solemnly.
"I know, Rin," Claire said, pressing her fingers against the place where she guessed his cheek to be. He regarded her with two large, round, golden eyes. "Thank you for all your help."
There was a soft creaking and she felt the protective branches unwinding from around her before she dropped from his shoulder to the ground. Once the three on the ground again, the trees began their thunderous retreat back towards the Winter Forest.
"We walk from here," Draz said. He swung his pack from his back and dropped it to the ground at his feet. "We best leave anything we can't carry in our pockets here. We'll just attract unwanted attention. Keep anything valuable in your front pockets and try to avoid the beggars. They're just a distraction while some runt no higher than your knee robs you blind."
"Anything else we should know?" Rollan asked.
"Yeah, stay close to me and try not to make eye contact with anyone," Draz replied, he looked towards Rollan. "And you try not to speak."
"What does talking have to do with anything?"
"Nothing, I'm just tired of hearing the sound of your voice," Draz offered with a cheerful smile.
Before Rollan could reply, Claire interrupted. "What is the plan once we get into the city?"
"We're going to see a guy I know. He has people everywhere. If Alek was here, he'll know."
"Will he be able to tell us where Alek went?"
"Here's to hoping," Draz said with a shrug.
Despite the early hour, the streets of Drift were alive with activity. Everywhere she looked, Claire caught glimpses of the past buried beneath years of neglect and disregard. Many of the storefronts had their windows smashed and then shoddily repaired with boards and gaudy panelings that had been pulled from the interiors of the surrounding buildings. It gave the buildings a feeling of macabre whimsy that was both intriguing and disquieting.
The smells were different, not entirely unpleasant but not welcoming either. There was a cloying sweet, almost overpowering aroma of flowers despite the lack of any visible plant life and every now and then the scent of decay and earthy rot would break through reminding Claire of the compost pile her grandmother kept when she was a child.
Of the people on the streets, many were locals staggering to whatever hole they called home in search of a place to sleep off a night of drinking and gambling. As Draz had warned there were beggars on every street corner, rattling cups or plates, the clinking of coins a musical all their own as the three hurried by.
Claire did as Draz instructed and did her best to avoid eye contact, but when a little girl she guessed to be seven or eight seemed to materialize in front of her, Claire had no choice but to stop and if only to avoid knocking her over.
In her hands she grasped a weathered basket and in the basket was a variety of trinkets and baubles.
"Please, miss," the little girl said, her voice soft and sad. "Take a look in the basket. They might not look like much more than cheap jewelry, but I promise ya, they're very special. This ring here, it'll make any man who looks at you fall instantly in love, or this bracelet here, put this on and you'll never get tired or need to--"
"Beat it kid," Draz interrupted, picking up the bracelet and examining it. "Go peddle your garbage to someone else."
"I told you not to engage with the locals," Draz said as the girl scowled darkly and scampered away.
"I wasn't trying to," Claire protested. "She practically jumped in front of me."
"Things have gotten worse since I roamed these streets," Draz said with a sigh. "Being a pickpocket used to mean something, it required skill and cunning, you could make a name for yourself if you were good enough. Now just any riffraff with two hands can call them self a thief."
"You sound like you're taking it personal," Claire replied.
"Of course I am," Draz declared, "I used to be one of the best!"
"That's something to brag about," Rollan said with a snort.
The two began bickering, but Claire had stopped listening. She had felt a tug and looked down expecting to see a hand dipping into the pocket of her coat, but there was no one there. She was about to look up when she felt the pull again, stronger this time. It was on the third sharp pull that she realized it was the cards.
Reaching into her pocket she pulled them out. They felt warm to the touch and encased in a soft, pale white glow.
"Draz," she called out. "I think there's something wrong-"
Before she could finish, the cards shot from her hands, leaving a wide arch in they looped through the air and then dipped down a side street.
Claire didn't think, she just reacted and darted after them.
"Claire, wait!" Draz called.
"They're leaving!" she replied breathlessly. Why were they leaving?
She didn't wait, she didn't slow down, in fact, she ran faster, ducking nimbly around men, women and children alike in her pursuit of the cards which soared overhead like a flock of birds. She was so focused on the cards that she paid little mind to where she was going, failed to notice the way the streets grew narrower, grungier, losing the whimsical appearance of the main road.
The streets were emptier, which only made it easier for Claire to pursue, but failed to register as a warning that perhaps these cobble stoned, garbage lined gutters were vacant for a reason.
Rounding a corner, Claire spotted the cards as they curved through the open doorway of a ramshackle building that looked as though it might collapse in on itself at the barest provocation. As she entered the narrow alley and drew closer, she saw a sign hanging precariously from one hinge, the faded picture displaying what she thought was a mug overflowing with beer.
Peeking within, she saw a dozen or so tables crammed into the tiny space. At the far side of the building was a long bar behind which stood a man and behind him stood rows of bottles in varying shades of green and brown. Most of the tables were occupied by men and women hunched protectively over their cups as though fearing someone might come and steal it away.
"Claire!"
She turned to see Rollan and Draz jogging towards her from the mouth of the alley.
"What were you thinking?" Draz asked, looking annoyed but sound relieved. "I told you to stay close and you go running off like a crazy person."
"The cards," Claire said, "they suddenly took off so I followed them. They went in there."
She pointed towards the interior of the pub.
"Perhaps they wanted a change of scenery," Draz replied, "lets go, we shouldn't be here."
"I have to get them," Claire said, turning to go inside. Draz grabbed a hold of her arm to stop her and she looked towards him.
"Just leave them, Claire," Draz said quietly. "Trust me, those things are unpredictable, it's probably for the best."
"They're the only thing I have to defend myself with, it's the only way I can help," Claire protested, pulling free.
"That's not true, Claire," Rollan said.
"But it is," she replied. "Wait here if you want, I'm going to find the cards."
She turned and stepped inside, not bothering to see if Rollan or Draz followed. No one acknowledged her presence right away, not even the bartender who was engaged in conversation with a patron at the bar. Claire used the opportunity to scan the tables, dropping her gaze to the floor in case the cards lay scattered somewhere as they had a habit of doing. She was about to give up when she spotted them sitting in a neat stack beside a man at the opposite end of the bar from the bartender.
He was tall and broad shouldered and even in the dim lighting Claire could tell that once upon a time the coat he wore had been quite nice, perhaps even high fashion in its day. There was evidence of a fine gold trim, patches of color not yet fallen prey to dirt and grime, its cut was one Alek favored and even neglected as it was she spent enough time around costumes and fabrics to tell it was tailored to fit the man who presently wore it.
Claire sensed movement behind her and her heart skipped a beat. She turned, half expecting to see one of the zombie-like patrons lurking behind her. To her relief she saw only Draz, his expression one of intense disapproval. Rollan stood beside him, concentrating on their surroundings.
"What are you waiting for?" Draz asked. "Go get them so we can get out of here."
Claire nodded mutely and strolled as casually as she could towards the stranger.
He didn't look her way as she drew closer, not even a glance. He simply kept his head down and lifted his mug occasionally for a drink. The cards sat still and unassuming on the counter about half a foot away. Since he didn't seem to notice them, or her, Claire decided it would be best if she grabbed them and retreated without disturbing the man.
Taking a deep breath she reach out to grab the cards, only to let out a sharp gasp when the man's hand shot out and grabbed a hold of her wrist.
"Sir, please," Claire said, trying to stay calm, "I didn't mean to disturb you, it's just the cards, they belong to me and-"
"Is that so?" the man asked, his voice low and gravelly.
"Yes," Claire said, her heart beating wildly in her chest.
"Funny," the man replied, "last I checked, these cards belonged to me."
Before Claire could reply, the man lifted his head and met her gaze. He was an older man, his weathered face hidden behind a scraggly beard in desperate need of a trim. Long, dark hair shot through with streaks of gray and silver at his temples hung limp and unkempt, further adding to the idea that personal hygiene was not high on his list of priorities.
It was his eyes that stood out to her, not because there was anything particularly unique about them. It was what she saw in them, the way they shifted from thinly veiled contempt to shock as he simply stared at her.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity he spoke in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.
"Nathalie?"