Page 77 of Slack Tide Kill

Sally narrowed her eyes. "But he knows the land?"

"He knows everything above and below the surface. If the Rooks are in the marsh, he may already know where they are, and if he doesn't, he can find them. Finds Roman coins, musket balls, drowned farm tools, wreckage from aircraft, even bones. He used to give talks here until he accused the chairwoman of falsifying a Saxon buckle."

Liam snorted. "Had she?"

"Probably. But I must warn you, he's a mercurial character. Not an advocate of the 'world of men', as he calls it."

"Just as well I'm a woman," Sally said drily. "Will he help us?"

"If he's sober and interested. I think he may."

"So how do we make him interested?"

Pike gave her a thin smile. "You could tell him Edwin Pike still wants compensation for the damage to the Mesolithic display cabinet. That'll get you in the door."

"Damage?"

"He brought in a live eel during a school visit."

Sally stared at him. Pike's expression did not change.

"The eel was not exactly the problem," he said. "The children were. There was a minor stampede and the display cabinet was shattered. Bledd has not yet made full restitution for this. Nor has he apologized."

Sally smiled. "We'll go see him."

Pike wrote his phone number and a location on the back of a museum leaflet. "His boat's called the 'Thomas Ingoldsby'. You can't miss it; looks like a floating junkyard."

"Ingoldsby?" Liam asked.

"The author of a 19th century book of local legends. Now, Bledd has no phone, but don't hesitate to call me." Pike tapped the paper. "And be careful. Bearding a Rook in his den could be lethal. The Owlers were hard, merciless men, and the Rooks are no less so."

Sally took the leaflet. "We won't. Thank you, Mr. Pike."

They headed out. The sky had reverted to gray, threatening more rain. Sally looked toward the country beyond the town, where the marsh began its long, flat reach inland.

Maybe their way in.

30 EEL MAN

The road to Appledore ran north through barren fields scarred by old plow marks, the ruts shining with groundwater. Several villages passed by, each a tiny outpost in the emptiness; Old Romney, Brenzett, Snargate.

"It's not so hard to imagine this as a no man's land," Sally said softly.

"And that's after several centuries of human interference," Liam said. "Forcing back the sea. Holding it there."

"With the Rooks in the midst."

Liam grunted. "We'll need to talk to Mayhew. McMaster too. If we're serious about going after them."

Sally nodded. She'd been thinking the same thing. "Armed Response Officers. Maybe a dog team."

"Dog team's a good idea. A chopper on standby."

"If Bledd comes through for us."

The road curved west. Appledore village lay low, a handful of stone houses, a pub, a church tower. On the far side, the Royal Military Canal appeared without fanfare; a wide channel running alongside the road, its surface the color of old pewter. Soon they passed Iden Lock where the RMC flowed into the River Rother; a broad, meandering expanse of mud-colored water, lined with willows trailing their fingers in the water.

Sally took them over the bridge then turned left on a dirt trail, passing a few quaint cottages to reach three houseboats moored by a towpath. No sound carried except the trickle of the river and the distant complaint of a crow.