The boy settled back on his haunches, scratched his dirty scalp and gave Aren a shy smile.
‘Eifann,’ he said, patting his chest.
‘Aren,’ said Aren, and did the same. ‘How long have you been here?’
Eifann shrugged. ‘When the others they are taking, me they are not seeing,’ he said. He spoke in sing-song tones, the way all Sards did. ‘I make it so.’
‘You hid?’
Eifann shook his head, his filthy locks bobbing about his thin face. ‘I make it so they are not seeing.’ He patted his chest again. ‘Ydraal. Ydraal.’
Aren didn’t know that word, and wasn’t sure the boy had understood his question, so he let it go. ‘I like your cave,’ he said. Now he was here, he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed, and it seemed best to be friendly.
Eifann grinned, showing brown teeth. ‘Your song I like. In the past I hear.’
‘You’ve heard it before?’
The boy nodded. ‘I like.’
Aren studied him. He was a filthy scrag of a thing, with a thin face and dark brown hair, grinning at him in the lamplight. Belatedly it occurred to him that the light might be visible from outside, but when he looked over his shoulder, he saw a coat hanging across the entrance to the chamber and remembered the curtain that had brushed his face on the way in.
‘Safe,’ said Eifann, catching his thought. ‘No Krodans.’
‘How …’ Aren couldn’t think of a delicate way to say it. ‘How have you survived here?’
Eifann made a face that Aren couldn’t read. A Sard expression, meaningless to him. ‘Things I find. Things people leave. When I can, I steal.’ He spun an imaginary sling and let fly. ‘Crows.’
Aren looked at the items Eifann had collected and wondered if those cheroots had once belonged to him, and later to Grub. ‘You steal from the prisoners’ stashes?’
He nodded. ‘Also from dead men I take. And the cookhouse. Risky, though.’
‘And it’s enough?’
‘Sards tough. Hard to kill.’
They’d have to be, Aren thought. It seemed beyond the realms of possibility that a boy could survive undetected for so long, through the deadly winters and punishing summers, avoiding starvation and sickness and guards. ‘Have you been alone this whole time?’
Eifann shook his head.
‘There are others?’
‘Them, you can’t see.’
Aren frowned. Eifann’s grasp of Ossian was shaky. Sards were insular folk by reputation, and many never learned to speak any language but their own. He was forcing Ossian words into the grammar of his mother tongue, which made him hard to follow at times.
‘You mean you don’t want to show me?’
Eifann giggled. ‘You can’t see! In the graves they are!’ He patted his chest again. ‘Ydraal.’
‘Ydraal?’ Aren struggled to pronounce it. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Eifann is ydraal!’ he said enthusiastically.
Aren was getting nowhere, and he was beginning to doubt the boy was entirely sane. Not surprising, given the circumstances. He decided to push on to the reason he’d come. ‘Do you know a way out of here, Eifann?’
The boy looked uncertain. He shook his head.
Aren leaned forward. ‘I do.’
Eifann made no reaction, just gazed at him with those bright green eyes.
‘Do you want to come with me?’ Aren said.
Eifann shook his head. Aren frowned in surprise. He hadn’t been expecting a no. ‘You don’t?’
Eifann bit his lip. ‘Out there is the not-knowing.’
‘Isn’t that better than staying here?’
Eifann shrugged and picked at a hole in the knee of his trousers. ‘Here, I surviving. I eating. Out there, maybe not.’
‘You eat crows! You shouldn’t have to steal and hide and eat birds raw. That isn’t living.’
Eifann didn’t answer. He busied himself tidying his ammunition, patting the stones into a neat pile. Pretending Aren wasn’t there.
Aren watched him incredulously. He’d expected the boy to jump at the chance to leave. Would he really rather live as he was, skulking and scavenging, hiding from the Krodans’ notice? Who in their right mind wouldn’t seize the chance to be free of that?
‘You’re scared,’ he said. Scared of change, scared of leaving the world he knew. He saw it in the boy.
Eifann shook his head with the sulky defiance of someone who really meant yes.
‘I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure you’re safe, if you come with me.’ Aren held out a hand. ‘You just need to be brave.’
‘Why?’ Eifann snapped. His face was hard with suspicion now. ‘You come to graveyard, you sing. Why?’
Aren let his hand drop; Eifann wasn’t going to take it. ‘I came to ask for your help,’ he said. ‘I hoped to offer you the chance of freedom in return.’
‘Chance to die.’ Eifann snorted. ‘Better here.’
Aren sensed he’d lost the boy’s goodwill by pushing him and cursed his own stupidity. He should have been gentler. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right. Better here. But not for me. I want to leave. Me and my friend.’
‘Then go!’ Eifann scrambled to the back of the cave and dug into the nest of blankets, pulling them over his head.
Aren stayed where he was, absently rubbing his arms for warmth, the acrid scent of burning oil wafting thinly around the cave. The sight of Eifann burying his head in his blankets moved him to pity. He was just a boy, and he’d been alone a long time. Aren suspected his imaginary ‘friends’ had made poor company. And yet he needed Eifann’s help; it was essential to his plan. He softened his tone and tried again.
‘Eifann.’
‘Go!’ Eifann demanded, his voice muffled.
‘I can’t, unless you help me.’
Eifann unleashed a string of curses in his mother tongue. The trilling, rolling language of the Sards was ill-suited to swearing. Even their anger sounded musical.
He’s the shade of some Sard boy buried in the graveyard, and his ma got taken away. So now he wanders the camp at night, searching for her. Jan’s words, spoken on the way to the mine the day after he first saw Eifann. They came to Aren now, and an idea came with them.
‘If you don’t want to leave, is there someone out there who might want to know where you are?’
Eifann shut up, and Aren knew he’d scored a hit.
‘Help me now, and when I get out, I’ll—’
‘No!’ Eifann snapped. Then he burst from his nest and scrambled over. ‘Yes!’ he cried eagerly. ‘Yes! You get out, you help Sard! Lled na saan. What you giving me, give them.’
‘I … I’m not sure what you mean. Which Sard should I help?’
‘All. Any. Find one. Offer you.’
‘You want me to—?’ Aren began, but suddenly Eifann seized his hand and pulled it towards him. He put the thumb of his other hand between his teeth and bit down on it, hard enough that blood squirted out in a thin jet between his lips. Before Aren could pull away, Eifann pressed his bloody thumb to the inside of Aren’s wrist.
‘Now,’ he said with an air of angry finality. ‘You find. Offer you.’
He took his hand away, leaving a red smear where his thumb had been. Aren fought down his repulsion. ‘This is … this is a promise?’ he asked. ‘Instead of helping you, I help another Sard? You’re passing on my debt to someone who needs it?’ he asked.
Eifann nodded. ‘Lled na saan. You find.’
Aren held up his wrist to show Eifann the mark. ‘I promise, then,’ he said solemnly. ‘My debt to you will be repaid to another Sard. But first you must help me escape.’
Eifann sat in a pile of coats before him, breath steaming the air, green eyes sharp behind the matted ropes of his hair. ‘What are you needing?’
Aren picked up a bloodstained wing bone from the floor near where he sat, and held it up. ‘Crows,’ he said. ‘I need crows.’
23
Dull evening light seeped through the mud
-flecked windows of the infirmary. Unlike the longhouses, which only had shutters, there was thick glass in the frames to keep in the heat from the stove at one end. It wasn’t what Cade would call warm, but it was better than freezing in his old bunk. He pulled his blankets closer as he blearily roused from a dreamless sleep.
He’d become accustomed to napping through the afternoon to kill the time between lunch and dinner. They served decent food here, and while it still didn’t have any meat in it – that was only for the guards – at least it came in quantity. Prisoners barely got enough to keep them alive and working, the result of some cold-blooded Krodan mathematics balancing the cost of food against the cost of replacing them. Casualties had a better time of it, as the doctor insisted his patients were well fed to aid their recovery, and he obviously had some clout.
Eight days had passed since the accident: three days short of a whole week. Eight days of nothing but eating, sleeping and lying about, and all for the price of feigning mysterious agonies now and then. The apothecary grumbled about the amount of draccen tears Cade was consuming, but he was so disruptive when he was screaming that Kel would do anything to quiet him. The apothecary would have grumbled a lot louder if he’d known that his precious draccen tears were all going into Aren’s water flask. Soon it would be full and Cade would have to leave; but for now, just for now, he enjoyed the luxury of being idle.
The infirmary was quiet. The hectic activity after the explosion had long since died away and most of the casualties had recovered or perished. Only a few remained, men with infections or minor breaks, or malingerers like Cade. Those with no hope of recovery were taken from the infirmary. When Cade asked Kel where they’d gone, she evaded the question and looked distressed. That was all the answer he needed.
So much death. So much suffering. And yet …
He blinked. Something was different.
He felt alright.
Ever since he’d been brought to the camp at Suller’s Bluff, he’d been greeted by despair each time he woke. Reality would sink slowly down upon him, a weight that pressed him into his bunk, weakened his muscles, turned his bones to rods of lead. His chest would become tight with cold panic, but before it could take him, there’d be a retreat into emptiness, as if all his emotion had been shorn to a stump. When he clambered reluctantly from his bunk to ready himself for the mine, he felt neither joy nor anger but indifference and endless weariness as he went about his day, and only by nightfall would he have gathered enough sorrow to let him cry a little.
That had been his life for more than three months now. But this evening, there was no sad, grey weight waiting to lay upon him.
He took a breath and let it out, testing this new sensation, as if by recognising it he might cause it to disappear. Despite everything, he felt like his old self again.
We’re getting out of here, he thought.
He should have been terrified, but he was more excited than scared. He had hope for the first time since their arrest, since before their arrest. Beyond the stockade lay true freedom, and a future that didn’t end in his father’s workshop. They couldn’t return to Shoal Point; they’d be recognised as fugitives and shopped to the Iron Hand within days. What adventures they might have instead, then! Perhaps they’d join an actors’ troupe. Perhaps they’d find a ship that needed a good cook, and they could take to sea. He knew the risk they ran, the hardships that lay ahead and the very real possibility of death; but they were pale threats compared to the alternative. And Aren would have a plan. He always had a plan.
A smile broke out across Cade’s face, unforced and real. It felt so good, he could have wept.
‘Well!’ said Kel as she made her way through the bunks towards him. ‘Someone’s in a good mood. Feeling better?’
‘Aye,’ said Cade. He sat up. ‘Aye, I really am. Pain’s been less of late. Might be I’ll be good in a day or two.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Kel. ‘The body’s a marvel, ain’t it? So much we don’t know. But like as not, if you leave it long enough, it’ll fix itself.’
Her smile eased him. She had a comforting face that spoke of scones by the hearth, warm snuggles under a blanket on a cold night, tousle-haired children clambering to their places at the kitchen table. He realised he was attracted to her, and it made him blush.
‘Aw, you’ve got some colour in your cheeks, too!’ Kel said. ‘You really are on the mend. Lucky for you – the doctor was just reading his old books for remedies.’
‘A hot herbal bath, a massage, that kind of thing?’ Cade suggested hopefully.
Kel let out her big belly-laugh. ‘Reckon he was thinking of something a little more stabby.’
Cade winced. ‘Suddenly I feel completely recovered.’
‘You stay right there for the moment. Let’s not rush things, eh? Couple more days in bed won’t hurt.’ She winked at him. ‘I’ll hold off the doctor.’
Cade yawned. ‘You know, after all that sleeping, I could do with a bit of a rest.’
‘I bet you could.’ She gave him a pat on the cheek, which Cade found both touchingly maternal and slightly arousing. ‘I’ll get you your dinner first, though.’
‘I’ll take the pheasant with plum sauce today, I reckon.’
‘Ha! I think you might have to stay longer; you’re obviously delirious. Oh! I nearly forgot! Tell Aren someone was asking for him in town.’
That brought Cade up short. ‘Er … someone was asking for him?’
‘Aren of Shoal Point. Seems that a stranger paid Little Edd the baker’s lad to find out if he was in the camp. Reckon it was supposed to be done on the quiet, but they picked the wrong boy. Little Edd couldn’t keep his pie-hole shut if the fate of the world depended on it.’
‘But … who? Did the stranger give a name?’ Cade had no clue what to make of this news, but he sensed it was important.
‘No name. I thought you might have an idea. Exciting, though, eh? Sounds like someone’s come to get him out. I could tell Aren was a highborn boy.’ She saw the look on Cade’s face and her own face fell. ‘I thought you’d be pleased. You and him, from the same town … I just assumed you’d been put in here for the same thing. He goes free, you go free. Was I wrong?’
He didn’t know. All he knew was that someone had turned up in the village asking for Aren. Just Aren. Cade had no connections, no money to grease the wheels. What if they were only interested in getting Aren out, and not him?
‘Did Little Edd say what the stranger looked like?’ Cade was desperate for any clue to make sense of it.
‘Well, yes, he did,’ said Kel dubiously. ‘It just didn’t sound very likely.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Apparently he has a big scar from here to here.’ She drew a finger across her neck. ‘I mean, there’s only one way you get a scar like that. And there’s not many that keep walking after someone cuts their throat.’
Cade went cold. ‘The Hollow Man does,’ he said, his voice faint.
Kel only half-caught what he said. ‘The who?’
Cade was already clambering out of bed.
‘Hey, hey, no!’ she cried. ‘You’re supposed to rest!’
‘Ain’t no need,’ he said distractedly as he pulled on his boots. ‘I’m feeling much better. You’re a miracle worker, Kel.’
‘But what about those pains you’ve been getting?’
He dug under his pillow, pulled out the water flask and stuck it in his pocket. ‘Probably just trapped wind.’
‘Trapped wind!’ She was getting angry now. ‘We had to keep you sedated for a week! It was more than trapped sodding wind!’ She looked around for someone to assist her, but there were no other staff nearby.
Cade got to his feet. His legs felt weak from lack of use and Kel caught him as he swayed. ‘Look at you! You’re in no state to go anywhere!’
Cade steadied himself, holding on to her arms. He became aware that they were in something like a clinch, looking into each other’s eyes. His face heated.
‘Thank you for all you’ve done,’ he said earnestly. Then, on a wild whim, he added: ‘You’re really pretty.’
‘Uh?’ Kel was baffled by the sudden turn in the conversation.
Cade realised he’d miscalculated the moment somewhat. ‘Never mind,’ he said. He hurried away, spurred by the awkwardness he left behind. ‘Trapped wind!’ he called again over his shoulder, and he was out through the door.
24
It was the end of a dreary day, and the short dirt road to the south gate was busy as curfew approached. The prisoners who staffed the laundry, the workshop and the cookhouse were finishing up their duties and leaving. There was no holiday for them when the mine was closed, and they paid for their easier labour with longer hours. A few men and women from the village – nannies, servants, infirmary workers and the like – stayed overnight in the camp, but most left before darkness fell. A queue of carts had built up at the gate as they waited to be searched.
Aren and Grub loitered on a corner, watching the activity. The Skarl had a habit of standing closer than Aren was comfortable with – he had an unpleasantly musky smell about him, like a damp bear – but Aren was learning to tolerate it. Since their uneasy alliance had been forged, Grub had taken to hanging around him a lot. At first, Aren thought it was because Grub wanted to keep an eye on him, but he soon found the true reason. Nobody else would put up with Grub.
The smell of him was the least of it. He boasted constantly and at length of his great deeds. His sense of humour was unpleasantly cruel and revolved around vulgarity and belittling others. When he wasn’t boasting or joking he was threatening Aren, and yet despite his apparent dislike of the younger man, he came trailing up like an errant puppy whenever he was at a loose end. Aren had suggested that such an important hero might have better things to do than hang about with an insignificant Ossian like himself, but Grub hadn’t taken the hint. He was annoying to be around and impossible to shake off. Aren wondered if he’d been better as an enemy.
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