Museum of Thieves

by Lian Tanner

  And then, suddenly, it fell into place and she realised what it was.

  She heard Guardian Hope groan dramatically. ‘By the Black Ox, do I have to do everything myself?’

  Goldie’s skin prickled. As Guardian Hope’s angry footsteps stalked towards her, she crept forward to the very edge of the shadows and launched the paper through the air. Then she froze on the spot and tried to imitate nothingness.

  She had never yet got it completely right. But there was no time to practise. She slowed her breathing. She emptied her mind – or at least she tried to. But Guardian Hope’s footsteps were nearly upon her. Her wrist was burning. She could almost feel the weight of the punishment chains dragging her down. She didn’t want to be afraid, she didn’t want to . . .

  Don’t try to push the fear away, whispered the little voice. Greet it politely like an unwanted cousin.

  She swallowed. Hello, fear! You’re not going to go away, are you? Well, stay there then, but let me get on with it!

  She slowed her breathing again. Something seemed to click inside her head, and suddenly Sinew’s instructions made sense.

  I am nothing. I am a shadow in the corner of the room.

  Her mind drifted outwards like motes of dust. She could sense Toadspit behind the cabinet, holding his breath. She could sense the two trainees frantically searching their pockets, and Guardian Hope’s rising frustration.

  None of it seemed to matter.

  Guardian Hope peered over the edge of the display case.

  I am nothing. I am a shadow . . .

  ‘As I thought,’ said Guardian Hope. ‘It was here all the time. It just needed someone with a grain of common sense to look for it.’

  Her eyes flickered past Goldie as if there was no one there. And she reached down and picked up the piece of paper.

  ‘They’re trying to make a floor plan of the museum,’ said Goldie.

  Sinew raised his eyebrows. ‘Are they just?’

  Goldie’s heart was still pounding at the memory of what she had done. She had imitated nothingness! She had spied on the Blessed Guardians and got away with it! The Fugleman was right, she was wicked! And she didn’t care!

  ‘Did they see you, or suspect anything?’ said Olga Ciavolga.

  Toadspit sniffed. ‘Nearly.’

  ‘No, they didn’t!’ said Goldie.

  ‘Good. But this floor plan, that is not good. We must tell Dan and see what he thinks of it. Where is he?’

  ‘He went to check something,’ said Goldie. ‘When we were up on the Lady’s Mile.’

  ‘Did he say what?’

  Goldie shook her head. ‘He heard a noise. I don’t know what it was.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Sinew. ‘I expect he’ll be back soon. And then we’ll tell him, and work out what to do.’

  But Herro Dan did not come back soon. They waited for him all day and late into the night, but he did not come back at all.

  .

  t was supposed to be Guardian Hope’s day off. But she could not rest. She had set her idiot assistants to make a floor plan more than a dozen times yesterday, and they had failed on every occasion.

  At first she had thought that it was due to their stupidity, and she had poked them in the ribs with the yardstick and shouted at them until her throat was sore.

  It made no difference. Gradually, it had dawned upon her that perhaps it wasn’t the under-guardians after all. Perhaps it was the building itself. There was certainly something strange about it. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on . . .

  But no heap of mouldy bluestone was going to make a fool out of Blessed Guardian Hope! The Fugleman had entrusted her with a mission, and she would carry it out – and find the Roth brat into the bargain.

  She stalked up the front steps of the museum and hurried through the entrance hall to where Comfort and the two under-guardians were waiting for her. She peered cautiously around the door of the office. It was empty. Good. She didn’t want the keepers interfering with her plans.

  She took a large ball of string from her pocket and thrust one end of it at the young men. ‘Hold this,’ she snarled. ‘And don’t let go!’ Then she hurried away through the display rooms, unravelling the string as she went.

  ‘We must ask ourselves, colleague,’ said Comfort as he strode beside her, ‘whether a simple ball of string will make our search any easier. After all, it cannot guide us, can it? It cannot leap ahead and lead us, like children, to the promised land?’

  He laughed, obviously pleased to be the witty one for a change. At the same time, the string suddenly jerked in Hope’s hand, as if someone had tugged it. She cursed her assistants under her breath. Aloud, she said, ‘What it can do, colleague, is ensure that we do not go around in circles. Like so . . .’

  She stopped in a doorway. She was as sure as she could be that they had not deviated from their path, had not doubled back in any way. But the telltale string ran across the room in front of them.

  ‘Now,’ she said, with great satisfaction, ‘we know that we must go a different way, a way that we have not been before. And so, with the help of this simple ball of string, we will explore every part of this cursed building, however slyly it may be hidden.’

  It was still not easy, of course. The rooms were as confusing as ever. Hope led the way through them with no idea where she was going. The string jerked twice more, so viciously that she almost dropped it. And twice more she found that they had somehow turned back on their tracks.

  But she kept her head, and at last she was rewarded. They turned a corner, and there in front of them was a door that she had never seen before. Written on it in faded letters were the words ‘staff only’.

  She paused, smiling with satisfaction. Comfort reached for the handle—

  ‘No!’ hissed Hope. She put her finger to her lips and pressed her ear against the door. Faintly through the wood she could hear two voices, a boy and a girl.

  ‘Herro Dan still isn’t back,’ said the boy.

  ‘Do you think something’s happened to him?’ said the girl.

  Hope stiffened. ‘It’s the Roth brat!’ she mouthed. ‘Listen!’

  ‘Olga Ciavolga reckons he wouldn’t stay away at a time like this,’ said the boy. ‘Not willingly. She and Sinew have gone looking for him. And I have to show you how to sing the First Song. Whatever’s causing the problem, it’s suddenly got worse again.’

  ‘What problem?’ mouthed Comfort. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  ‘I know, I felt it just then,’ said the girl. ‘The rooms shifted three times.’

  ‘And five times last night. Big shifts.’

  Hope’s mouth fell open and she beckoned Comfort away from the door. ‘Is it possible?’ she whispered. ‘Shifting rooms?’

  ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’ Comfort shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘It would explain why we keep getting lost. And why those two morons couldn’t draw two floor plans the same. Oh, His Honour will want to hear about this!’

  Hope tiptoed back to the door, as silent as a corpse. But when she again pressed her ear to it, she could hear nothing except footsteps fading into the distance.

  ‘Quick!’ she whispered to Comfort. ‘We must follow them!’

  She tried the doorhandle, but it was locked. She shrugged. Perhaps it was just as well. The ball of string was nearly finished. It was no use going further if they couldn’t find their way back again.

  She began to retrace her steps, reeling in the string as she went. ‘It was the Roth girl,’ she said. ‘We have her trapped now, do we not?’

  ‘But the boy, who was the boy?’ said Comfort.

  ‘First things first, colleague. We must work out how to deal with these shifting rooms so we can carry out His Honour’s instructions. Then we will make enquiries about the boy.’ Hope smirked. ‘And then we will return, and both of these brats will learn what happens to bad children in the city of Jewel . . .’

  ‘The museum,’ said Toadspit, �
��is like a brizzlehound. Sometimes it growls, deep in its belly. Sometimes it shivers with excitement.’

  The children were standing halfway along the Lady’s Mile. There was no sign of Morg, but Broo had been waiting there as if he was expecting them. When he saw Goldie he wagged his little white tail and bounced around her.

  ‘If you put your hand on the wall,’ said Toadspit, ‘you can feel its temper. But don’t try to grip it or hold it in one place. The museum hates that more than anything.’

  Goldie hesitated, remembering the first time she had done this. Slowly, she put her hand on the wall.

  It took all her will not to snatch it straight off again. The wild music seemed to swell up from the hot centre of the earth and pour into her body. It rattled her bones and turned her innards upside down and made her want to shout and cry and fight all at the same time. When at last she took her hand away, she was shaking from head to toe.

  Toadspit was watching her with an odd look on his face. ‘The first time I tried that,’ he muttered, ‘I fell over. And it’s much worse now.’ Then he turned quickly back to the wall, as if he’d said more than he intended.

  ‘You have to stroke it,’ he said. ‘Like you’d stroke Broo.’ He ran his hand over the stone, as if he was calming an animal. ‘Then you sing. Like this. Ho oh oh-oh. Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh. If you do it right, you can get the museum to sing with you, and that quietens it down for a bit. Ho oh oh-oh. Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh.’

  His voice slid up and down the scale in a way that made the hair on the back of Goldie’s neck stand up.

  ‘That’s Herro Dan’s song,’ she said.

  Toadspit nodded. ‘Herro Dan reckons it’s the very first song, from the beginning of time. From before humans even existed. He reckons every other song in the world grew out of this one. The museum doesn’t take any notice of anything else. Mm mm mm oh-oh oh-oh. Mm oh-oh-oh mm oh-oh.’

  Goldie put her hand back on the wall. The wild music surged through her, but it was slightly different now. It seemed to be picking up the notes of Toadspit’s song and playing with them, like a giant tossing baubles in the air. And in the same way that the giant might be pleased with the baubles and want to play with them more and more, the wild music seemed pleased with Toadspit’s song. Gradually it changed and settled, and before long the museum and the boy were singing almost the same notes.

  ‘HO OH OH-OH. MM MM OH OH OH-OH OH,’ sang the museum. ‘MM OH-OH-OH MM OM OM OH-OH.’

  The music was still frighteningly big, and every now and again there was a note that seemed on the brink of breaking out. But it no longer made Goldie want to cry and scream and fight.

  She stroked the wall gently. ‘Mm oh-oh,’ she sang, trying hard to catch that odd sliding sound. Her voice felt puny and ridiculous next to the mighty music that rumbled up from the depths. She stopped, wondering where Herro Dan was, and hoping that nothing bad had happened to him.

  Toadspit jogged her elbow. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘Mm mm. Mm mm oh—’ She tried again, but it was no good.

  Broo was gazing up at her, his head cocked. He looks so little and harmless, thought Goldie. But inside, he’s bigger and wilder than anyone could imagine. And the museum’s the same.

  Something snagged at her memory. For a moment she was back in the Old Quarter, wrapped in punishment chains and longing for freedom – and she realised that it wasn’t just the dog and the museum that were bigger and wilder inside than anyone could imagine . . .

  She put her hand back on the wall. She took a deep breath. ‘Ho oh oh-oh,’ she sang, and she let some of the curiosity and longing and frustration that she had felt all her life leak out into her voice. ‘Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh.’

  The museum seemed to pause and listen. Then, suddenly, it picked up her notes! It tossed them in the air, it wove them into its song! Toadspit grinned his approval. ‘Keep going!’

  So Goldie stroked and sang, and Broo leaped around her ankles yapping the same strange notes, and the music swelled inside her, so that before long she could feel every part of her body fizzing with energy.

  This time when she took her hand off the wall, she felt enormous. As big as the museum. As big as the sky. Everything she looked at seemed clear and bright – the tapestries, the moss, the tiny white flowers. It was impossible to believe that trouble was on its way.

  ‘I wish— Oh, I wish Ma and Pa could come and live here,’ she said.

  Toadspit’s face went blank. He took a coin from his pocket and began to roll it between his fingers, making it vanish and reappear and vanish again. ‘They’re locked up,’ he said, his eyes fixed on the coin.

  ‘You don’t have to remind me—’

  ‘You should’ve known what’d happen to them. You should’ve known they’d end up in the House of Repentance.’ The old bitterness was back in the boy’s voice. ‘How could you run away like that and leave them to the mercy of the Blessed Guardians?’

  Goldie opened her mouth to retort. Then she bit her lip. She had the odd feeling that Toadspit wasn’t really talking to her.

  ‘Got any brothers or sisters?’ he asked, still staring at the coin.

  ‘No,’ said Goldie, and she looked at him curiously. ‘Have you?’

  ‘If you did, if you had a little sister, say, would you worry about what was happening to her?’

  ‘I s’pose so.’

  Silence fell between them. Presently Goldie said, ‘I have seen you before, haven’t I? In the Old Quarter?’

  Toadspit nodded. ‘I ran away last year.’

  ‘You can’t have!’ Goldie stared at him. ‘I would’ve heard! Everyone would’ve been talking about it.’

  Toadspit laughed angrily. ‘The Blessed Guardians told our neighbours we’d moved to Lawe. They didn’t want other children getting ideas.’

  ‘So where are your parents?’

  ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘House of Repentance?’

  Toadspit gave a brief nod. ‘And my sister’s in Care—’

  He stopped. Goldie heard a faint, faraway popping sound. ‘What’s that?’ she said.

  ‘Guns! From beyond the Dirty Gate! Quick!’

  Toadspit shoved the coin into his pocket, put his hand on the wall again and began to sing. Goldie copied him.

  The wild music was back, surging under her hand. At first their singing seemed to make no difference to it. Their voices bobbed helplessly in the mighty current of sound. Then Goldie heard a third voice join theirs from somewhere deep in the museum. Not a human voice this time, but the song of a harp. It was Sinew, playing for all he was worth.

  For a moment, nothing changed. Then, bit by bit, the wild music began to weave itself to their singing, and to quietness.

  Goldie took her hand off the wall. ‘That popping sound,’ she said.

  ‘The guns?’

  ‘Yes. I think that’s what Herro Dan heard. Just before he disappeared.’

  ‘What?’ Toadspit stared at her in horror. ‘He must have gone past the Dirty Gate! Come on!’

  And without waiting to see if Goldie was following, he began to run along the Lady’s Mile.

  .

  he Dirty Gate was deeper inside the museum than Goldie had ever gone before. It was made of iron – not a solid piece, but strips welded together like a giant honeycomb. It was brown with rust, and fitted into the wall so carefully that there was no gap above or below it. On the right-hand side there was an enormous keyhole.

  Morg was perched on one of the iron strips. She rattled her wings when she saw them. ‘Wa-a-ar!’ she croaked. ‘Wa-a-a-a-a-r!’

  A shiver ran down Goldie’s spine. ‘What does she mean? Why is she saying that?’

  ‘That’s what’s on the other side of the Dirty Gate,’ said Toadspit grimly. ‘The war rooms. The plague rooms. The famine rooms. All the really awful stuff that happened in the early years of Dunt. It’s still here in the museum. Most of the time it’s quiet and doesn’t cause any problems, but something must have stirred it up. Y
ou heard the guns. Come and look.’

  Goldie sidled up to the gate and stared through the honeycomb holes, some of which were big enough to climb through. At first all she could see was long grass, but then Toadspit pointed to a flash of white far to the left.

  ‘See those tents? That’s an army camp,’ he said. ‘This is the first of the war rooms.’

  ‘Who are they fighting?’

  ‘Anyone. Everyone. I don’t know. It’s just – war.’

  Goldie thought she saw a movement near the tents. She took a quick step backwards. ‘Won’t they see us? Won’t they try and break down the gate? Or shoot us or something?’

  Toadspit shook his head. ‘As long as the gate is shut they can’t see it and they can’t come through.’

  As he spoke, he took a folding knife and a bit of wire out of his pocket. He slid the tip of the knife into the keyhole, and pushed the wire in above it. Then he began to wiggle it carefully back and forth. Broo growled softly.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Goldie.

  Toadspit’s face was pale, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw. ‘Herro Dan should’ve come back last night.’ He spoke slowly, concentrating on the keyhole. ‘I reckon he heard the guns and went through here to see what was happening, and the soldiers caught him. They probably thought he was a spy. I’m going to see if they’ve got him. And if they have, I’m going to steal him back.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we go and find Olga Ciavolga first? Or Sinew?’

  ‘There’s no time. They might shoot Herro Dan at any moment.’

  ‘They might’ve shot him already!’

  ‘If they had, we’d know . . . Got it!’ said Toadspit. There was a loud click and the lock sprang open. Toadspit slipped the knife and the wire back into his pocket. ‘Are you coming?’

  Think carefully, whispered the little voice in the back of Goldie’s mind. Think carefully before you rush into danger.

  But Goldie didn’t want to think carefully, not if Herro Dan might be shot at any moment. ‘Of course I’m coming!’ she said.