Museum of Thieves

by Lian Tanner

  ‘BE QUIET OR YOU’LL LOSE YOUR PRIVILEGES!’

  The screaming stopped immediately, but the voices continued, all of them at fever pitch, all of them on the opposite side of the room from where Goldie crouched.

  ‘Keep her attention over this side,’ Bonnie had said. ‘We don’t want her looking at Goldie’s bed too closely, or at the door.’

  Rosie’s voice was the loudest. ‘I heard him!’ she squealed. ‘Right above my head! He said he’s coming to kill us!’

  Guardian Bliss’s angry feet stomped down the room. ‘What’s this nonsense? What did you hear?’

  Goldie slipped out from underneath the bed and began to steal towards the open door, as silent as a shadow.

  At the far end of the room, Lamb cried out, ‘I heard him too! He was right up close to the window and he had a deep growly voice and he said he was going to eat us! One bite at a time! Like an idlecat!’

  ‘Like a slommerkin, that’s what he said to me!’ cried someone else. ‘Like the one on the Bridge of Beasts!’

  The squealing started up afresh. ‘Silence!’ shouted Guardian Bliss, ‘or you’ll all be in double chains! Now will someone explain to me what is happening?’

  Goldie eased past the door and flattened herself against the wall outside. In the room behind her she heard Bonnie say, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, they were dreaming! You were, Rosie, you were twitching in your sleep, and then suddenly you sat up and started screaming and everyone else just sort of caught it. Now shut up and go back to sleep, why don’t you—’

  Goldie crept away down the corridor. Despite the danger she was in, she couldn’t help smiling at Bonnie’s plan.

  ‘We don’t want them thinking there’s really someone out there,’ the younger girl had said. ‘Otherwise they’ll be on the alert and Goldie’ll never get out of the yard.’

  Goldie suspected that Bonnie had worked out this escape route long ago, but had never had the chance to put it into practice. Toadspit would have been proud of his little sister.

  When she was some distance away from the dormitory, she stopped to get her bearings. It wasn’t easy. Care was almost as confusing as the museum, except that the museum was alive with a sort of wild curiosity, whereas this place had a grim, muffled feel to it, as if its walls were designed to silence not only voices, but thoughts as well.

  Still, the little voice in the back of Goldie’s mind didn’t let her down. It led her through those grim corridors with barely a hesitation.

  This way.

  Now that way.

  No, not through there, it’s dangerous. Go this way instead.

  She was searching for a back door, and eventually she found it. But there were two Blessed Guardians stationed in front of it, wide awake and vigilant. Goldie slipped away again without a sound.

  She tried the windows next. But although many of them were cracked, the bars were new and strong, and far too close together for even a small child to squeeze through. Before long, Goldie gave up on them and crept towards the front of the building.

  The carpets here were thick and luxurious, and the lights were bright. Goldie trod more carefully than ever. The rooms she passed were full of armchairs and comfortable sofas, and many of them held shrines to the Seven Gods. But their windows too were barred and impassable.

  When she was close to the foyer, she crept forward and peered around the corner. There was the front door, only a few steps away. But the toad-like Guardian was still moored behind his desk, looking as if nothing could move him, and the foyer was far too brightly lit for any sort of Concealment.

  With a sinking heart, Goldie crept back down the corridor, slipped into one of the open rooms and pulled the door shut behind her.

  ‘Just because I haven’t found a way out yet,’ she told herself fiercely, ‘doesn’t mean it’s impossible. What would Sinew do? What would Olga Ciavolga do? What’s Toadspit doing, right this minute?’

  The sofas in this room were enormous, and covered in cushions. The window bars were strong. At the far end of the room there was a shrine to Bald Thoke, with candles burning around it and a small pile of written jokes and other offerings.

  Goldie walked thoughtfully towards the shrine. Bald Thoke was said to be the most trustworthy of the Seven Gods. It was still a risk, of course, asking him for something, but . . .

  ‘Great and Glorious Thoke, baldest of the bald,’ she whispered, knowing that the Gods liked to be flattered. ‘I haven’t got a present for you—’

  She stopped. Actually, she did have a present. In fact, she had two. She fumbled in her pocket and took out the compass and the scissors. She looked from one to the other, wondering which one she could afford to lose. The compass had been a present from Ma and Pa, and she hated the thought of giving it away. But the scissors were probably more useful.

  Before she could change her mind, she reached out to place the compass on the pile of offerings. Her hand brushed one of the bits of paper. It tumbled from the pile. Underneath it was her bird brooch.

  Goldie whipped her hand back, still holding the compass. ‘I— I haven’t got a present,’ she said again. ‘But I would like to do a swap.’

  She held her breath, hoping that Bald Thoke wouldn’t immediately strike her down. But he IS the god of cheekiness, she thought. He should be pleased!

  ‘A swap,’ she whispered, as firmly as she dared. ‘You get the compass, I get the brooch. All right? A compass is a lot more useful than a brooch, which means you’re getting the better part of the bargain. So I’d be grateful if you’d show me how I can get out of here without being caught.’

  She felt very strange, trying to bargain with one of the Seven Gods. She reached out again, with both hands this time, put down the compass – and picked up the brooch.

  Then she held her breath.

  Muffled footsteps sounded in the distance. Goldie heard a shout, and the heavy clank of punishment chains. The footsteps came closer. A boy began to sing in a hoarse, adolescent voice. ‘Awa-a-a-y, across the ocea-a-an, Awa-a-a-y, across the sea-a-a-a—’

  There was a slap, and a yell. The singing stopped, but only for a moment. When it started up again, there were a dozen or more voices, all caterwauling at the top of their lungs. ‘—I’ll go-o-o-o where my heart takes me, Where my-y-y-y love waits for me-e-e-e-e.’

  A pause. A furious adult’s voice said, ‘It’s not your love that’s waiting for you, you little villains, it’s the House of Repentance! Deliberate destruction of property, putting the lives of others at risk, oh, you’re in for it, you are!’

  Clank clank clank, went the punishment chains. ‘I’ve be-e-e-e-en away so long, dear, I’ve tra-a-a-avelled far and wi-i-i-i-i-ide—’ sang the voices.

  Goldie edged along the wall and eased the door open. There was a bustle and a shoving and a clanking, and suddenly the corridor in front of her was full of boys, milling backwards and forwards, rattling their chains and singing loudly. They were all older than Goldie, but they wore the same grey threadbare smock and leggings. Somewhere in the midst of them were two Blessed Guardians. The smell of burning hung over them all.

  There was no time to think. Goldie couldn’t see Toadspit, but she was sure he must be there somewhere. She whispered a quick ‘thank you’ to Bald Thoke, then she stepped out into the corridor and tucked herself between two of the boys.

  For a heart-stopping moment the song faltered. The boys on either side of Goldie shot incredulous glances at her—

  Then they closed smoothly around her and began to sing louder than ever, their voices bouncing off the high ceilings. ‘Three yea-a-a-a-ars I rowed the galley-y-y-ys, Three yea-a-a-a-ars I was a sla-a-a-a-ave—’

  They spilled out into the foyer, a laughing, shouting, singing rabble. The Guardians who led them were shouting too. Only Goldie was silent. She crouched between the tall, raucous boys, her smock blending with theirs, her pulse thundering in her ears.

  ‘What’s this?’ shouted the toad-like Guardian. ‘Where are you taking them
at this time of night?’

  ‘Set fire to their beds!’ shouted one of the other Guardians. ‘Don’t know what’s got into them! Marching them off to Repentance!’

  ‘I’ll need their names!’

  ‘If I-I-I-I-I could turn back time dea-a-a-ar, If I-I-I-I-I-I could start aga-a-a-a-a-in—’

  ‘For Great Wooden’s sake, we’ll give them to you when we come back. I can’t bear this appalling racket a moment longer!’

  And with that, the boys, Goldie and the two Guardians spilled out the front door of Care, across the yard and through the gate.

  As soon as they were out on the street, Goldie slipped away into the shadows. The boys had stopped singing now, and were trying to lie down on the footpath, or climb onto each other’s shoulders, or do a dozen other things that were impossible in punishment chains. Goldie watched for Toadspit, but there was no sign of him.

  At last the Guardians managed to get the boys into some sort of order, and they marched off towards the House of Repentance. Goldie’s legs felt weak with relief. She had escaped!

  But at the same time she was terribly worried about Toadspit. She was sure that the raucous boys must have set fire to their beds as a distraction, so that he could get away unnoticed. But where was he? Maybe he had already gone. Maybe he was outside the Fugleman’s office, waiting for her!

  The moon above her head was full. The watergas lamps glowed on their poles. The Great Hall bells began to chime. Half past eleven!

  Goldie gritted her teeth. ‘I’m coming, Broo!’ she whispered. ‘I’m coming, Toadspit!’ Then she turned towards Old Arsenal Hill and began to run.

  .

  he Fugleman’s ruined office was halfway up Old Arsenal Hill. There was a plaza out the front, with a statue of the Fugleman in the middle of it. Goldie crouched behind the statue, peering at the shattered building.

  Someone had rigged temporary gaslights, and she could see the smashed doors and the twisted railings. Six militiamen stood halfway up the wide steps with their rifles cocked and their faces wary. At their feet lay Broo, trussed up with so many ropes that his black coat looked brindle. A leather strap bound his jaws shut. Another three or four tied him to the railings.

  Despite this, the militiamen seemed nervous. They stamped their feet as if they were cold, and whispered to each other out of the corners of their mouths. The whites of their eyes glinted in the gaslight.

  All the way up the hill Goldie had been sure that Toadspit would be here, waiting for her. But away from the steps, everything was still. The only sound was the restless stamping of militia boots. She stared into the shadows until her eyes ached, but there was no sign of Toadspit.

  Bongggg. Bongggg. Bongggg. The faint sound of the Great Hall chimes floated up the hill. It was midnight. Across the plaza, the militiamen changed places.

  Goldie chewed her lip. ‘Come on, Toadspit!’ she breathed. ‘Come on!’

  Her right leg began to cramp. She stretched it carefully, then forced herself to be still again. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest. Ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump.

  One of the militiamen sneezed, and his companions swore at the unexpected sound. Broo lay as still as death.

  Ka-thump ka-thump ka-thump.

  Goldie told herself that Toadspit would come before her heart beat sixty times. One, two, three—

  Just before the count got to sixty, she changed it to a hundred. Then five hundred. Then a thousand . . .

  Still Toadspit did not come.

  When she realised that she was going to have to rescue Broo on her own, Goldie’s spirit almost failed her. The militiamen weren’t nearly as frightening as the soldiers behind the Dirty Gate, but they were big and strong and there were six of them against one of her. How could she get them away from Broo for long enough to cut all those ropes?

  She leaned her forehead against the stone plinth and thought back over the things she had learned. Concealment, eggshell-walking, interpretation of footsteps. Making a lie sound like the truth. Stealing secretly and stealing boldly.

  She had a feeling that this one had to be a mixture. A lie that sounded like the truth. A Concealment. A bold theft . . .

  She thought of Lamb and Rosie screaming at the tops of their voices. ‘He said he was going to eat us! Like an idlecat!’ ‘Like a slommerkin!’

  Before she could lose her nerve, she got to her feet. As silent as smoke, she crept around the edge of the plaza until she was back on the street that led down the hill. There was a brick wall there, with narrow recesses that she had noticed on the way up. They weren’t deep enough to hide her properly, but they would have to do.

  Carefully, she tucked herself as far into one of them as she could. Then she thought of the girls in Care – and began to scream.

  ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh! The slommerkin’s got me! The slommerkin’s got me! It’s carrying me away! It’s going to squash me! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh!’

  She knew that if she had done this the night before, it wouldn’t have worked. These days, hardly anyone except children believed in slommerkins, with their enormous bulk and their habit of rolling on their victims to soften them up before they ate them. But hardly anyone believed in brizzlehounds either, or slaughterbirds, and these militiamen had seen them, had been attacked by them, just a few hours ago.

  And if a brizzlehound and a slaughterbird can come out of the museum, thought Goldie, why not a slommerkin?

  The militiamen clearly agreed. There was a shout from the direction of the plaza. Boots thudded on the stone cobbles.

  ‘It was a girl!’

  ‘Where did her voice come from?’

  ‘Up the end!’

  ‘She’s not here!’

  ‘She must be somewhere!’

  ‘You men go that way, we’ll go this way.’

  ‘What about the brizzlehound? The Fugleman’ll kill us if it gets away!’

  ‘Brizzlehound’s not going anywhere! If you see the blasted slommerkin, don’t take any chances. Shoot it! But don’t hit the girl!’

  As the boots pounded towards her, Goldie closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow down.

  I’m a brick wall. I’m a shadow. There’s nothing the least bit interesting about me . . .

  The militiamen raced past her, heading down the hill.

  Goldie was out of the recess and running up the street before the sound of their boots faded. She dashed across the plaza to the iron railings, the scissors ready in her hand. ‘Broo!’

  The brizzlehound’s eyes were open. There was a bloody furrow across the side of his head where the bullet had passed, and dried blood covered his muzzle. He gazed up at her.

  ‘You have to help me!’ hissed Goldie. ‘They won’t be gone for long!’

  The scissors were sharp, and it only took her a moment to saw through the strap that held his jaws together. As she started on the ropes that tethered him to the railings, Broo tore at the rest of his bonds with his teeth. They fell away like string.

  Goldie heard a shout from somewhere down the hill. ‘Quick!’ she hissed. ‘We have to get out of here!’

  Broo’s legs were stiff and his muscles were cramped. He staggered to his feet, and fell down again. Goldie tried to lift him, but he was too heavy.

  ‘Can’t you make yourself small?’ she whispered. ‘Then I could carry you.’

  Broo shook his head. ‘It is . . . not something I can choose,’ he wheezed. ‘If the small does not come . . . I cannot make it.’

  Another shout, closer this time.

  ‘Broo, come on!’

  The brizzlehound made an enormous effort and managed to drag himself to the bottom of the steps. There he stopped, panting for breath. The wound on his head was oozing blood.

  Goldie could hear the militiamen coming back up the hill, calling to each other as they ran. She put her arms around the brizzlehound’s neck. ‘Please try again, Broo. Please!’

  Broo sighed, deep in his chest. He staggered, once, twice, and shook his head. He braced
his legs against the cobbles and stretched until his joints cracked. His wound still bled, but some of his old strength seemed to come back to him.

  He turned to Goldie, his eyes glowing like rubies. The darkness around him trembled. ‘If we are to save the city,’ he rumbled, ‘we must go NOW!’

  .

  he Fugleman was feeling pleased with himself. Despite what he had discovered on the night when he broke into his sister’s office, he had still not been completely sure that the Dirty Gate existed.

  But now here it was, right in front of him! And what’s more, it was wide open!

  Behind him, Hope and Comfort were urging the militiamen to hammer the last few nails into the last few planks.

  Your militia have been very helpful, sister, thought the Fugleman. But I won’t be needing them for much longer . . .

  He raised his hand and beckoned the lieutenant marshal to his side. ‘We are still quite some distance from danger,’ he said. ‘I would like you and your men to go forward another two hundred paces or so and set up an observation post. I will give my Guardians their final instructions, then we’ll join you. Just leave one of the lanterns for us, if you will.’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour!’ The lieutenant marshal snapped out an eager salute and began to muster his men. He did it efficiently enough – the Fugleman supposed that all those parades must have taught them something. Although he wouldn’t have marched into hostile territory in quite such close formation.

  As the militiamen passed through the Dirty Gate, he saluted them. But as soon as they were gone, he took three quick steps sideways so that he was hidden from anyone on the other side of the gate. Hope copied him.

  Comfort, who had always been the slower of the two, didn’t move. Even when the first shot rang out, and the second, and the third, and then a great volley of them, he stood there in the light of the lantern, his mouth open in astonishment.

  A single bullet knocked him over backwards. He gave a choking cry and was dead on the instant. The shooting stopped.

  Silence.

  The Fugleman reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a large white kerchief and a silver ingot. He was surprised to see that his hands were shaking. He forced them to be still. He inched forward and waved the kerchief around the edge of the gate.