by Lian Tanner
Still no one moved. Goldie grabbed Favour and shouted right in her face, ‘Favour, you have to go! The levees are breaking!’
Favour’s eyes were wide with fright, but she clung to her parents and did not move. Goldie was almost weeping with fear. Every nerve in her body shrieked, Save yourself! Save yourself! But she couldn’t leave her best friend to die. In desperation, she pulled at the other girl’s hand and screamed until her voice was hoarse. ‘Please, Favour! Please, Herro Berg! Make her run!’ She could hear Toadspit and Bonnie nearby. ‘Run for your lives!’
But Favour would not move. Nor would anyone else.
And then, just when Goldie thought that there was no hope, that they were all going to die, there came a great roar that could be heard even above the sound of the wind and the rain and the collapsing levees. And out of the darkness, like a huge iron statue brought to life, charged Broo.
His teeth were bared. His eyes glowed red as fire. Someone screamed, ‘A brizzlehound!’ And the whole crowd of people – including Favour and her parents – sprang to life and began to run clumsily up the hill.
The floodwater caught them halfway up the next block. It surged up behind them in a hungry wave, snatching at their legs. No one could run now; the street was a river. Mothers and fathers scooped their children up into their arms. Hands grabbed hold of anyone who stumbled. A clockwork bird floated past Goldie like a tiny metal corpse.
They were high enough to have only caught the edge of the flood, and before long the water stopped rising. As Goldie staggered out onto dry land, Broo appeared beside her for just long enough to rumble, ‘Herro Dan and Olga Ciavolga are safe.’ Then he melted away like a bad dream.
The wind and the rain seemed to ease for a few minutes then. The black clouds parted and the full moon shone through. In that moment of quietness, Goldie, Toadspit and Bonnie turned and stared at what they had left behind.
The Old Quarter was hidden beneath a sea of water. Buildings poked up out of it like strangely shaped islands. In the midst of it all stood the Great Hall. It was half-drowned and leaning perilously to one side, but the lights were still on. Goldie thought – though she was too far away to be sure – that she could see two tiny figures in the glass dome. They seemed to be waving for help.
As she watched, the lights flickered and went out. There was a terrible grinding noise. Then the whole building tore loose from its foundations and floated away into the night.
.
oldie, Toadspit and Bonnie leaned over the balcony of the Lady’s Mile. In the hall below, hundreds of people from the Old Quarter crowded around the long tables, drinking tea and chocolate from chipped mugs and pannikins. Others lay back on piles of old clothes, or huddled in groups. Their cuts were bandaged and their broken bones were set, but they were still painfully quiet. No one smiled. No one laughed. The shock of the storm had not yet left them.
The Protector was making her daily report. Her voice floated up to the balcony. ‘As some of you know, the houses in much of the city were not too badly damaged, and their owners have been able to remain in them. But the Old Quarter is still flooded and the waters are swarming with rats and snakes. It will be some time before the area is properly drained. Those of us who have taken refuge here in the museum must stay a while longer, if the keepers will allow it.’
Goldie raised her eyebrows at Toadspit. A week ago, any mention of rats and snakes would have sent the citizens of Jewel into a frenzy. But now people merely nodded to each other, as if they were grateful to be alive and nothing else was worth making a fuss about.
Goldie’s ma and pa were sitting at the same table as the Protector. So were Toadspit’s parents. Olga Ciavolga, Herro Dan (with his leg in plaster) and Sinew were there too. In the far corner of the hall, a group of Blessed Guardians muttered to each other and glowered at the militiamen who guarded them.
Herro Dan thumped one of his walking sticks on the floor. ‘Of course, you must stay for as long as you need to! The keepers are pleased to have you! The museum is pleased to have you!’
‘He’s right,’ murmured Goldie in Toadspit’s ear. ‘Have you seen Early Settlers? It’s full of vegetable gardens and fruit trees. And the thornberries in the Vacant Block are ripe.’
Toadspit nodded. ‘And Harry Mount’s acting just like an ordinary old staircase. I went up and down it three times this morning and it took me to the same place every time.’
Bonnie screwed up her nose. ‘How could it take you somewhere different? What are you talking about?’
‘None of your business,’ said Toadspit, who had stopped being nice to his sister now that she was safe again.
‘If you won’t tell me,’ said Bonnie, ‘I’ll ask Olga Ciavolga.’
Goldie searched the faces of the people below. She and Toadspit had been so busy for the last three days that she had hardly seen Favour. Now at last she spotted her friend smiling up at her. She waved.
Favour waved back and signed, ‘Come down.’
‘In minute,’ signed Goldie.
‘I want to know what happened! After you ran away!’
Goldie leaned further forward so that she was hanging right over the balcony. ‘And I want to TELL you!’
Ma must have caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, because she glanced up. Her hand went to her mouth. She looked as if she was about to leap from her seat and scream a warning . . .
But Olga Ciavolga touched her arm and murmured something, and Ma’s back straightened, as if she had remembered the night of the storm, and the way her daughter had led people to safety when nearly everyone else was afraid to move. She nudged Toadspit’s ma and they both looked up. Their faces were pale, but after a moment’s hesitation they waved.
‘They haven’t met Morg yet,’ said Toadspit. ‘That’ll test them.’
‘Who’s Morg?’ said Bonnie.
‘None of your business.’
‘If you won’t tell me, I’ll—’
‘—ask Olga Ciavolga!’ said Toadspit in a mock-whiny sort of voice. Brother and sister glared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.
‘Your parents are doing all right,’ said Goldie. ‘Your pa called you “Caution— I mean, er . . . um . . . Toadspit” this morning.’
Bonnie laughed again. ‘And did you see Ma’s face when he said it?’
‘She’ll just have to get used to it,’ said Toadspit, but he was smiling, as if he was proud of the effort his parents were making.
In the hall below, the Protector was still speaking.
‘So many terrible things have happened in recent times. The storm, the flood. The bomb. Ah, yes, we have not forgotten the bombers. Whoever they are, wherever they are, we’ll not rest until we find them.’
She paused. Her face became grim. ‘But they are not the only ones who must be brought to justice. The people who were supposed to protect our children—’
Goldie saw the heads of the Blessed Guardians shoot up from their huddle.
‘—have betrayed us!’ said the Protector. ‘I hereby disband the Blessed Guardians and declare them to be an illegal—’
Her voice was lost in the uproar as the Blessed Guardians surged towards her, shouting. The militiamen blocked their way and forced them back into the corner. The ones who refused to go were wrestled to the ground.
‘Where’s the Fugleman?’ cried one of the Guardians, who was being held with his arms behind his back. ‘He’ll put a stop to this!’
Herro Dan thumped his stick on the floor for silence.
‘Yes,’ said the Protector. ‘Where is the Fugleman? Where is the greatest betrayer of all? Bring him here and let him answer for his crimes!’
She paused dramatically. Goldie looked around the hall, half-expecting to see the Fugleman push through the crowd.
‘I’ll tell you where he is,’ said the Protector. ‘He’s gone, probably drowned in the storm, like the rat he was. It’s no use looking to him for support. Your only hope is to throw yourselves on th
e mercy of the city.’
The Guardians began to shout again. The Protector nodded to the captain of militia. ‘Take them away. They will go on trial for treason, and for their treatment of the children in Care.’
As the militiamen wrestled the Guardians out of the room, the Protector turned to the remaining citizens. But before she could speak, there was a flash of white and something scampered across the floor and jumped up onto her table.
‘It’s Broo!’ said Goldie.
In the hall below, nearly everyone leaped to their feet. ‘A dog!’ they shouted. ‘Watch out! A dog!’
Parents grabbed hold of their babies, ready to flee. Even from up on the balcony, Goldie could see their horri- fied faces. Hearing about snakes and rats down in the Old Quarter was one thing, but this was a real live dog, something that had not been seen in Jewel for hundreds of years. And it was here, right in front of them!
Only the keepers stayed where they were. The keepers – and the Protector.
Broo didn’t seem to notice the alarm that he had caused. He trotted along the tabletop and stopped in front of the Protector, wagging his curly white tail. The Protector looked at him uncertainly. Sinew leaned over and whispered something to her.
The Protector nodded and turned back to the crowd. ‘Our— Our city is changing,’ she said loudly, though she stumbled a little over the words. ‘I understand that humans and dogs lived together – lived well together – in the distant past.’ She swallowed. ‘I— I see no reason why they should not live well together in the future.’
And to Goldie’s astonishment, she reached out and gingerly patted Broo on the head.
There was a sigh from the watchers. One by one, they crept back to the tables, their faces wary. Only the babies showed no fear. They stretched out their arms towards Broo and squealed. The little dog wagged his tail and danced down the middle of the table.
He looked so funny that the babies squealed louder. Goldie saw Favour begin to smile. Broo danced in circles, chasing his tail, his eyes bright with joy.
The Protector laughed.
That was all it needed. It was as if the levees had broken all over again. A flood of laughter filled the hall, spilling in every direction and sweeping away the horrors of the storm.
Broo danced up and down the table. He jumped into laps and licked faces and hands. No one could escape him. Before long, half the children in the hall were crowding around him, arguing over who should pat him next. And even the most nervous adults were sitting back and smiling fit to burst, as if a long-lost brother had arrived on their doorstep and they had suddenly remembered how much they loved him.
Bonnie was leaning over the balcony, her eyes fixed on Broo. ‘Toadspit, do you think Ma and Pa would let us have a dog?’
Toadspit didn’t answer her. His face was gloomy. ‘Well, that’s ruined it,’ he muttered.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Goldie.
‘You should be pleased,’ said Bonnie, turning around to stare at her brother. ‘Everything’s changing! I haven’t worn a guardchain for three whole days. And now there’s a dog!’
‘That’s just it. There’s no excuse to run away any more,’ grumbled Toadspit. ‘They’ll expect us to be contented. They’ll expect us to be good!’ He scowled at Goldie. ‘I suppose you’re going to go home and be a good little girl again.’
Goldie looked down at the crowded hall. Broo was sitting on Favour’s lap now, surrounded by a circle of adoring children. His tail rose and fell gently. He gazed up at Goldie, and his black eyes gleamed with secret knowledge.
And suddenly Goldie could feel the museum all around her. Its mysteries and its wildness, its beauty and its dangers, the Devil’s Kitchen and Dauntless and Stony Heart, and a hundred other rooms that she had not yet seen but that were there, waiting for her to discover them.
She touched the little blue bird that was pinned to the front of her smock, and thought of Auntie Praise. Bold Auntie Praise.
‘Go home and be good?’ She grinned at Toadspit, and shook her head. ‘I’ve barely begun.’
Meanwhile, two hundred miles to the south . . . In the middle of the ocean, a man and a woman were clinging to a scrap of wreckage. They were alive, but only just. Their clothes were in rags and their faces were bruised beyond recognition. The storm was gone, but they were both terribly weak, and they knew that they couldn’t hold on for much longer. Soon the deep water would claim them.
At first, they thought that the fishing boat was a mirage. The shocked cries, the strong hands that dragged them out of the water onto the streaming deck – surely it was all just a cruel trick played by their feverish minds.
It wasn’t until half an hour later, when they were swathed in warm blankets with a circle of curious fishermen around them, that they let themselves believe they were saved.
‘You’re lucky we saw you when we did,’ said the tallest fishermen, who seemed to be in charge. ‘Way out of our waters, we are. Blown off course by that big wind. Just turnin’ south again when we spotted you.’
‘Clingin’ to that board like a couple o’ drowned rats, you were!’ said another man.
‘Still look like drowned rats to me!’ said a third man, and they all laughed, a loud booming sound.
The woman struggled to raise herself on one elbow. ‘Show some respect,’ she croaked, in a voice hoarse with fever and salt water. She pointed to her companion. ‘Don’t you know who this is? This is—’
‘No one!’ said her companion quickly. He waved an apologetic hand at the watching men. ‘Please forgive my friend, she is confused. I am no one important.’ And he smiled at the fisherman. In spite of his bruises, it was a particularly charming smile . . .
Many thanks to the generous people who read all or part of earlier drafts of the book and helped me make it better: Mrs Holton’s Grade 5 class, Lauderdale Primary School (2006); Essie and Fin Kruckemeyer; Peter Bishop; Mark O’Flynn; Lyn Reeves and Helen Swain. Particular thanks to Peter Matheson, dramaturg and manuscript assessor, who has such a fine eye for a story.
Thanks also to my exceptional agent Margaret Connolly, and to the wonderful people at Allen and Unwin Children’s Books, especially Eva Mills and Susannah Chambers.
Museum of Thieves was written with the support of a Developing Writers’ Grant from the Literature Board of the Australia Council.
Lian Tanner is a children’s author and playwright. She has worked as a teacher in Australia and Papua New Guinea, as well as a tourist-bus driver, a freelance journalist, a juggler, a community arts worker, an editor and a professional actor. It took her a while to realise that all of these jobs were really just preparation for being a writer. Nowadays she lives by the beach in southern Tasmania, with a small tabby cat and lots of friendly neighbourhood dogs. She has not yet mastered the art of Concealment by the Imitation of Nothingness, but she is quite good at Camouflage.
Table of Contents
Cover
Halftitle
Dedication
Title
Imprint
Contents
Prologue
Separation_Day
The_Grand_Protector
The_Fugleman
A_Few_Unimportant_Documents
Alone
The_Slaughterbird
The_Criminal_Child
A_Mission_From_His_Honour
The_Brizzlehound
Dog_Germs
Harry_Mount
An_Explanation_Of_Sorts
The_Place_Of_Remembering
Fingertalk
Spies
The_First_Song
The_Dirty_Gate
The_Hammering
Waiting
Insurrection
Strangers_n_The_Back_Rooms
Runaways
Care
The_Padlock
A_Bargain_With_Bald_Thoke
Midnight
Treachery
Shadows
Rescue
The_Great_Wind
>
Three_Days_Later
Meanwhile
Acknowledgements
About_the_Author