Sunker's Deep

by Lian Tanner

  If I can get away, where can I run to? Can I use the tunnel to get Poddy and the others out? And what if I can’t get away?

  He was scared of what was coming, but he was angry too. Angry at Rain, angry at Brother Thrawn, angry at every single person in the Up Above. What had the Sunkers ever done to them? Nothing, that’s what. Sunkers just wanted to be left alone, to live their lives the way they’d done for three hundred years.

  But the Devouts wouldn’t let them.

  By the time they came to Tower of Strength, Sharkey was fuming. Which was just as well, because otherwise his courage might have failed him. There was the Citadel high above him, more toadlike than ever, and he was being dragged up the busy road towards it, with the Devouts discussing his fate.

  ‘What do you think Brother Thrawn will do to him?’

  ‘Hang him. That is what I would do. Hang the lot of them.’

  Four men on horses overtook them. Another three strode down the hill with purposeful faces. The Devouts hauled Sharkey out of the way, still talking.

  ‘Break his bones.’

  ‘Drown him.’

  They both laughed at that, and Rain said, ‘It would serve him right to drown. If he loves water so much, give it to him.’

  ‘You are a fierce one,’ said the man with the hitched-up robes, in admiring tones. ‘I always thought you were meek as a mouse.’

  ‘I have had to fight for my life,’ said Rain,‘and it has changed me. No more meekness.’

  Sharkey saw her throat move, as if she was singing under her breath. A treachery song, he thought, and he looked away.

  The road that ran up through Tower of Strength was made of tiny stone chips, like the ones Poddy had been pounding in the quarry. It was a neat road, despite the comings and goings of men and horses. But all around it was squalor.

  For as long as Sharkey could remember, Claw and Rampart had stunk of sweat, engine oil and fish. Occasionally, if the recyclers broke down, the reek of sewage was added to the mix for a day or so.

  But this was different. The houses on either side of the road were crumbling, their walls propped up with sticks and stones, their roofs half caved in. There was no glass in their portholes, just flaps of filthy cloth, and the stink of hopelessness that rose from them made Sharkey recoil.

  Pale-haired children played in some of the doorways, their faces gaunt with hunger, their limbs so thin that they looked as if they might snap. Others just sat in their mothers’ laps, as if they didn’t have the energy to move. But as the horsemen trotted past, holding their robes over their noses, the women and children scuttled back inside.

  Like fish, thought Sharkey, hiding from a predator.

  At first it was a relief to come to the top of the hill and leave the houses behind. The smell lessened, the road flattened out, and there was even a bush or two growing beside it. But then Sharkey saw the Citadel.

  From below, he had thought it looked like a squatting toad, but now he could see that there was another part to it, a tall pointed thing that rose above it, white and hard. In fact, the whole thing was white and hard, like a bird skeleton lying on its back with its beak in the air.

  Dead, he thought. It looks dead.

  ‘Feast your eyes, savage,’ said one of the Devouts. ‘That is the spire of our Citadel, and the centre of the civilised world. People can see it from a hundred miles away on a clear day. You poor ignorant savages never had anything so fine.’

  We had better things than dead-bird houses, thought Sharkey. We had Rampart. We had Resilience and Rogue and Rumbustious. And Claw, which is still out there somewhere. Least, I hope it is.

  The road took them to a high stone wall with a well-guarded wooden gate, and the gate took them to a world of neatness and order. Sharkey had never seen so many straight lines. Even the pebbles seemed to line up one behind the other, as if they were too scared to do anything else.

  There were Devouts everywhere, in the same brown robes as Sharkey’s captors.They were all men – there was not a woman among them, which to Sharkey was as strange as the straight lines. He stared around and realised that there were no middies either, or babies, which probably accounted for the neatness.

  It’s mean, he thought suddenly. It’s mean and hollow, and it’s got nothing to do with real life.

  The new Devouts had an air of excitement about them, and one of them, a big man with scratches on his face, stopped and said, ‘Have you heard? We captured the demon and its helpers.’

  ‘And the boy traitor,’ said a second man, ‘the one who injured Brother Thrawn so grievously. What a thumping we gave him.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning they will be put to death, all four of them. It will be quite a spectacle.’

  Sharkey’s anger slid away like dirty water, and he was almost knocked down by a wave of horror. Because of him and his rescue expedition, the others had been caught, every one of them. And now they were going to die.

  The man with the scratched face peered at him. ‘Is this another of the demon’s cohort?’

  ‘No, he is one of the underwater lot,’ said the hitched-robe man. ‘The last, thankfully.’

  The other men spat on the ground, and as Sharkey was dragged away, one of them said, ‘They are as hard to get rid of as cockroaches.’

  Up close, the Citadel looked bigger and more corpse-like than ever. Everything about it was white and bleak, and the only sounds were footsteps and the muttering of passers-by. Sharkey felt as if he was dead already, and lost in some terrible afterworld where the Hungry Ghosts would torment him for the rest of time.

  ‘Punishment cells,’ asked one of his captors, ‘or Brother Thrawn? What do you think?’

  ‘Brother Thrawn, definitely.’

  ‘Poosk will be there, of course.’

  They both snorted, as if Poosk was someone they enjoyed despising.‘Pathetic little man,’ said one of them. ‘I do not know how Brother Thrawn puts up with him.’

  ‘He is well-named. Poosk. Flea. Parasite.’

  ‘Have you heard him going on and on about what an honour it is to serve our leader?’

  ‘Well, he is right. It is an honour to serve. As a member of the Circle, or a hunter of demons, or a warrior. But as a nursemaid?’

  They snorted again.Then they became very serious, and hustled Sharkey and Rain through a hatch— Nay. Sharkey made himself concentrate. Made himself find the right word. They went through a door – and into the Citadel itself.

  And now at last he saw the workings of the empire that had eaten the world. The wide passages were packed with men, all of them bustling back and forth with scrolls in their hands, and important expressions on their faces.

  Every now and then, a couple of them would stop and talk to each other in low voices, before hurrying about their business.

  As Sharkey was dragged past, he overheard snatches of conversation.

  ‘—have five fields? They only reported three. Find out the truth, and then—’

  ‘—news from the Northern Zone suggests that—’

  ‘—someone trying to teach the peasants to read in District Four. I have ordered a purge, and I think we should also—’

  There was no crowing over the new prisoners here, and no one so much as glanced at Sharkey and his captors.They were too busy, and the crowded passages seemed to go on forever. But at last Sharkey was shoved into a long line of men that was creeping, bit by bit, through a doorway.

  It took them nearly half an hour to shuffle from the end of the line to the door. Plenty of time to think about the tunnel. Plenty of time to think about Petrel and her friends, and to wonder if they were expecting him to come to their rescue.

  I can’t, he thought. I’ll be lucky to save myself. And if by some miracle I manage that, the next thing’ll be Poddy. And then Adm’ral Deeps and the rest of the Sunkers.That’s why I’m here.

  He felt as if he was standing in front of Petrel, trying to excuse himself, and not doing a very good job of it. The despair threatened to grab him again
, and he fought it with all his Sunker strength.

  I’m sorry, he said to the imaginary Petrel, but I can’t afford to worry about anyone else. I hope you escape, I really do. But I can’t help you.

  It was an ugly thing to say, especially after they’d come here to help him. But he knew it was sensible. No distractions, he said to himself. And with that resolution, he turned his mind away from the other four captives and focused on what was in front of him.

  As soon as he passed through the doorway, Sharkey knew where he was. This is the control room, he thought. This is centre of everything.

  It was ten times as big as the whole of Claw. The ceiling was carved in intricate patterns and the walls were draped with silver-grey cloth that looked even finer than sea silk. Spaced out along the base of the walls were cavities, and in each cavity was an enormous fire, so that, despite the stone underfoot, the room was as warm as a summer’s night.

  At the far end was a wheeled chair with a man sitting in it.

  And that, thought Sharkey, is the high adm’ral. Brother Thrawn.

  The man in the wheeled chair was thin and angry-looking, with lines on his face that might’ve been carved with a knife. There was a coldness to him, and a heat as well, and his eyes were so full of hatred that Sharkey took an involuntary step backwards, and Rain went very still, as if she didn’t want to be noticed.

  Ahead of them, the long line of men made their reports.

  ‘Brother Thrawn, the grain harvest from Sub-District Seven,Village Number Four, was only half of last year’s harvest.The peasants claim they are starving, and have asked for their tithe to be halved as well.’

  ‘Brother Thrawn, I am pleased to report that the factional rebellion in the Northern Zone has been quashed, and the ringleaders hanged.This does leave us with a temporary problem of leadership—’

  ‘Brother Thrawn, three of our informers in District Nine have died in the last six months. Their deaths appear to be accidental—’

  The horrible thing about it, thought Sharkey, was that it was all so ordinary. The Devouts spoke in dry, level voices, as if they were talking about marks on paper rather than people’s lives, and, after a pause, Brother Thrawn answered in an equally dry voice.

  ‘The tithe will not be halved.They are not starving, but lazy.’

  ‘Send Brother Trounce to assume leadership of the Northern Zone. He will come down hard—’

  ‘Of course the deaths are not accidental. Hang twenty peasants from each village.’

  Sharkey and his captors moved forward step by step. Rain’s face was so stiff that she might have been made of coral. The line in front of them grew shorter—

  And suddenly Sharkey realised that it wasn’t Brother Thrawn speaking, after all. It was his nursemaid. Brother Poosk.

  Rain’s uncle was such a nondescript little man that Sharkey hadn’t even noticed him. Like the other Devouts, he wore brown robes, but his were made of rougher cloth, and although they were neat, they were also old and threadbare.

  Whenever someone asked Brother Thrawn a question, Poosk would bend a respectful ear to his leader, listen to the answer, and pass it on in that arid voice. Between questions he held a cup to Brother Thrawn’s lips, then wiped them gently with a cloth.

  When it was Sharkey’s turn, the hitched-robe man shoved him forward and said, ‘Brother Thrawn, I am pleased to report that we have caught the last of the underwater savages. He was with the demon, but ran off separately. I do not know how he escaped the attack of three days ago.’

  The figure in the wheeled chair mumbled something. Poosk bent closer. ‘What is that you say, dear leader? They are crowding you?’

  The two men holding Sharkey quickly shuffled back a few steps. Sharkey glanced at Rain. Her eyes were fixed on Brother Thrawn. Her throat moved.

  Brother Thrawn said something else, though Sharkey couldn’t pick out the words, not from where he was. He wondered what was wrong with the man, and whether he could be healed.

  I bet Presser Surgeon Blue could fix him, he thought. And Thrawn’ll never know, because I’ll never tell him.

  Poosk raised his voice and passed Brother Thrawn’s message on. ‘The day’s audience is finished. Our dear leader is tired.You may leave the prisoner here, roped to a chair, so he cannot escape.’

  The dozens of men who had been waiting in line behind Sharkey left without a murmur, their sandalled feet slapping on the marble floor. But the hitched-robe man said, ‘The prisoner is slippery, Brother, and violent. Perhaps we should stay.’

  Poosk drew himself up to his not-very-impressive height.‘Are you doubting our leader’s wisdom?’

  ‘No,’ said the man.‘I just thought—’

  Poosk held up a hand for silence. Then he bent his head closer to Brother Thrawn’s lips. ‘It is not your place – to think,’ he relayed. ‘Tie him up and leave us. The girl can stay too.’

  At that, Poosk looked up with a surprised expression, as if he’d been so busy passing on Brother Thrawn’s instructions that he’d hardly noticed who else was in the room. ‘Niece,’ he said, ‘is that you? Are you alive after all?’

  ‘She helped catch the boy,’ said the hitched-robe man.‘He was trying to drag her away and she grabbed hold of him. She is a hero, she is.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Poosk,‘I am so relieved, so proud—’

  There was a sound from Brother Thrawn and Poosk broke off, his plump cheeks flushed.‘Yes, of course,’ he said. ‘My apologies, Brother.’

  Through most of this, Sharkey was looking for ways out. Looking for things he could use. He hadn’t found anything yet, but his gaze kept coming back to Brother Thrawn’s frozen figure. To the hatred that radiated from him, so powerful that Sharkey could almost touch it.

  No wonder everyone jumps to obey him. He might be stuck in that chair, but he’s got enough nastiness in him for a dozen Massy sharks.

  Brother Poosk, on the other hand, was like one of the tiny fish that cleaned the teeth of those sharks, ducking in and out of their dreadful jaws day and night.The little fish were necessary, but no one liked them or took any notice of them. Not even the Massy sharks.

  If I could get loose, thought Sharkey, I could shove Poosk out of the way as easy as a baby. He’d probably cry as soon as I touched him. But not Thrawn. He’s the one to watch, even though he can’t move. I bet he’s got a few tricks up his sleeve.

  Unfortunately, getting loose was about to become even harder. Sharkey’s captors tied him to a heavy chair, then placed it a couple of yards away from their leader.

  Before he left, the hitched-robe man whispered, ‘You keep a polite tongue in your head, savage, when you speak to Brother Thrawn. Or else.’ Then he and his friend left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

  And that’s when Sharkey discovered where the real danger lay.

  UNCLE POOSK

  It was subtle at first. Brother Poosk still bent to listen to his leader. Still mopped the helpless man’s face and bobbed and ducked around him, attending to this and that.

  ‘Brother Thrawn wants to know,’ he said, as the door closed, ‘how you escaped from the underwater machine. He was sure his men had destroyed it.’

  Sharkey didn’t answer. Something had changed, and he was trying to work out what it was.

  He looked at Rain, but she was staring at the floor. He looked at Brother Thrawn, at the mad glint in his eyes, at the rage and the viciousness and the nastiness. From this close, Sharkey could see that it was directed at—

  —at Brother Poosk.

  Sharkey blinked. Hang on, that wasn’t right. What had Poosk done except run around being helpful, and pass on messages? Look at him, even now he was moving Brother Thrawn’s left arm so it didn’t rub against the edge of the chair, then trotting around to the other side—

  In the end, it was the spring in Poosk’s step that gave him away. Everyone else probably thought it was eagerness to serve. But to Sharkey, with his history of deception, it looked like something else.

>   A subtle glee.

  Sharkey’s eyes widened involuntarily. Everyone seemed to think of Brother Poosk as nothing more than an irritating servant. They despised him. They laughed behind his back.

  But what if he was the one laughing? What if he was in charge?

  Sharkey looked again, and listened, and knew he was right. It wasn’t instructions coming out of Brother Thrawn’s mouth. It was meaningless mumbles. He hadn’t condemned sixty villagers to hanging. It was Poosk!

  Which meant it was Poosk who had sent Sharkey’s captors out of the room. It was probably Poosk who had caused Rampart to be bombarded, and Claw too. The handover trap, the catapults, the balloons – they were all Brother Poosk.

  And Rain knew it.

  Sharkey didn’t look at the girl. He didn’t look at Poosk, either. He kept his face blank, and his eyes fixed on Brother Thrawn, as if he still believed the masquerade. Because if Rain’s uncle was clever enough to snatch this sort of power, to keep this sort of secret, then he was far more dangerous than he appeared to be. And if Sharkey wanted to save his own skin, and Poddy’s too, he’d better keep quiet about it.

  ‘Well?’ said Brother Poosk in his humble I’m-just-passing-on-the-question voice. ‘You must not keep Brother Thrawn waiting, savage. How did you escape?’

  Sharkey had no intention of answering any questions. But it made no difference. Rain answered for him.

  With lowered eyes, she told her uncle how Sharkey had tricked their pursuers. She told him about the oil and the broken-up berth and the expelled air. She even told him about the little claw, and how it had been used to stir the sand.

  The only thing she didn’t mention was the part she had played. In her story, she’d been a helpless prisoner the whole time, unable to do anything except watch in terror.

  If Sharkey hadn’t hated her so much, he would’ve admired her. This was a side of Rain he’d never seen before. But he should’ve guessed it was there. After all, just about everything she’d ever said to him had been a lie.

  At the end of Rain’s story, Poosk put his ear to Brother Thrawn’s mouth, and nodded several times. Then he said, in a surprised voice. ‘Really? You want me to question the savage boy? I am not at all sure, dear leader – I do not have your intellect—’