by Lorna Reid
‘We need to move, now.’ He raced down the road, half dragging Russell, and cut down a small, twisting side street. ‘We need to try and lose them, or we won’t get another chance.’ They barrelled past quaint inns, busy shops, and cosy restaurants, whose tables spilled out over the pavements as diners soaked up the evening breeze amid a hum of chatter and layers of music from buildings, balconies, and various street musicians.
Lights clung to buildings or hung in strings across the streets, shops were still brightly lit, full of lazy-moving silhouettes with baskets and bags, and taverns were filling up. The city was alive in a riot of colour and life. People walked, argued, sang, and browsed.
Poppy ached to stop and soak everything in, to breathe in the city, but to Air it was all a milling inconvenience, and he barged and dodged, leaving them no choice but to keep pace.
Poppy’s legs eventually began to ache, and the frequently cobbled streets made the sides of her feet hurt. Thankfully, they became fewer as the buildings and crowds slowly changed, and just when she thought Russell would collapse, and that she’d likely join him, they stopped in the shadow of a large building that smelled of fresh timber. It was connected to the building on the other side of the street by a semi-enclosed walkway with ornate iron railings. People peered idly over as they walked, while others looked out over the square in front of them.
‘This is the wagon yard that feeds into the freight entrance to the train station. The bolt trains run from here all over Lallienns, and to other Lands through the fixed Land portals. Since I can’t afford five tickets to Varron, where Darrant Ridge is, we’re going to have to bunny,’ said Air, watching heavy wagons trundle to and fro from the busy yard.
The large iron-rimmed wheels on the larger carts creaked and grated over the punished yard, while the arched backs shrouded in tarpaulin hid a wealth of treasures. In uncovered wagons and trucks, Poppy could make out lumber, stone, tools, and crates of all sizes. People and working animals moved with purpose, while the air was filled with so many sounds it was hard to pull any one out for long without losing it.
‘We need to get past the gates into the train yard. Best way is to buy a quick bunny onto an inbound wagon – find a friendly driver.’
‘Why don’t we just grab hold of the side of one?’ Danny said, struggling to make himself heard over the noise from a nearby tavern, where an upright piano was being brutally tortured.
‘That’s why,’ said Air, pointing at a wagon heading between the gates into the train yard. They could just make out a figure clinging to the side. There was a riot of shouting and three guards darted from the side of the gates and dragged the figure off.
‘Did they just hit him?’ Russell sounded horrified.
‘Yep. They’ll probably dump him in the river. Means there will be fewer guards when we make our try, though, so it’s worked out well for us.’ Russell looked aghast, but Poppy shrugged. As awful as it was, that man’s small misfortune would be their gain.
Air led them around the perimeter of the yard to one of the smaller, quieter archways, through which some of wagons entered. ‘You need to go when I say. We need an open one, or a loose top, and a big gap between it and the next wagon, or the driver behind will see us,’ Air said, hugging the wall. Some thoughtful (or devious) soul had extinguished the lanterns nearby, meaning that they were cloaked in darkness.
‘What if we get caught?’ said Russell, glancing behind him and clutching his bag strap.
‘Then I hope you can swim,’ said Air. There was, Poppy noted, no trace of humour in his voice, which worried her. Whether it was the situation they were in or his sister’s danger, she didn’t know, but it was sobering. The shine faded from the adventure somewhat and nerves started to dance in her stomach.
‘This one looks good.’ Air gestured at an approaching wagon. ‘See, one of his wheels is loose, so he’s going slow.’ No one dared to crane round the corner, preferring instead to trust Air’s judgement.
‘Shit,’ Katrina said.
‘What?’ Air muttered, tensed and ready to move.
‘Look. Are they here for us?’ They followed where Katrina was pointing. Poppy’s heart flipped and Air swore and pressed back against the wall. Five guards, dressed in the uniforms of those in the Honorax, were standing in the entrance that they’d recently vacated.
‘Shit, shit,’ raged Air. ‘I’m not giving up now.’ He glanced at the wagon, which was now almost level with them. ‘Come on. Now.’
‘What do we do?’ said Russell, spinning as his friends divided around him and ran after Air.
‘Come on!’ Poppy called back. She jumped up and grabbed the side of the wagon. Katrina and Danny had already scrambled up and under the tarp, which was loose and flapping over the top. Air helped Poppy wriggle under and then leaned down to haul Russell up.
Sitting in near darkness, surrounded by the sweet smell of freshly cut planks, Poppy’s heart was pounding. Until Russell and Air had slithered safely under and the cover had been tugged down, she hardly dared to relax.
She lay back, feeling the planks shift slightly beneath her, and fought off a vague inclination to sneeze at the sawdust. Russell’s breathing was ragged and she could feel Katrina’s boot digging into her thigh, but she didn’t care. She realised she was grinning and felt a sudden urge to laugh as adrenalin and excitement coursed through her.
The wagon lurched and she imagined it making its turn for the gates. She found a hand in the darkness. Maybe it was Katrina’s, maybe not, but she squeezed it tight, waiting for the shout, the halting of the wagon.
And then it came, like an ice blade to the heart.
‘We need to get out, now,’ said Air.
‘Maybe it wasn’t us?’ said Danny.
The wagon ground to a halt, jerking them.
‘When I say, run. Follow me and don’t stop, okay?’ whispered Air. He wriggled around on top of the wood, looking as though he was flailing his arms. There was a brief conversation and a clattering from the front of the wagon. What must have been the driver was telling the guards in no uncertain terms that he was being made late.
The cover twitched and Poppy held her breath. It was yanked back and the evening air rushed in, chilling her and kicking up tiny eddies of sawdust. Air leapt up and flung a double handful of dust into the faces of the two guards on the side nearest to them.
‘Run!’ he yelled.
They swore and flailed as Air leapt down. Poppy and the others scrambled after him and ran, plunging into the train yard, leaving angry shouts to fall behind them.
They careened down the side of several wagons that were being unloaded onto a train, before ducking under a number of huge couplings and cutting across several sets of tracks, and then veering around two stationary trains.
‘There!’ A number of storage sheds loomed out of the dusk, surrounded by pallets of crates and bales of straw. They hid behind them and Poppy slid to the floor, letting her thudding heart try and settle.
‘There are loads of trains here. How will we know which one to get?’ puffed Katrina.
‘I’ve done this before. The outland trains to the north always run from the top end of the yard. We just need to get there.’ Air stuck his head round the heap and leaned back in. ‘They’re looking for us. More than just five now.’
‘Guess we provided a nice diversion for others, though,’ said Poppy, risking a glance. Lights bobbed in the gloom as the searchers spread out, flicking as trains, wagons, and piles of goods momentarily obscured them. They couldn’t stay put.
Somewhere in the distance, dogs started barking. ‘Ah, great,’ Air muttered. ‘Let’s move.’
Russell looked miserable and drained, but Danny and Katrina leapt to their feet like it was a game. If Katrina was still disturbed by the Oracle’s death, this was proving a nice distraction, Poppy thought.
They slunk after Air, scrabbling over a few broken crates and circling behind several wagons whose owners were sitting together on a heap of pallets ar
ound a small fire barrel, sharing a drink and laughing.
In the darkness, the trains loomed large around them. Nestled on rails that caught the moonlight and seemed to glow in the encroaching darkness, they were sometimes double-decked or open-topped, and almost imposing, somehow – even the ones with low, thick flatbed wagons.
Worn metal that had borne repeated coats of paint was pocked and often scratched, while robust wheels carried the trains’ loads with the occasional groaning protest as the hulking vehicles moved off into the night.
Poppy had a thousand questions about it all, but saved them. The barking was getting closer and the stop-start race among the trains, goods, and outbuildings was getting more exhausting. Her lungs were burning, her ankle hurt from where she’d nearly turned it on a rail, and she had picked up at least two splinters from scrambling over pallets.
No one else seemed to be faring any better, and even Danny and Katrina had lost their grins and were looking stressed and tired.
She looked up toward a flickering string of lanterns and saw a sign for the north yard. ‘Finally,’ she breathed, almost cannoning into Katrina, who had stumbled on a fragment of broken barrel.
‘How do we even know where to go?’ Russell breathed from round his inhaler.
Air crouched down and peered out beneath the arm of a short loading crane. ‘The boards,’ he said, glancing back at them. ‘Stance, destination, sometimes manifest or producer if it’s a single-load train, like the postal service or one of the big produce firms.’
Poppy wasn’t quite sure what Air was talking about, but assumed ‘stance’ referred to the ground-level platforms or bays where the trains were located, and ‘manifest’ must be the type of load the trains carried. She looked behind them as Air strained into the gloom to scan the distant boards hanging from a long frame near some large buildings. Their white panels were individually lit and not hard to pick out.
‘This way. There’s a mixed freight train heading for Port George in the next few minutes. We need to hurry.’ Without warning, Air plunged off between two empty wagons and across the short gap to the entrance of the north yard.
With a last glance behind her at the swinging lanterns, Poppy followed, spurred on by the sound of pursuers and their dogs drawing ever closer.
Air led them through the yard, checking boards until he found a long, squat blue train whose doors were all closed, ready to leave. He skipped along, crabwise, testing doors and jerking locks, always glancing back. The lights were in the same yard now, and they could hear raised voices carrying over the sound of trains and the people loading them.
‘This one. It’s a bit close to the driver’s end, but it’ll have to do.’ Air yanked at the lock of the large sliding door and pushed it. The groan of metal sounded thunderous.
‘Someone’s coming along the train,’ Katrina whispered.
‘It may be just one of the yard people, checking the doors before departure.’ Air didn’t sound convinced. ‘Get inside.’
The smell of fresh straw seeped out and they scrambled into a narrow space, banging into one another in the darkness. No one was sure where to go, since they were penned in by a stack of straw bales. Beneath Poppy’s feet, the train seemed to stir, and a faint shudder ran through the carriage.
This is it, she thought, and her heart leapt. She grinned in the darkness, even though Katrina was standing on her foot. The train began to roll as Air pulled the door closed. ‘Hey!’ The yell was close. It drove a shard of fear through Poppy’s heart.
The door was yanked back and two guards ripped Air from the carriage before he had time to grab on. Katrina and Poppy yelled and lunged for him, but it was too late. Air fought, punched, bit, kicked, and shouted, but the guards were too much for him. From the doorway, they could do nothing, and the train picked up speed, pulling them away from him. His anguish was clear as he tried one last attempt to get free.
‘Find my sister!’ he screamed. ‘You have to find her! You have to warn her!’ The knot of guards grew distant, blurring through Poppy’s tears as she stood away from the door and let the chill air buffet her and tug at her cloak.
‘Close the door, lass. You can’t help him now.’
Danny squeaked in surprise as an older, broad man in a long, patched, burgundy duster-coat dropped down from the bales. His wavy dark hair was streaked with grey and his rugged, stubbly face featured a large nose and a reassuring smile.
‘Here,’ said the man, passing a small lantern to Russell and sliding the door closed. ‘You’ll let all the cold in.’ He surveyed them in the light and Poppy wondered if he was some sort of police. His black laced-up shirt and trousers looked tough but warm and neat, and the coat had patches, buckles, and a distinctly comfortable lived-in look.
‘No one else will check the train now,’ he said. ‘It’ll stop in the midway yard at Netherford, though, so you’ll still have to be quiet. You get hauled off there, you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere.’ The man hung the lantern on a hook and then perched on the remains of a fallen bale.
‘Jal Ravensford. Call me Patches,’ he said. They struggled to lean around one another in the tight space to shake his weathered hand. ‘I’m on my way to Port George to meet my ship.’
‘We’re trying to get to Darrant Ridge in Varron, but now our friend is gone I don’t know what we do from here. Maybe get another train? We’re sort of new to all this,’ Poppy said.
‘Trains to Varron are a pain from the port – you’ll have to make a few connections. It’ll be a long, winding route from most places,’ he said, rummaging in a tin that he had plucked from a pocket and popping what looked like a boiled sweet into his mouth. Poppy heard Danny’s stomach rumble.
Poppy watched the man as he moved to peer through the crack in the door, wondering if he was safe to be speaking to. The Lands may be alien to them, but people were people, and dangerous. Without Air to guide them, the fear and uncertainty were beginning to gnaw at her, and the others looked similarly affected, shuffling and wary.
‘Here, you can’t stand all the way to port.’ Patches stood up, dropped his pack on the floor, and fished a long pole from a crevice beside the doorjamb. On one end was a curved hook. ‘Back off,’ he said, swinging it up and hauling down a bale. It narrowly missed Katrina, who squeaked and fell back against Danny. He knocked Russell into Poppy and she ended up on her backside, swearing and spluttering in the dust.
‘Sorry lass,’ he chuckled, fishing for two more. ‘Looks like we need some more space.’ With practised ease, he swung the pole, shifting bales to the top of the pile and eating an alcove into the stack, giving them space to sit and stretch out.
‘So you’re not police or anything?’ said Danny, feeling confident enough to accept a boiled sweet, Poppy noticed.
‘What’s that?’ the man said.
‘Erm … guards?’ said Katrina.
He burst into a low rolling laugh and almost choked on his sweet.
‘That’s the best one I’ve heard in a long time.’ Patches wiped his grey eyes and chuckled. ‘Lassie, I’ve too much bounty on my hide to be a guard in any sense of the word.’
‘You’re a criminal?’ Russell froze. Poppy looked at Patches with curiosity.
‘In some places, lad. The services we provide some folk don’t go down too well with port authorities in a few places. But we stick up for the folks who have no voice, or who simply need or want stuff they can’t get.’
‘Are you a pirate? A smuggler?’ Katrina said.
Poppy tutted. ‘Katrina.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, looking down at her boots.
‘No worries, lass. More the latter. Fought plenty of the former, though. They don’t even try with us anymore.’ He smiled, pride pricking the corners of his mouth. ‘And you want to get to Darrant Ridge why? It’s an old military base in the hills. Used to be a hangout for smugglers – it’s riddled with tunnels. Now it’s a training place and research archive for magical studies and medicines.’
P
oppy looked at the others, wondering if they should say more. But then, she thought, who else could help them? ‘A friend of ours has been posted there with her company, as a precaution against an attack on a piece of the Ianuan Soul Core.’
Inside she was terrified that she had just made a huge mistake in telling him about the fragment, but she felt like they were out of options. They needed his help and she hoped they could trust him. Something about his kind, almost worn demeanour guided her instincts.
His eyebrows twitched. ‘That so? Stowed one there, did they? Hmm, makes sense, I suppose. Well tucked away.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Heard a bit about the other attacks. Much has been hushed up, folk reckon. They say the Darklanders are stretching their hand out again, after all these years.’
‘Yeah, that’s what we heard,’ Danny said, eyeing the tin and getting rewarded with another dip. ‘They don’t want to panic people.’
‘So they keep them ignorant instead.’ Patches snorted in disgust and rummaged in his bag for a dented canteen and found it empty. ‘Well, if we’re heading for another war, people have a right to know. Too much complacency from those at the top. You got any food? I ate all mine waiting to bunny a wagon to the train yard.’
They pulled out everything they had packed – fruit, sandwiches, wraps of cold meats – and shared it with Patches. Poppy hadn’t realised how hungry she had been until she smelled everything.
‘So, your friend … You in the habit of hopping a train all that way to pay a friendly visit, or is there more to it?’ He stretched his legs out and groaned, flexing his left leg and rubbing his knee several times.
‘She’s in danger,’ said Russell.
‘Not if she’s part of a company, lad.’
‘Not according to the Oracle,’ said Russell, murmuring into his sandwich.
Patches dropped his hands to his lap and stared at him in shock. ‘You saw the Oracle?’
‘Yes. And the visions have been in my damn head ever since,’ replied Russell, his voice hoarse. ‘I saw our friend attacked by some creature they were all fighting. We need to warn her before it’s too late. Before she dies.’