“Did she, now?”
There was no time to say anything else. Master Warden Atilde straightened to face the door as someone walked through it.
That someone was Shom Behenna.
“I see,” she said with a voice that could have turned steam to snow.
The ex-warden came to a halt in the middle of the room.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking nervous. “They were more trouble than I expected.”
“Obviously,” Atilde replied. “I hope you haven’t left too much of a mess behind, otherwise everything will be undone.”
He shook his head. “It’s being cleaned up as we speak.”
“Good.” Atilde looked down at Skender, and his heart sank right down to his feet.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s coming together nicely. The time has arrived, at last, to act.”
Chapter 19. A Powerful Need
Sal waited anxiously in the small room at the rear of Gram’s house. He had been there for an hour, watching the old lady sleep. She was in the same chair as last time, wearing the same clothes, and might never have moved. Beyond acknowledging him when he arrived, she had done nothing but snore.
When Sal had said that he would like to see her again, he had expected something more than this. The attendants who had collected him after dinner and brought him to her had given him no choice about coming, but that hadn’t concerned him. He’d thought it would distract him from his predicament. In the end, all it had given him was more time to think, and a new fear: that Highson might turn up. He didn’t know what to do if that happened. The attendants were standing guard at the entrance to the house, and the one time he had tried to remove the charm around his neck powerful stabbing pains along his spine and at the base of his skull had encouraged him to stop.
Trapped and abandoned, he waited out the night, wondering what would happen next. It wasn’t just an academic question. If you can see what’s coming, Skender had said, you can take steps to avoid it. That means we can try to avoid the bad and aim for the good. If Skender was right, no matter how bad things looked there had to be a way out. It was just a matter of finding it.
Presumably in the near future someone would come to put Gram to bed, if she didn’t, in fact, sleep in the chair. He assumed he would have to go back to the Novitiate then.
The only thing he had found so far was the trick to the silver, self-playing harp. If he snapped his fingers, its tune changed at random in mid-stream. If he let it play on of its own accord, the melody wandered from tune to tune, following subtle patterns of mood and tone. Some of the tunes he knew, others he attempted to commit to memory before they changed. All of them were beautiful, and just sufficient to keep him from going utterly crazy with inactivity.
Gram twitched and opened her eyes.
“You’re still here,” she said, as briskly as though she had never been asleep. “Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”
“I guess so,” he said. “It’s really not up to me.”
“Of course it is. Everything is.” Gram straightened in her chair as though she’d made her point perfectly well. “He would’ve been Alcaide, you know, but for her.”
“Who?” Sal knew exactly who she was referring to, but any chance of derailing the conversation had to be taken.
“Your father, of course. Would’ve been Alcaide easily.” One withered hand clutched at the arm of her chair. “He was strong, popular, well-placed. It was a certainty he’d be voted in. The only contender was soft and easily manipulated. What was his name?”
Sal shrugged. “Dragan Braham?”
“That’s the one. When Alcaide Mustienes retired, Braham got the job because there was no one else to contest it. Highson had been disgraced.” The old lady sighed, and seemed to deflate in the process. Her hand went limp. “He was a fool to let her go.”
“I don’t think he had much choice,” Sal said with some satisfaction.
“There you go with your choices again.” A spark appeared where just a second before had been only weariness. “Of course Highson had a choice. Don’t you see? You’re a bright boy. Don’t be blinded by what you think you know.”
“I know that there are more important things than being Alcaide.”
Gram’s face split in a surprising grin. “Exactly!” she cackled. “I knew you’d understand.”
Sal wasn’t sure he did, and wasn’t given the chance to find out. The sound of the front door opening and closing, followed by heavy footsteps approaching down the hall, stilled his tongue.
Shilly followed the solid back of the attendant through the streets of the Haunted City, increasingly unnerved. If she had asked once where he was taking her, she had asked a dozen times. The unbroken silence was beginning to worry her more than the consequences of not doing as she was told. What if the golem had broken free from Lodo and taken over the attendant? It could be leading her somewhere nice and quiet to break her neck and toss her body into the sea. And she was following it like a lamb, shivering every time she felt the cold gaze of a ghost pass over her.
They reached the outskirts of the city, where slender glass towers mixed with the exposed rock and dark soil of the rest of the island. Ahead was a deep, ominous darkness. The moon was hidden by clouds. The only sound was the distant whisper of the waves crashing far below.
Enough.
She stopped.
“I’m not taking one more step until you tell me where we’re going.”
The attendant turned. “Don’t argue, girl. I haven’t got all night.”
“Then you’d better be quick.” She folded her arms and stared into the blackness under the hood, wondering why his voice sounded so familiar.
“If you want to see your friends again, you’ll do as you’re told.”
“That’s not a destination. That’s a threat.”
The attendant stepped forward. “You’re trying my patience.”
Before she could think of a fitting response, a new sound broke the night: a rhythmic chugging, growing louder. It took her a moment to place the sound. Something propelled by an alcohol engine was coming toward them out of the darkness.
She and the attendant turned to face the source of the noise. Whatever it was, its headlights were off, making it difficult to see in the dark. It was almost on top of them when a low, angular frame resolved out of the blackness. A buggy ferrying several people was silhouetted against the dark sky, rocking as its wheels dipped and rose over the uneven ground.
The attendant tensed on seeing it, then relaxed. He seemed to have been expecting it.
“You’re late,” he said as Sal’s buggy came to a halt beside them and the engine fell into an idle purr.
“I know, sir, and I’m sorry.” The grey-clad driver of the buggy was suitably chastened—and Shilly couldn’t have been more surprised to recognise Shom Behenna if he’d been wearing a purple jester’s hat and matching tights. “We were held up.”
“Do you have everything?”
Behenna glanced over his shoulder, and nodded. Shilly’s surprise grew in exponential proportions. Balancing on the back of the buggy were Skender and Kemp. Between them leaned Mawson’s top-heavy weight. Both were filthy and looking as apprehensive as she felt. They acknowledged her only with their eyes; waving, even speaking, seemed grimly inappropriate. In their stares Shilly saw fear.
“Did I hear voices?” asked Highson Sparre, easing with a tinkle through the bead curtain separating the back room from the rest of the house.
“Just bringing the boy up to date, Harun.” Gram slapped her bony thighs with satisfaction. “I think you need to have a talk to him about choices.”
“I will, Gram. Don’t worry.” Highson looked at Sal. His expression was concerned. “We have to go now.”
Sal was no longer keen to leave, not if it meant returning to captivity with the man who had put
him there. “Do I have to?”
“We don’t have long.”
“For what?” Gram peered up at him suspiciously. “What’re you up to now, Harun?”
Highson glanced behind him, almost nervously. “I can’t explain now, Gram, but I will later. I promise.”
Sal took the only opportunity he had to stall. “Who’s Harun?”
“Harun’s his father,” Gram supplied. “Shifty, talentless layabout. Never amounted to anything.”
“Why do you call him Harun, then?” he asked, pointing at Highson.
“Do I?” she asked, eyes wide and innocent.
“Don’t let her fool you,” said Highson. “She’s more alert than she pretends to be half the time.”
“And a daft old woman the other half.” She settled back into her chair with an amused harrumph. “Take your pick, boy. You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance of being right.”
“I don’t think you’re daft,” Sal said.
“If only Harun and Nu had your good sense, then. Fortunately I’m blessed with sensible grandchildren.” She looked fondly over her shoulder at Highson, then down at Sal. “And great-grandchildren. It all works out in the end.”
Harun and Nu…The phrase caught his attention, reminding him of something that was all too easy to forget. The Syndic’s real name was Nu Zanshin and she was Sal’s great-aunt. That made her Highson’s father’s sister, and therefore Gram’s daughter. Sal couldn’t imagine two people more different than Gram and the Syndic.
Highson cleared his throat. “We really must go,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Gram nodded glumly. “I understand. You’ve got to put him back where he belongs.”
Sal tried but could think of no other means to delay. “I’ll come see you again,” he promised his great-grandmother.
“Perhaps,” said the old woman with a watery smile. “I know I’d like it if you did.”
“Are you all right sitting here?” asked Highson.
“Fine, dear.”
“I’ll be back later to put you to bed.”
She nodded absently, as though already falling asleep.
Sal pushed aside his father’s guiding hand and walked through the house on his own steam. There were two attendants waiting outside. They went to fall in behind Sal and his real father as they headed back to the Novitiate, but Highson stopped when they reached the first corner.
“You two go on ahead,” he said to them. “I’ll walk Sal back myself. I want to talk to him alone.”
The attendants protested, but he was firm.
“What can he do?” Highson indicated the collar around Sal’s neck. “The boy’s not going anywhere without me, I assure you.”
Reassured, the attendants headed off into the darkness. Sal watched them go with a feeling of dread. He was sure his real father’s intention had to be particularly malignant if he didn’t want the attendants to witness it.
When the two black-clad figures had turned a corner, Highson took Sal by the arm and practically dragged him off in a different direction.
“I have to talk to you, Sal.”
“You said that,” he said, struggling to free himself but once again unable to resist his father’s strength. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say.”
“You should. It’s important, and we don’t have much time.” Highson’s grip tightened and they hurried down a side street cloaked completely in shadow. “I need to tell you the truth about me and your mother.”
“You mean there’s more?” Sal couldn’t help his bitterness. “You drove her away from you, then you hunted her down like a dog. You stole her back against her will, and you let her die trying to escape. What else could there be?”
“Plenty.” His real father’s face echoed his anger. “You don’t know everything. You may think you do, but you don’t. And if you don’t talk to me now, you’ll never learn. Can you live with that?”
Sal dug in his heels and managed to wrench himself free. Father and son took a step back and confronted each other, eye to eye but utterly at odds.
“I lived most of my life knowing nothing about her, thanks to you.” A cascade of ugly emotions poured through Sal. He felt his face screwing up in a grimace. “Then you took my father from me as well. Why should I talk to you, you—” He struggled for words. “You murderer!”
He couldn’t read Highson’s expression in the depths of the alley. “Is that what Dafis told you? That I killed your mother?”
“How could he know that? He thought Mum was still alive.”
“Yes, that’s right. He did.” Highson’s voice wavered. “But is that what you think, now? Even though you know I loved her? Would you kill someone you loved?”
“Never—but I’m not you,” Sal spat. “You couldn’t have her, so you drove her to her death. You wanted her all to yourself. You’d rather see her die than let her be happy with me.”
Sal’s voice broke on the last word. The shadow of his father moved closer, and he instinctively lashed out with the Change. There was a bright flash of silver from the band around his neck—and the next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees gasping for breath. He felt as though he had been punched in the stomach.
Highson crouched beside him, one hand on his back. Sal pushed it aside with the last of his strength, and vomited onto the ancient paving stones.
“I’m trying to help you, Sal,” he heard his father say.
“Like you helped my mother?”
“Exactly like I helped her.”
“You admit it, then.” Sal had no energy left to fight him off, even with words. It was all he could do to think. “I’d rather not have your help. I don’t want to end up dead like her.”
“Is that what you think your choice is, Sal? Between fighting me and dying?”
“Give me another one and I’ll consider it.” That was Shilly talking again, and fresh spasms in his gut left him gasping at the thought that she could have died the same way as his mother, for the same reason. But if he had to choose between the ghosts and his real father, he’d take the ghosts every time. At least with them he knew where they stood. All he saw when he looked into his father’s eyes were lies.
There was one other passenger on the buggy. Sitting hunched in the front seat was a small figure wrapped in blankets, listing gently to one side. Shilly knew who it was before Behenna adjusted the blanket and accidentally revealed his face.
Lodo.
But how? And why?
She turned to the attendant beside her. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Tell me now or—”
“Or what?” The attendant shook his head. “Get on the buggy, Shilly. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“I don’t want soon enough. I want now.”
“You’re in no position to make demands.” The attendant pointed at her throat, and her collar squeezed, choking her. “You kids are the bane of my life. The sooner we’re rid of you, the better.”
“Don’t hurt her,” Skender yelled. “Don’t you dare!”
The attendant turned. Shilly sucked in air as the pressure eased.
“I’ll do only what it takes to get this buggy rolling again. Get on, Shilly, or I’ll knock you out and load you up myself.”
She ground her teeth together and did as she was told. Putting her crutch in place first, she levered herself onto the tray behind Skender and Kemp.
“Go on ahead,” the attendant told Behenna. “I want to double back in case we were followed.”
The engine revved to a higher pitch and the buggy accelerated into the darkness, leaving the attendant behind. The voice still nagged at her, but his identity remained elusive.
Skender and Kemp were watching her when she turned her attention forward. Closer to them, she could see that their hands were bound and tied to the tray so they couldn’t make a ru
n for it.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked, afraid that she was worse off now than if she had been with the golem.
Skender shook his head. “Atilde’s in on it, whatever it is. She turned us over without a second thought.”
“And they play hard,” Kemp said, showing her a large bruise on one side of his head.
“They are the Weavers,” said Mawson.
“That’s what I thought,” said Skender gloomily.
“Are you sure?” Shilly asked the man’kin.
“As certain as I can be.”
“What do they want?”
“To get rid of the problem.”
“That’s us, I guess,” said Skender.
“Yes.”
The flat affirmative sent a wave of nausea through Shilly. She had wondered when the Weavers would step in to fix the situation, but she had never dreamed that imprisoning them wouldn’t be enough, that the Weavers would kill them, thereby erasing the situation completely. It didn’t seem possible. It couldn’t be.
But as the buggy trundled on, it became apparent that they were heading for the crack in the island’s uninhabited headland through which they had been rescued from the catacombs. The cavern-riddled bones of the Haunted City were the perfect places to dispose of potentially incriminating bodies: hers, Lodo’s, Skender’s, Kemp’s, Mawson’s…
There was one missing.
“Where’s Sal?” she asked, gripping Skender’s arm.
“His room was empty, remember?”
They got him first, she thought with bleak finality. If Mawson was right, the chances were good that he was already dead, his body lying broken on some underground rock or drifting out to sea with the tide.
“Sal is on his way,” Mawson said, prompting a surge of relief as powerful as it was short-lived. “His father is charged with bringing him.”
The buggy jerked to a halt. Shilly considered running, but knew she wouldn’t get far over the rocky ground with one good leg. Her only hope was to make a break for it when Skender and Kemp were also free. If they could overpower Behenna together they would have a chance.
The Storm Weaver & the Sand (Books of the Change) Page 39