‘Are you saying we really can’t get to the City today?’ asked Pema slowly.
‘We’ve told you that about six times!’ As she spoke, Zamin swerved their boat suddenly to avoid an over-laden punt coming in from a side channel. She stood up, gesticulating wildly and spouting language that made the passengers blink. ‘Besides,’ she continued, sitting down again as if nothing had happened, ‘what’s your hurry?’
Pema and Singay looked at each other helplessly. What could they say? They couldn’t tell these tiny, wild strangers what their hurry – their desperate hurry – actually was, and even if they could, it didn’t seem as if it would make any difference.
‘You’ve got a disc,’ said Za. ‘A good one too – House Priority. The rich people all belong to different Houses. And you’ve got money.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then we’ll take you. Tomorrow. The gate’ll be open from about first light.’
‘And you know your way in the City?’ asked Pema doubtfully.
Zamin waved a casual scull. ‘The City’s easy. It’s the Flats you can get lost in.’
Suddenly Za lunged half over the side of the boat with a cry and plunged his arms up to the shoulders in the muck. Zamin dropped the oar and grabbed him by the belt.
‘Pull! Pull!’
There was a horrible slurping, sucking sound as Za wrestled with something unseen in the mud.
‘Open that basket!’ Zamin yelled over her shoulder at Pema as the struggle grew wilder and filthy water splashed everywhere and everyone.
Pema managed to get the lid off one of the wicker baskets just as the twins dragged something ghastly on board. There was a glimpse of a thick snake-like body covered in grey slime, with a collection of sharp, snaggled teeth at one end. Singay screamed as it thrashed blindly in her direction – and then somehow Za had it bundled away in the basket and the lid tied down. Panting and covered in muck to his eyebrows, he grinned triumphantly at them all.
‘What was that?’ squeaked Pema, mud dripping down his face.
‘Vomerine eel,’ said Zamin proudly. ‘Specially good eating in a vomerine.’ She licked her lips and gave her brother an appreciative shove.
‘You eat things that live in there?’ Singay swallowed hard, looking around at the slurping landscape with a sick expression on her face.
Za nodded enthusiastically. ‘You’d be amazed what good munching there is, if you know where to look. And not just eels. There’s slugs and mudworms, too, though a lot of them are poisonous.’
‘Poisonous?’ Singay and Pema exchanged anxious glances.
‘Hey! Za! Zamin! What’d you catch?’ A shout came from a group of children wading in the deep sticky mud.
‘Oh, nothing much. Just a vomerine.’
‘Vomerine? You lucky pickers!’
‘Oh, I love vomerine!’
‘Yeah, well, so what – I found a glass eye and a practically new razor and loads of other stuff I’m not telling you about!’
Za made a rude gesture at the boaster, and Zamin picked up the oar and began to scull forward again. ‘Elysia dumps its rubbish over the Wall. Wonderful things a clever picker can find. Whole set of false teeth one time – remember that, Za?’
Her brother grinned.
Singay shuddered.
Zamin noticed, and shrugged. ‘It is dangerous, at that. A lot of things in the mud don’t like being found, so they grow poison spines.’
‘And teeth,’ added Za. ‘And stings and snaggy scales. And some of the garbage from the City has sharp edges. Broken glass and stuff like that.’
‘Still, good pickings.’
‘If you’re clever!’
‘What do you do with all these things you find?’ Pema asked, trying not to look as revolted as he felt.
‘We take them to Granny. Granny Geyma. We work for her. She gives us a cut on everything we find—’
‘Ninety/ten, straight up.’
‘And then she either sells it or she puts it on her table.’
‘Who is Granny?’ With a pang of homesickness, Pema saw a picture of his own grandmother in his mind.
Singay, too, was thinking of Dawa and the loving way Pema spoke of her. ‘Do you work for her—’
But before Singay could finish her question, Zamin pointed with the scull.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘There she is!’
And all thoughts of benign elderly relatives disappeared.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Granny Geyma’s Table
Granny’s establishment looked just like any of the hundred other ramshackle, wonky structures they’d passed. This one, however, had Granny Geyma sitting on its porch.
She was more of a heap than a woman. In spite of the heavy, humid heat, she was bundled in dozens of mud-coloured shawls and skirts. Her face was a muddy grey, and she had practically no hair at all, and yet there was no mistaking the power in her gimlet eyes.
‘Look what we brought, Granny!’ called Zamin.
A gnarly hand came out from under the pile of shawls. Zamin scrambled onto the porch and tipped coins into it. The old woman hefted the handful, as if weighing it, and while she did so, she considered Pema, Singay and Rose as if she were weighing them as well. It was unnerving.
‘Look, we don’t want to put you out . . .’ Pema began.
But Granny Geyma had made up her mind. ‘Pay now.’She named a price. Singay didn’t even consider haggling over it. They climbed out of the boat and stood in a row on the rickety porch. Singay tried not to stare at the way the old woman’s scalp showed through her wisps of hair.
Granny Geyma selected a coin, grunted ‘Catch!’ and pinged it high into the air. The twins scrambled to grab it, but a last-minute hip shove from Zamin won her the prize.
‘That’s not fair!’ Za whined.
His sister flaunted the tiny coin before pocketing it firmly. Then, with a bobbed sort of bow, they headed indoors.
Pema, Rose and Singay hesitated a moment, and then started to follow the twins. But as they passed Granny, a bony old arm suddenly shot out and clutched Pema by the sleeve.
‘Him.’ She jerked her chin at Rose. ‘Is it catching?’
‘Catching?’ squeaked Pema, and then tried again in a lower register. ‘Uh, catching?’
‘He’s sick. Is it something that can spread?’
‘Oh. No, ma’am, it isn’t. It’s just . . . him.’
For another moment, she continued to stare into him. Then, with a nod, Granny Geyma withdrew her hand.
‘Follow the noise,’ she said.
They followed the sound of voices, as the old woman had told them, down a dingy corridor and pushed through a sacking curtain.
The noise cut off as if sliced by a knife as dozens of sharp eyes turned towards them. The diners at Granny’s table were all children. It was impossible not to notice how many of them were missing fingers and toes, some whole hands and feet. Scavenging in muck that harboured so many poisonous, angry things demanded a high price.
The twins beckoned them over, and the babble of voices started up again.
‘Where have they all come from?’ Singay whispered to Zamin.
Zamin shrugged as if she’d never thought about it before. ‘Just anywhere, I guess.’
‘It’s true,’ said a boy from the other side of the table. ‘All sorts end up on the Flats. We get washed downriver with the other muck and fetch up at the foot of the Wall.’
‘Fetch up at the foot of Granny Geyma, you mean!’ laughed somebody further along.
There was a general sniggering, but a little girl sitting next to Singay leaned close and whispered, ‘Don’t worry. She never kicks the ones who can pay.’
Singay smiled weakly.
Mismatched bowls were being passed round. Grey tentacles, globby bits floating in mud-coloured gruel, and something that looked horribly like an eye floating on the top.
Pema and Singay exchanged appalled glances.
Fortunately, it was a short meal. Pema and Singay cou
ld only pick at the unidentifiable food, and Rose sat silently. But the others tucked in with enthusiasm, and the table was soon cleared of every scrap.
‘High tide,’ announced Zamin. ‘Sleeping room’s along here.’
She and Za showed them another bare room. Children were already curling up on the floor.
‘I think I could sleep now,’ said Rose, and lay down.
But for Singay and Pema, it was all the wrong time.
‘Is there somewhere else?’
‘All right, come out on the back porch. You can sometimes catch a breeze, this time of day,’ said Zamin.
If there was a breeze, it was too faint to feel.
Singay wiped the sweat off her forehead and turned to the twins. ‘Before we head out tomorrow, I think we need to tell you some things.’
‘What kind of things?’ Two identical looks of suspicion appeared on their faces.
‘Well, it isn’t actually Elysia we want to go to – it’s beyond, out the other side, to the Sea. Can you . . . ?’
But the twins were already shaking their heads.
‘We’re Flatters,’ said Za bluntly. ‘That’s House stuff, that is.’
‘We’ll get you into the City and to the House on your disc and that’s it.’ Zamin rubbed her eyes and yawned. ‘We’re going to sleep now.’ And the twins turned towards the sleeping room.
‘Zamin? Za?’ Pema called quietly after them. ‘Thanks for helping us.’
Za looked odd, as if he weren’t used to thanks, but Zamin shrugged. ‘We get a cut,’ she said, and then they were gone.
Pema and Singay stood in silence. All around them, the Flats had settled into a vast, hot, stinking lethargy, as the Flatters took their rest and the sun beat down.
Pema wiped his face. ‘I can’t remember what it feels like to be cold,’ he said. He’d lost track of the seasons. Could it really be almost time for the first snows at home?
After a bit, Singay leaned sideways on the railing and looked at him. She heaved a sigh. ‘What are we going to do, Pema? We’re so close, and Rose still can’t hear the other Drivers. What if, after all this, what if they’re really . . . not there?’
Pema shook his head wearily. ‘Too soon to be talking like that. I don’t think we can tell anything for sure yet. Somehow, somewhere, we need to find a boat that’s big enough to take us right away from all this. We need to get out onto the open Sea. If we can get far enough away from this, from everything, then he’ll be able to hear them. Even just catch a whisper.’
‘If only we could have got the Aubergine past this mess. I bet she could have gone out to Sea, no bother,’ said Singay.
Pema nodded but didn’t speak. The silence drew out between them. Singay glanced across at him. He looked so sad. She felt her heart go out to him.
‘You know, maybe it’ll be like the way your Jathang girl’s stone led us to the Aubergine. Haven’t you noticed? At first everybody seemed to be against us, but then there was some mystery lady who got us out of jail, and Gata and Bob and the Philosopher, and now Zamin and Za. It’s like our luck has maybe turned. I know we’re not there yet, but there are people to help now. Unlikely people, but still . . .’
Pema looked at her. ‘So according to you, we’ll go to this House place and whoever lives there will just decide for no reason at all to help us get out to the open ocean. That’s what you’re predicting?’
‘Pretty much. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re trying to cheer me up.’
‘How am I doing?’
Pema grunted, and then gave her a half smile. He wasn’t convinced, but something inside him had loosened a bit.
‘We should probably try to sleep now,’ he said.
They went back into the airless shack, and found themselves a place to lie down in the sleeping room. All around them, Granny Geyma’s children were breathing in the fetid dimness. There was the occasional sigh or whimper. Rose was asleep too, but restless.
‘There should be birds . . . thousands and thousands . . . the mud remembers birds . . .’ they heard him whisper. Then he was still again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Beyond the Wall
‘Is it any cooler? I don’t think so.’ Singay fanned herself and then gave up with a sigh.
Pema shook his head. He sniffed experimentally. ‘I may just be getting used to it, but I don’t think it smells quite so bad.’
‘Not sure I’d go that far.’
Rose said nothing.
In the east the sky had begun to pale, and they were back in the twins’ boat, heading for the Wall. All around them, there were sounds of activity – voices calling out, clattering pots, the thin wailing of babies and the thunk of punt oars being settled into oarlocks.
This is it, thought Pema. We’ve come all this way to get to this place. To get Rose to this day. He glanced over at the little hunched shape in the stern of the boat, and then looked quickly away again.
Nothing can go wrong today, thought Singay, chewing her lip. Not one solitary thing. If one thing goes wrong, EVERYTHING will go wrong.
As Zamin sculled them through the morning murk, the silent tension grew and grew, until Singay thought she was going to scream, and then, rising up in the dawn light, beyond a final huddle of houseboats, there it was. The Wall. Wordlessly, she nudged the others.
‘Snows!’ said Pema.
It loomed above them out of the muck as if it had grown there, like a work of nature, its skirts all muddied up to the high-tide mark and the weed-draped water-gate like a tattered rip.
‘Got your disc?’ Zamin was all business now. ‘Give it to Za. They won’t be expecting a Priority to come in on a boat like ours.’
There was already quite a scrum in the open water before the gate, and more boats were arriving every minute. Some of them must have come straight from the Embarkation Pier, right across the Flats, in the dark. The oil-engine boats jockeyed for position simply by revving their motors and shoving the smaller craft aside. But the smaller boats had the advantage of manoeuvrability, and nipped in and out of the crush.
‘We’re going to be sunk!’
Then, with a great slurping and sloshing of water, the gate groaned open.
‘Priority discs first! Priority discs only!’ Pairs of guards emerged, shrugging off slime-smeared greatcoats and setting up checking stations on either side of the gate. The oil-engine boats all tried to surge forward at the same moment, but Zamin slipped between two of them and reached the guard post first.
The man looked down at them impatiently.
‘You deaf?’ he barked. ‘I called for Priority discs. Scum comes after . . .’ His words trailed off as he saw the disc Za was holding out with a cocky air.
The guard narrowed his eyes. ‘How did you get hold . . .’ he began, but the impatient revving of motors reminded him of his position. Muttering crossly, he waved the little boat on with poor grace and turned his attention to the more obvious Priorities.
The tunnel smelled dank, and drips from the slime-smeared ceiling splashed onto them, making them shudder. The sound of Zamin’s oar echoed strangely, and every moment Pema and Singay expected the guard to change his mind – call them back, tell they weren’t allowed to go any further, it had all been a mistake – and then, suddenly, they were out the other side.
Singay gasped.
‘Rose! Look!’ whispered Pema.
In the time it took to travel through the thickness of the Wall, a breeze had sprung up, the smog had dispersed and, in the light of the rising sun, the City lay before them, gilded with gold.
Elysia. This was what all the towns they’d passed on their journey down the River had been aspiring to. Cliffton, The Smoke, and dozens of no-nothing places in-between, all dreaming, all thinking, I know I’m small now, but someday I’m going to grow up to be just like the City.
Everything was writ large – the canals spread wide, the buildings towered, the open spaces had awe-inspiring proportions, windows and doors and
colonnades were all built on a larger-than-human scale. Everywhere they looked they saw vivid colours – on the mosaic walls, the shop awnings, the clothes of the citizens, each costume more elaborately, satiny and eye-catchingly jewel-like than the last.
And we look like something the rat dragged in. Singay thought suddenly of Lady Allum in her rough Jungle clothes, and wondered how she could have turned her back on all this.
Faces, shop displays, glimpses into courtyards and hallways – images leapt out at them in brilliant focus, burned into their eyes and then were gone. It was the essence of Elysia, all this colour, light, motion, never still, always a new pattern. The Philosopher had said you could never step in the same river twice. It was like that here. If you blinked in the City, when you looked again, the City had changed.
Hold still! thought Singay. I want to see it all!
Zamin sculled deftly though the busy traffic on the main canals, dodging boats of all sizes and modes of propulsion. There were little gondolas piled with flowers, flat-bottomed barges piled with garbage heading for the Wall and the Flats beyond, and ornate, powerful launches. Zamin explained these belonged to the different Houses, with intricately painted emblems to announce their owners. They all had up-tilted prows that made them look as if they scorned even the water they passed through. And because this was the City, that actually made some kind of crazy sense.
It wasn’t just oil-engine launches they were seeing – there were machines and gizmos powered by oil on every side. Motorised sedan chairs teetered along, threatening to dump their wealthy occupants into the canals, while motorised winches raised heavy loads to upper storey windows.
Then, as the sky clouded over and it began to rain, Pema suddenly grabbed Singay’s arm.
‘Did you see that?’ he hissed in her ear. ‘That man – the fat one – see his umbrella? I swear it just opened by motor!’
Singay could only shake her head in amazement.
The rain fell hard, making pockmarks on the pretty, coloured oil slick of the water, and making visibility poor, but fortunately the twins seemed to know where they were heading. In spite of all the noise and chaos, there must have been some sort of right of way in effect, since they saw no collisions, though several times their little boat was almost swamped by the wakes from oil-engine craft twice their size. It was only when they’d moved away from the central district, through a maze of back canals and into the residential area, that the traffic calmed down a little.
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