by Lian Tanner
A voice at her feet jerked her back to the present. “Well, lass?” Missus Slink peered up at her. “That’s all I could find, and they’re not nearly as willing as the Oyster’s rats. But I should be able to keep them in line till dawn.”
“That should do it,” said Dolph. “As long as they can get in and out again.”
“There’s not many places in this world that a determined rat can’t get to,” said Missus Slink. “And besides, I’ll be showing them the way.”
“Well then.” Dolph felt as if she should salute or something. Her fingers twitched. “Good luck, Missus Slink. And”—she raised her voice, knowing the black rats couldn’t understand her, but feeling as if she had to mark the occasion in some way—“and good luck, all of you! Go with—um—with my blessing.”
She thought she heard a snicker from Missus Slink. Then the old rat whistled, and the heaving bodies stilled. Ears pricked, whiskers stiffened.
Another whistle—and the army of rats was on the move.
“I’ll see you all a bit before dawn,” whispered Dolph as the last tail disappeared into the darkness. “At least, I hope I will.”
* * *
Gwin was used to getting up before the sun rose, so she was already awake when Hob came looking for them. Her mattress, stuffed with straw, was warm and comfortable, and she had slept better than she had for weeks. Hob winked at her, then set his lamp down and squatted next to Papa.
“Hey, Fetcher,” whispered Hob. “You awake?”
“No,” grunted Papa, and Wretched stuck his head out from under Nat’s bedding and yawned.
Hob chuckled. “Message come up from flatlands. Someone looking for Fetch.”
Gwin sat up very quickly. “Papa doesn’t do them anymore.”
“No?” The mountain man sat back on his haunches. “Why ever not?”
“He just doesn’t.”
Papa sat up too, rubbing his eyes. “A Fetch? Whereabouts?”
“East of mountain track turnoff and down a bit,” said Hob. “Little village called Bale.”
“I know it,” said Papa.
“According to message, it be Fetch like no other. Big book, they say, buried for no one knows how long, and full of writing no one can read.” He peered at Papa. “You sure you won’t do it?”
“Of course he’s sure,” said Gwin.
On her other side, Nat shoved Wretched out of the way and rolled over. “What’s this about a Fetch?”
“It’s nothing,” said Gwin.
“Nothing?” Hob raised one tangled eyebrow. “I’d like to see what you call something, if big old book full of writing’s nothing. Devouts’ll be after it quick smart, soon as they hear. They’ll burn it, you know, and it’ll be gone forever. Unless—”
Papa took a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”
And with those three words, Gwin’s barely hatched dream of keeping her family safe in the mountains was shattered.
Because there was another side to being a Fetcher. If a villager somewhere unearthed an ancient book from a cellar or a stable, and didn’t want to hand it over to the Devouts as they were supposed to, they’d put out a quiet word for a Fetch. And that quiet word would spread across the countryside like ripples on a pond, until it reached someone like Papa.
“But there are Devouts around,” said Gwin. “It might be a trap!”
“Then I won’t go as a Fetcher,” said Papa. “You’ve seen me disguised—would you recognize me?”
“No, but—”
“We can’t let a book like that be lost, Gwin. As it is, I’ve been too selfish for too long.”
Hob raised that hairy eyebrow again, in an unspoken question.
Papa cleared his throat several times, as if there was something stuck in it. “There was a—a tragedy in our lives.” For a moment he looked as if he might say more, might go on to talk about Mama, which none of them ever did these days. But then he shook his head and said, “Coming here seems to have woken me up a little. Reminded me that life goes on whether we like it or not.”
Hob looked at him shrewdly and said, “Girl’s right, though. Might be trap.”
“Then all they’ll see is a hungry old peasant going about his business. The Devouts aren’t subtle people, in my experience. They see what they expect to see.”
There was nothing more to be said. Papa packed his bedroll and a small amount of food. He dirtied his face, hunched his back and seemed to grow older and thinner in the space of three breaths.
Then he hugged his children, spoke quietly to Hilde, patted Wretched and set off, back down the track toward the village of Bale.
* * *
As the sky above the Citadel began to lighten, Dolph kept watch. She could hear a chorus of snores from nearby shipfolk and, in the distance, a goat bleating. The Citadel, however, was quiet.
They know we’re not going to get that gate down easily, she thought. They’re probably sound asleep, the whole lot of ’em. I wonder if—
She stiffened. On the very top of the Citadel walls, something was moving. Could it be …
Yes!
A dark wave flowed down the high stone walls, then spread outward—at least that’s what it looked like from where Dolph stood. But as it came closer, and the sky grew lighter, the wave broke apart into thousands of scurrying rats. They were working in teams of twenty or more, dragging hessian sacks, joints of beef, flitches of bacon, strings of sausages and salted herring, pumpkins, potatoes, rutabagas, hard biscuits, soft biscuits, loaves of bread, pigs’ trotters, mangels, dried beans, mushrooms, wheels of cheese, and a hundred other foodstuffs across the rough ground.
Dolph heard running feet, and someone shouting, but took no notice. The food was piling up in front of her, so much of it that before long it entirely blocked her view of the Citadel.
A precise voice said, “You were right, lass.” And there was Missus Slink, perched on a pumpkin high above Dolph’s head, her green ribbon more tattered than ever. “The storerooms and larders weren’t guarded. They weren’t expecting an attack from the inside.”
“Did they see you?” asked Dolph.
“They did not. They’re going to get an awful shock when they go for their breakfast. There’s not a scrap of food left in the whole Citadel.”
It was such a relief—It worked, Mam! My daft idea worked!—that Dolph laughed out loud.
Missus Slink gave a most uncharacteristic wink. Then she whistled loudly and scurried down from the pumpkin. The horde of rats squeaked and swirled and dashed away down the hill.
It wasn’t until they’d gone that Dolph realized the whole camp was awake, with rank upon rank of Sunkers and shipfolk staring at her in stunned disbelief.
Krill was the first to speak. He strode up to Dolph, saying, “What in the name of blizzards have you done, lass?”
“Um—this is from the Citadel,” said Dolph. “It’s for you, Krill. To feed the starving bratlings.” She looked at the mountain of food. She’d never seen so much in one place. “I reckon there’s enough for their parents too. For a year or so!”
Admiral Deeps appeared beside Krill. “This”—she pointed, almost speechless—“this is from the Citadel?”
“Aye,” said Dolph. “They’ve got no food left. Not a scrap.” A wave of glee swept through her, and she grinned at the admiral. “All we have to do is wait for a few days, and the siege’ll be over!”
CHAPTER 10
WAITING
“Waiting,” muttered Petrel, whose turn it was to keep watch, along with Rain, “I hate it.”
Two days had passed since Poosk and his men had rounded up the bratlings of Bale, and nothing had changed. The captives were still tied to a stump, with their parents sneaking them scraps of food whenever they dared. The Devouts sat in their cowhide tents when it rained, and sprawled outside on a meager patch of grass when it didn’t. The mule dozed, its head lowered and its eyes half-shut.
“Me too,” said Rain. “I cannot help worrying about Bran. Do you think he will
be getting enough to eat?”
Rain’s little brother had been left behind on the Oyster, along with all the other bratlings.
“He’ll be as fat as a penguin chick by now,” said Petrel. “You won’t recognize him when we get back. They’ll have to roll him out to meet us, like a barrel.”
Rain laughed softly. Then she peeped over her shoulder, as if she didn’t want to be overheard, and whispered, “Petrel, do you really think we can save her? Fin’s mama, I mean.”
“Course we—”
“No, I mean, really. Because if we do not, Fin will blame himself.”
“I know. Which means we have to save her, whether we like it or—” Petrel stopped herself just in time. Her throat felt tight, as if the loneliness was lurking nearby, waiting to pounce. She swallowed. “You know what I wish? I wish the cap’n was here. And Mister Smoke. But they’re not, so we have to do this on our own. We will save—”
“Shh!” Rain’s hand on her arm silenced her. “Is that the man who went to send out word?”
“Aye, it is,” whispered Petrel. “And look, Poosk’s coming out of his tent to talk to him. Keep your head down.”
The two girls watched closely as the blunt-faced man took off his cap and clutched it behind his back. Poosk asked a question, and the man pointed with his chin in all the directions of the compass.
Another question. This time the man hesitated, as if he wanted to give the right answer but couldn’t guarantee anything.
All the same, Poosk looked pleased. He shouted to his guards, “Cull! Bartle! Come!”
The blunt-faced man said something about the captive bratlings, and Poosk stared at them in a speculative fashion. Then he shook his head, and said, “I think not. We may need them yet.”
The villager’s fists clenched around his cap, and he looked as if he was building up courage to say something. But a woman broke away from the small knot of hovering parents and hustled him into the village. After a brief consultation with Bartle, Poosk and Cull set off toward the main road.
The two girls crept back to where Fin and Sharkey were sleeping and woke them with a hand over their mouths.
“That man came back,” whispered Petrel, “and Poosk’s leaving. Come on!”
She was expecting another long walk, but to her surprise, Poosk and Cull went no more than three-quarters of a mile along the track that led to the Northern Road. There they stopped and concealed themselves in a thicket of trees.
“Another trap?” breathed Sharkey.
“Aye,” whispered Petrel. Fin was shivering as if he had a fever, and she quickly added, “Don’t know who it’s for though. Might be anyone.”
But they all knew who Poosk was chasing, and they were all quite certain that this trap was for one person and one person only.
We’re gunna save her, thought Petrel. And I’m gunna be glad about it.
Aloud she said, “Reckon we should split up. Sharkey, Rain, you stay here and keep an eye on Poosk. Me and Fin’ll go farther along and watch for his mam.”
“But you do not know what she looks like,” said Rain.
“Don’t matter,” said Petrel. “We’ll stop every woman we see coming down that track till we get the right one.”
Rain and Sharkey made themselves comfortable in an overgrown ditch, and Petrel checked that they couldn’t be seen, even if Poosk and Cull came out of their hidey-hole. Then she and Fin circled around the Devouts, crept back toward the track and set up their own hidey-hole in the long grass, closer to the Northern Road.
“More waiting,” grumbled Petrel, brushing grass and tiny white flowers out of her hair, and wondering why her nose was suddenly so tickly.
They sat there for most of the day, with Petrel trying not to sneeze in case she was overheard. But they saw no one except the birds and insects that darted in and out of the trees and hovered over the flowers. Once, Petrel went to check on Sharkey and Rain and to make sure Poosk hadn’t moved. She returned with the news that the trap was still set, only now it was Cull watching, while Poosk took a nap.
“Reckon your mam’ll come soon,” she said to Fin as they chewed on seaweed biscuits.
Fin didn’t answer. He hadn’t said a word since they’d left Sharkey and Rain, and his face had that distant expression that Petrel hated.
Guess he’s worried she won’t remember him, thought Petrel. Or that he won’t remember her, even when he sees her. If it was my mam walking down that track, I’d be scared stiff.
It was still an hour or so till sunset when Fin jerked upright—then slumped down again. Someone was coming down the track at last, but it was an old man, not a woman. Petrel didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.
The newcomer looked like every other old man in West Norn. He shuffled along as if he were so tired that he could hardly lift his feet. On his shoulder, he carried a ragged bundle.
“Think we should warn him about Poosk?” whispered Petrel.
Fin shook his head.
“I spose you’re right,” Petrel said reluctantly. “If Poosk questions him, he might give us away. Best to keep quiet.”
But a few minutes after the old man had disappeared around the corner, Sharkey came looking for them. Petrel stuck her head out of the grass. “What’s up?”
“Did you see that old man?” asked Sharkey. “Poosk and Cull nabbed him and tied him up. Doesn’t look as if they were chasing Fin’s ma after all.”
“But they were. They are!” It was the first time Fin had spoken in hours, and his voice was cracked and harsh.
“Then why’d they take some poor old man?” asked Sharkey.
None of them could answer that.
“Rain’s following ’em back to the village,” said Sharkey. “She thinks the man must know something about your ma, Fin. Or maybe Poosk’s going to use him in some way, like he used the village children.”
“We’d best go and see,” said Petrel.
But when they caught up with Rain, they discovered that this time there was to be no eavesdropping, no matter how quiet and clever they were. Poosk had dragged the man into his tent, and the other two Devouts stood outside with their arms crossed and their eyes watchful.
Petrel hissed with frustration. “What’re we sposed to do now?”
Fin shifted his feet.
“What?” asked Petrel.
“Nothing,” said Fin.
Petrel scowled at the distant tent, wishing that Poosk would speak up nice and loud and tell them exactly where Fin’s mam was, so they could go and save her.
Fin shifted his feet again.
“What?” said Petrel.
“I could use the robe.” Fin swallowed. “Initiates are sometimes sent out to the villages to carry messages that cannot be taken by pigeon. I could pretend to be one of them.”
“No,” said Petrel. “They’d recognize you—”
“I do not know them, and I do not think they know me,” said Fin. “Poosk was not at the Citadel when I was chosen for the expedition to the ice, and Cull and Bartle do not look at all familiar. And besides, what else can we do? I do not want to find Mama—”
He broke off, but they all knew what he had been going to say. I do not want to find Mama too late. I do not want to find her dead.
Petrel gnawed her lip. “What would you say to ’em?”
“I will ask them what they are doing. It is a common enough question between Devouts.”
“What about between Devouts and Initiates?” asked Sharkey. “Seems to me that’s different. Maybe I should go. I could cover my face so Poosk doesn’t recognize me and roll into the village all scared and wanting to help.” He put on a ridiculous voice. “D’you need another informer, Masters? What’s that you’re doing?”
“The Devouts are not fools,” Fin said coldly.
Sharkey bristled, just a little. Petrel said, “I’m sorry, Sharkey, but you don’t look like one of those poor villagers. You’re not starved enough.”
“And if Uncle Poosk realize
d who you were,” said Rain, “he would kill you on the spot.”
Sharkey shrugged. “He could try.”
“Look,” said Fin, “we have the robe; it has worked so far, and I am willing to do it. I do not see what the problem is.”
“And it is your mama, after all,” said Rain. Then she quickly added, “I do not mean you should go. But if it was my mama, I would want to go.”
Rain had a way of cutting through to the heart of things. Petrel sighed. “Aye, me too.”
Before they could change their minds, Fin pulled the robe over his head and settled it around his shoulders. He was breathing in quick shallow gasps, as if he couldn’t quite get enough air.
“You sure you want to do this?” asked Petrel. “You don’t have to.”
“I am sure.” With an effort, Fin settled his breathing. His face grew distant and proud, and with an abrupt nod he slipped away from them, back to the last bend before the village. Then he brushed himself off and strode around the corner toward Bale, his head so high and confident that he looked as if he owned the world.
Petrel’s heart thumped painfully. It was hard to believe that such a pompous-seeming boy was her best friend. But that pomposity was what would protect him.
At least, she hoped it would.
CHAPTER 11
A PROPER CONVERSATION
Gwin’s papa left the mountain village very early in the morning. Late that same day, another message came up from the flatlands. But this one had traveled by such a complicated, fearful route that it arrived too late to do any good.
“It was a trap?” breathed Gwin, hardly recognizing her own voice. She felt as if someone had punched her.
Beside her, Nat said nothing. Wretched tried to press against his knee, but the boy pushed him away.
“Aye,” muttered Hob. “Sorry I am that I even told your pa about that Fetch.”
“We have to go after him,” said Gwin. “We have to stop him!”
“Reckon he’s there by now, girl. If’n they’re going to take him, it’s probably done already.”
“Then—then we’ll go and save him. Won’t we, Nat?”
Her brother laughed. It wasn’t a happy sound; all his anger was back, only now it was laced with scorn. “Of course—why didn’t I think of that? The brave Fetcher twins, the girl and her blind brother, ride in on Spindle and snatch Papa out of the Devouts’ clutches. They won’t know what’s hit them. Good thinking, Gwinith.” And he stalked out of the room, his hand scraping along the wall.