by Lian Tanner
But as the last of the Devouts came out of the Citadel, Dolph and Missus Slink fell in behind them. So did a couple of Sunkers, then more and more of both crews, until the entire army was shuffling along at the same snail’s pace as the Devouts. Krill and his cooks brought up the rear, rolling barrels of supplies.
“Devouts’ll have to stop sometime,” Dolph said to Missus Slink. “They’ll have to sleep sometime. And when they do, we’ll get ’em.”
CHAPTER 22
DO YOU THINK ME SO GULLIBLE?
Gwin woke with a headache, and the sun glaring in her eyes. It hadn’t been so bright for days, and her first thought was that it would be good traveling weather, which might cheer Papa up a little.
Her second thought was that Nat and Papa must have got up early because the cart was swaying and rattling beneath her and she could hear Spindle’s hooves on the road.
She felt a wave of relief. For weeks she’d been the one to wake up first, to cook breakfast, to make sure they set off at a reasonable hour. She’d sung when she didn’t feel like it, struggled to make things work the way they were supposed to, carried the burden of being a Fetcher almost entirely by herself.
And now at last Papa and Nat were doing their share. Which was just as well, because Gwin’s head was so sore that she wondered if she was sickening with something. Her wrists were sore too, which was odd. Perhaps she wasn’t sick; perhaps she’d just slept in the wrong position.
She tried to sit up.
Somewhere above her a deep voice said, “The Fetcher cub is awake, Brother Poosk. Shall I toss her out of the cart to walk with the others?”
* * *
Gwin was used to walking great distances, but not like this, with a rope around her wrists and despair in her heart.
She’d fought for so long to hold things together, to keep her family safe. She’d tried and tried with all her strength, and it had come to nothing.
That was bad enough. But then she overheard Brother Poosk congratulating himself on having captured Hilde, the woman he’d been sent to find. “And such good fortune,” he crowed, “that I also stumbled across the Fetchers and the demon.”
At which point Gwin realized the awful truth. The Devouts hadn’t been chasing her little family at all, not at the beginning. They’d been hunting Hilde, who Gwin had rescued. In trying to make things work the way they were supposed to, she had doomed them all.
It was too much to bear. By the end of the first day, she had retreated into a merciful numbness, where she didn’t have to think or feel or care about anything.
It was a long way down the coast road to the Citadel. With the prisoners walking, Brother Poosk could no longer push Spindle so hard, but neither was he willing to rest more than necessary. They set off before sunrise every morning, and kept going far into the night.
As the days passed, Brother Poosk grew more cheerful. Once, he turned to his prisoners and cried, “Make the most of what time you have left, Fetchers. Dance! Sing! Tell your stories to the birds and the stones.”
Cull and Bartle sniggered, but Papa looked at Gwin, then cleared his throat and began to sing in a voice that was little more than a croak,
“There once was—a girl, a blue-eyed girl,
A girl with a song
And a bold, bold heart—”
He hadn’t even finished the first verse when Brother Poosk interrupted him. “Enough! I have never heard such rubbish.”
And that was the end of that.
Some time later, Nat twitched as if he’d heard something unexpected. “Bird,” he whispered.
Gwin plodded along beside him, too numb to even wonder what he was talking about.
“Pigeon,” murmured Nat.
And that was the end of that.
Except it wasn’t. Not quite. That night, Gwin’s exhausted sleep was interrupted by a rough whisper. “Wakey, wakey, shipmate.”
“Nnnh,” mumbled Gwin.
A tiny paw raised one of her eyelids, and a long whiskered nose peered at her. “You in there, shipmate? Still got all your circuits? Listen, Petrel and crew’ve caught up with us. They’re worn to the bone with runnin’, and could do with a good meal, but they’ve got news. D’you know the Grand Monument? They’re gunna trot ahead and wait for us there. So when you see a big pile of rocks on the seaward side, you be ready to move.”
And he dashed away, leaving Gwin to close her eyes and go back to sleep.
* * *
Next morning, as usual, the Devouts ate a lavish breakfast while giving little to their hungry prisoners. But even Gwin couldn’t help noticing that Brother Poosk was not happy.
“I tell you, there was more bacon left,” he snapped. “And now there is barely enough for a single meal. How do you explain that, Brother Bartle? Hmm? You were on guard last night. Did you think I would not notice?”
“It was not me, Brother,” protested Bartle as he buckled Spindle’s harness. “I did not go near the bacon. Perhaps there was not as much as you thought—”
“I do not make mistakes.”
“Then it must have been Cull.”
But Cull swore it hadn’t been him, and they argued for half the morning, as the cart creaked onward.
Gwin wondered if she should be watching out for a pile of rocks. But it felt like too much effort, and as the hours wore on and nothing happened, she knew she was right.
No one’s going to save us. It’s the end of three hundred years of Fetchers.
Nat edged closer to her and whispered, “You all right?”
Gwin said nothing.
Nat left her alone for a few minutes, then edged back. This time his whisper was even quieter. “I can hear something. Under the cart. Like someone sawing wood.”
Gwin couldn’t hear a thing over the rattle of the wheels. She considered telling her brother about Mister Smoke, but if she did, he’d only be disappointed when nothing happened. So she kept her mouth shut.
As the sun sank over West Norn, Brother Poosk dug in the pocket of his robe and pulled out Papa’s heirloom. “Ah, Fetcher, I had almost forgotten. Come up here and tell me about your timepiece. Quickly now, before the last of the light disappears.”
Bartle, who was driving, raised the whip, and Papa shuffled forward at the end of his rope.
“What is this?” asked Brother Poosk, stabbing his finger at the face of the heirloom.
Exhausted though he was, Papa was still a Fetcher, and as he limped along beside the cart, he did his best to explain. “It predicts the … aspects of the moon. When it will be … new. When it will be … full.”
Gwin thought she saw something in the gloom ahead. A great pile of stones, as big as five or six village huts set one on top of the other.
The cart rolled toward it. Brother Poosk interrupted Papa’s explanations to say, “I am not stupid, Fetcher. I know that is the moon. I was talking about this bit here.” And he poked at the heirloom again.
“I believe that is when … the moon and the … sun come together,” croaked Papa. “And turn … the middle of the day … into night.”
“Turn day into night?” said Brother Poosk, his voice rising in disbelief. “I have never heard anything so ridiculous. This is just one of your stories. Do you think me so gullible?”
Papa shook his head. “It is called … eclipse. There is one … coming very soon. In fact”—he appeared to be counting the days in his head—“I think … it is tomorrow. At noon. It is getting too dark to see … but in the morning … you will notice how the little hand … points.”
“Hmm,” said Brother Poosk, with a thoughtful expression on his face. “Cull, light a torch so I can see.”
By the time the torch was lit, and jammed into its bracket on the side of the cart, they were passing the Grand Monument. Poosk studied the heirloom curiously, then turned back to Papa. “How does the timepiece know about this … eclipse?”
Halfway through an uncertain explanation, Papa stumbled over a rut in the road and almost fell.
“Keep up, Fetcher,” said Brother Poosk. He twisted in his seat. “Woman, come and help him. I have more questions.”
Hilde hesitated, and Cull, who was walking close by, raised his cudgel in a halfhearted fashion, as if he was sick to death of the prisoners but would still beat them if they gave any trouble. “Move,” he grunted.
Hilde limped forward and put her arm around Papa’s waist.
“Tiny wheels, you say?” prompted Poosk. “What makes them go?”
Behind them, the Grand Monument was almost lost in the darkness. I was right, Gwin thought numbly. No one’s going to save us.
A heartbeat later, Nat leaned toward her and whispered, “Someone’s coming. Up ahead.”
The figure was almost upon them before Gwin saw it. “Brother!” cried a boy’s voice. “Brother Poosk!”
It was Fin, and he was panting as if he’d been running hard. As he came into the torchlight, Gwin thought she heard a sound from Hilde.
“Brother, I am so glad … to have found you,” gasped Fin. “I must tell you—no, do not stop, I will walk along with you—the most amazing … thing has happened.”
Brother Poosk leaned forward, saying, “What is it, boy?”
“I am sorry, I have a … a stitch,” panted the Initiate, clutching his side.
“Never mind your stitch, what is your news? Is it from the Citadel? You did reach the Citadel, did you not? Cull, come here.”
Cull hurried toward the front of the cart. Nat hissed through his teeth, as if he’d heard something else—
With an earsplitting crack, the cart’s axle snapped.
Poosk and Bartle were thrown off the cart and onto the roadway, where they sprawled, cursing at the tops of their voices. The mule kicked Cull and sent him flying.
Petrel and Sharkey dashed out of the darkness.
“Treachery!” screeched Poosk.
A knife appeared in Fin’s hand, and he slashed right through Spindle’s harness. Bartle scrambled to his feet and brought the whip down on the Initiate’s arm. Fin cried out and dropped his knife, but before Bartle could grab him, Spindle bellowed and galloped off down the road, knocking the Devout back to the ground in the process.
Nat’s head swiveled back and forth, trying to follow what was happening. Sharkey leapt into the broken cart and grabbed hold of the mechanical boy. At the same time, Petrel sawed through the ropes that tied Gwin and Nat to the cart.
Gwin didn’t move. The shock of the rescue had ripped the numbness away, like a scab off a wound. But now she found herself paralyzed by self-doubt. In saving Hilde she had brought disaster upon her family. What if she did the wrong thing again? What if she made things worse? What if people died because of her?
Beside her, Nat gasped, “Papa? Hilde?”
“We’ll get ’em.” And Petrel ran forward.
But Bartle was on his feet again, and now he wielded the Initiate’s knife. Poosk screamed instructions. Cull staggered toward the cart and seized the mechanical boy’s legs. A desperate tug of war began.
Petrel left Papa and Hilde and raced to help Sharkey with the mechanical boy. But the two of them were not enough. With a shout, Cull jerked the limp body out of their grasp.
Petrel and Sharkey hesitated. Bartle roared and raced toward them. The children dodged away from him, but at the last minute, Petrel dashed back and grabbed both Gwin and Nat by the hand.
Nat cried, “Papa!”
“Run!” shouted Papa. “Run!”
And with that, the two Fetcher children were dragged off the road and into the darkness, leaving Papa, Hilde and the mechanical boy in the clutches of the Devouts.
CHAPTER 23
THE GRAND MONUMENT
Petrel could hardly believe it. She and her friends had driven themselves to the point of exhaustion and beyond to catch up with the oxcart. They had cut across country several times, never sure if they would be able to find the road again. They had scoured the area around the Grand Monument to find the right place for the attack and chewed their fingernails almost to the quick while they waited for the cart. And after all that, they had failed to rescue the captain.
She was furious with herself and furious with the Fetcher bratlings too, but she said nothing, just hustled them through the undergrowth as fast as she could, with Sharkey and Fin bringing up the rear. She’d scouted this route earlier, while there was still light, going over it until she knew it almost as well as she knew the passages of the Oyster.
There was a cry of triumph in the distance, followed by a barrage of cursing. The Fetcher boy jerked to a halt so suddenly that Fin almost ran into him. “What was that?”
It was probably Mister Smoke leading the Devouts astray, but Petrel wasn’t going to say so. She hadn’t forgiven the boy’s sister for betraying the captain, which was why they were in this mess in the first place. “Get a move on.”
The boy didn’t budge. “What about our father?”
“Nothing we can do about him,” said Sharkey, from somewhere in the darkness. “Or your ma.”
“She’s not—”
“Count yourselves lucky that we got you two away,” snapped Petrel. “Now are you coming, or do you want to wait for Poosk and his bully boys?”
They didn’t go directly to the Grand Monument. Instead, Petrel took a devious path, avoiding the soft ground that would mark their passing. By the time they reached the monument, the Fetcher bratlings were flagging badly.
“How much farther?” whispered the boy.
At the sound of his voice, there was a whine from the bushes, and the dog came barreling toward them.
“Keep him quiet!” hissed Fin, and the Fetcher boy fell to his knees, whispering, “Hush, Wretched! Yes, Gwin’s here too. Hush!”
Somewhere nearby, Rain murmured, “Sorry, Petrel, the dog wriggled away from me. Have you got the captain?”
“No!” Petrel’s frustration spilled out in a stream of words. “All we’ve got is the Singer and her brother, and now Poosk and his men’ll be on high alert, and I don’t see how we’re gunna get near the cap’n again, and they’ll be after us as soon as they stop running in circles.”
“The dog found a little shelter,” whispered Rain. Petrel could just see Scroll, asleep on the other girl’s shoulder. “We could hide there while we work out what to do next. If we can get far enough in, we might be able to light the lantern.”
The place the dog had found was really just a crevice between two of the stones that made up the Grand Monument. It was a bit of a scrabble even for Petrel, who was the smallest of the six. Sharkey, who was the biggest, had to take off his jerkin and wriggle and twist and squirm until he came out the other side scraped half raw.
They found themselves in a narrow space, surrounded by stones piled upon stones. Water dripped from a point above Petrel’s head, and puddled on the ground at her feet. “How do we get farther in?” she asked the darkness.
“Here.” A cold hand grasped Petrel’s and tugged her closer to the ground. “I have not been through because I was afraid. But the dog went through and back again, and he did not come to any harm.”
The gap in the stones was so close to the ground that Petrel had to lie on her belly to inspect it. She couldn’t see a thing, but her questing fingers told her that she’d probably fit through, though it’d be another tight squeeze for Sharkey.
“Come on,” she said. And she wriggled head-first into the narrow space, feeling as if she were back on the Oyster, trying to hide from Chief Engineer Albie.
She could hear the others behind her, whispering to each other. At one point, Fin hissed with pain. Rain was singing, so quietly that only the occasional note reached Petrel. Scroll woke up and cooed in protest. The Fetcher girl’s beads clacked against stone, and her brother murmured something to the dog.
Wish we’d left those two behind, thought Petrel. Wish we’d gone for the cap’n straight off, all three of us, and got him away before Poosk and his mates knew what was happening.
The tun
nel was longer than she’d expected. She crawled on and on, groping ahead to make sure she wasn’t about to run into anything nasty. When at last she emerged from the hole, she sighed with relief, brushed the dirt and cobwebs from her face and helped the others to their feet, one by one.
Rain lit the lantern with shaking fingers. “We will not have to go back that way, will we? Scroll did not like it, and neither did I.”
“Hope not,” said Petrel, and she took the lantern and held it high.
The first thing she saw was a rusty iron door, buckled under the weight of the enormous stones that had fallen on top of it. There was a pool of dark water on one side, and an iron ladder hanging broken in midair on the other. Beyond the water, the end of a pipe gaped from a heap of debris. There were smashed iron wheels and crushed gauges, and bolts and clamps and cables, all of them cobwebbed and useless. Petrel thought she could feel a faint draught from somewhere overhead.
“Is this it, Rain?” she whispered. “Is this what you were talking about? The first to fall?”
Rain nodded, her eyes white and scared in the lantern light. “It was a building once—or so I was told.” She turned around slowly. “They smashed it at the beginning of the Great Cleansing, then piled up the stones to make the monument.”
“There’s part of the old wall,” whispered Fin, pointing. “See? Where the stones are still square on top of each other?”
A shiver ran down Petrel’s spine. This was what the Devouts would have done to the Oyster if she and her friends hadn’t stopped them. It was a level of hatred she didn’t understand, built on superstition and ignorance, and it made her even more afraid for the captain.
“So we’re in the right place,” she said. “Least, I hope we are. What do we do now?”
“Waste of time trying to surprise Poosk twice,” said Sharkey. “We’d just get ourselves caught.”
“And we cannot use Fin again,” said Rain.
Fin grimaced. “Unless I pretended you made me do it. If I told them you threatened me—”