by Lian Tanner
With the steak in his possession, Rump could afford to smile. ‘I will always sound important, Herro Snout. You could take lessons; you might find yourself rising in the world.’
Snout cackled with laughter. ‘I’m risin’ all right. But you’re not. You’re stayin’ right where you are.’ He tugged on the rope above his head, and the bucket whooshed up into the darkness.
Rump gave the two Beastie Isles men a quarter of the steak each, plus half a potato between them. They ate their share in a trice, then eyed him, as if they were thinking of knocking him out and taking the lot.
He drew himself up and said, ‘I have quite a few coins remaining, dear comrades, but I have hidden them where you will not find them. If you harm me, you will go back to eating slop like the rest of your friends.’
Then he tucked into his steak, saying between mouthfuls, ‘It is your choice, of course. For all I know, you may be very fond of slop.’
The Beastie men slunk away, and Rump set himself to thinking about his next step.
Once his coin was gone, he had only one thing of value: information about a certain important person. He did not know the exact whereabouts of that person, but Duckling was a sensible child who would have done her best to follow her beloved grandfather. With any luck, she and Pummel were holed up somewhere close by – along with Otte, the true Heir of Neuhalt.
Rump did not want to sell the boy. If anything should happen to the Margravine, Otte would become Margrave. The grafs and grafines might not like it, but they were stuck inside the Strong-hold, which put them out of the game.
Otte was far too young to rule on his own, of course. He would need a regent to advise him. Someone older and wiser. Someone experienced in worldly affairs.
Someone like Lord Rump.
The mere thought of it made his mouth water. But it would only be possible if he could escape from this blasted place. And right now he was running out of options.
He sighed. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Preferably his greater good, and other people’s sacrifices.
He chewed on the last bit of steak and made his plans.
The chicken could not remember everything. But there were certain things she was sure of, and as long as she wasn’t being distracted by a nest of earwigs or mice, she was very worried about them.
She knew that the first Margrave of Neuhalt had built his Strong-hold on the sacred rock, the Grimstone. She knew that the Bayam of the time had put a curse on the Strong-hold, even though Bayams were not supposed to have anything to do with curses.
She knew that the curse had gone wrong, and the Bayam had vanished.
Beyond that, everything was muddy – except for one thing. There was danger approaching. Great danger. She could sense it in the earth beneath her claws, and in the unfelt winds that haunted the salt mine.
Eek, thought her chicken self. Badmen? Knives? STEW POT?
No, thought her other self. Far worse than a stew pot.
She knew there was power inside her – she could feel it bubbling in her crop like half-digested corn. Now, in a dimly lit corner of the mine, she tried to use that power.
She flapped her wings. She sang certain songs. She said certain words.
But wings could not do the work of hands, and the sounds that came out of her were unrecognisable to anyone but another chicken.
She tried again, but this time a fat beetle scuttled across the tunnel halfway through her song, and she dashed after it with no thought in her mind except, Crunchy! Mmmm!
By the time she came back to herself, most of the day had passed.
But she was not one to give up. She tried the song a third time, and bits of it were almost recognisable. So much so, that a sudden wind swept past her, ruffling her feathers and tickling her comb. Not a ghost wind. A real wind.
It was not enough.
I need hands, she thought. I need a voice.
She wanted to go straight to Veryshinygirl. She had power, too, and the chicken was drawn to her, in the way a moth is drawn to the moon.
But Veryshinygirl was hungry. All the children in the mine were hungry, and the chicken knew she must stay well clear of them. If they saw her, they would snatch her up without a second thought, and wring her neck.
The only ones she could trust were those who knew her. They would not harm her. She must go to one of them.
It was their second night in the mine, and Duckling was having the most ridiculous dream. A Saaf woman with feathers in her hair and a quignog-skin cloak was trying to explain something. She had chosen the edge of a cliff to do it, which Duckling wasn’t happy about because she didn’t like heights, not even in her dreams.
Duckling thought there were some other people on the cliff with her, but they fizzed in and out of her vision so she couldn’t quite see them.
She wondered if it was supposed to mean something. Probably not; it was just a dream. In a moment, the Saaf woman would turn into a brizzlehound, or something else that had been dead for hundreds of years, and Duckling would wake up and find herself back in the mine.
In the meantime, she was enjoying the sun, even though it was just a dream. She raised her face to the warmth and brightness – and the woman pecked her hand.
No, the woman patted her hand—
No, that wasn’t right either. The cat patted her hand.
No, the cat was patting her hand, and Duckling was lying in the dimness of the night cave with Otte next to her.
On the other side of Otte, Sooli was crouched over Pummel, singing quietly.
Duckling kept her eyes half closed, watching. Whatever Sooli was up to, it felt sneaky and mysterious, and it was no use tackling sneaky and mysterious head on. Things like that, you had to go at them sideways, until you knew the truth.
So instead of sitting up and accusing Sooli of who-knows-what, Duckling mumbled, as if she was still dreaming. Then she flung out her arm at just the right angle to miss Otte and smack Pummel on the shoulder.
He woke up with a start.
Duckling pretended to wake up too. ‘What’s the matter? Are we under attack?’ Then she swiped her hand across her forehead, breathed out loudly and said, ‘Sorry, I was dreaming.’
By then, Sooli was sitting up in her own spot, blinking in bewilderment as if she too had been dragged out of a deep sleep.
‘Sorry,’ Duckling said again. And she lay down and closed her eyes.
Otte was having a nightmare. In it, the children of the salt mine were weeping into their buckets. The older ones sang mournful songs, while the younger ones lay down in the dirt and faded away before his eyes.
In other words, it was almost exactly like real life.
He had had the same nightmare last night, but had told no one. He was still quite sure that his mother the Margravine did not know what was being done in her name. But that was no excuse. She should have known.
He should have known too.
And if he had not known about the salt mine, he should have known to collect a lot more herbs before he was captured. There were so many injuries and illnesses among the children that he had run out of potions. All he had left was the jar of ink from the mushroom, which was no use to anyone.
He was running out of bandages, too, despite the strips he had torn off the skirt of his dress. So although he was still falling into a trance every time someone hurt themselves, he could do little to help them. Which left him feeling sick and dizzy.
He had not told anyone about that either.
Beside him, Duckling mumbled, ‘Sorry, I was dreaming. Sorry.’
Otte lay there, thinking about Spinner. He had tried to clean the boy’s wound again today, but there had been no water to spare. After tomorrow there would be no bandages.
With proper care, Spinner would recover completely. Without it, his wound would probably kill him.
Otte still worried about his best friend Brun, who had stayed behind in the Strong-hold. Had he survived his fight with the Harshman? Had he
got away from the Hunt?
There was no way of knowing. And even if there was, Otte was too far away to help him.
But he wished with all his heart that he could help Spinner.
In Pummel’s dream, the raashk was working properly again, and he could see the heartbroken ghosts who roamed the tunnels of the salt mine.
They were trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t hear them. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, as they crowded around him. ‘What do you want?’
They waved their hands; they gestured and shook their heads; they pointed in every direction.
‘I wish I could hear you,’ said Pummel. ‘I know it’s important.’
A ghostly boy stepped forward. He was holding a scrap of paper, but Pummel couldn’t see any writing on it. The boy held up the paper and pointed to it, as if there were words there.
Pummel shook his head. The ghost boy fumbled in his pocket, but his hand came out empty. He looked shocked. He hunted in the other pocket, and down the neck of his tattered shirt. Still nothing. He turned back to Pummel and held out his empty hands. Then he waited.
‘You’ve lost something?’ asked Pummel. ‘You want me to help you find it?’
The boy shook his head. The other ghosts pressed closer, their eyes huge, their faces gaunt.
‘I can’t understand you,’ said Pummel. ‘But someone else might be able to. Come with me.’
In his dream, he flew through the dark tunnels, with ghosts flying above and below him. In his dream, he found Sooli, and the ghosts flocked around her as if they knew her.
The ghost boy spoke, and Sooli answered. But Pummel couldn’t hear a word.
‘What did he say?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘The ghost,’ said Pummel, pointing to the boy.
But Sooli just shook her head. ‘There are no ghosts in the mine,’ she said. ‘None at all.’
When the wake-up bell rang, Duckling groaned and rolled onto her back. She hadn’t forgotten what had happened in the night, but she didn’t want to think about it straight away because if she did, she’d have to tell Pummel. And she wasn’t sure he’d believe her.
She dragged her hand out from underneath the ragged blanket, and almost poked herself in the eye with something.
It was a feather.
A black chicken feather.
Where on earth did that come from? wondered Duckling. It wasn’t there last night. The cat must have brought it when she woke me up.
She looked around. There was no sign of the cat now. Maybe she had dreamt the whole thing …
No, it happened.
She nudged Otte. ‘Look what I found. I think your chicken might be down here somewhere. She and the cat must have followed us.’
Otte sat up. ‘Dora is in the mine? Do you think she is looking for me? Will you tell me if you see her? Can I have the feather?’
Duckling nodded. ‘But you’d better hope I don’t see her. There’s an awful lot of hungry children down here.’
Otte took the feather and turned away, fumbling under his blanket for his spoon.
I wish he wouldn’t work so hard, thought Duckling. I wish he wouldn’t give half his slop to anyone who begs for it.
All around the cave, children were scratching and yawning. A girl staggered to her feet. A boy picked up one of the lanterns and stumbled towards the privy hole. A smaller boy tried over and over to wake his friend, then put his face in his hands and wept noisily.
Sooli scrambled out of her bedding and hurried to his side. She licked her hand and held it to the sleeping boy’s mouth. She put her fingers on his neck, where his pulse should have been. She shook her head.
The little boy wept louder, and Sooli wrapped him in her arms and wept with him.
We’ve got to get out of here, thought Duckling. Or they’ll be crying over us before long.
Pummel slept right through the weeping, but when it was done he sat up, mumbling, ‘Why are dreams always so weird?’
I’ve got to tell him about last night, thought Duckling. I promised I wouldn’t keep stuff from him.
She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Then she leaned closer to Pummel and whispered, ‘Sooli was singing over you.’
He blinked. ‘What?’
‘That’s why I woke you up in the night. She was right next to you, singing.’
‘Why?’
‘How should I know? But I’m not sure she’s being honest with us—’
Pummel leaned past her and called, ‘Sooli?’
‘No!’ hissed Duckling. But she was too late. Sooli stroked the little boy’s head one final time, then stood up and made her way across the cave, rubbing her eyes.
Duckling sat back and sighed. Pummel had no idea how to go at things sideways. He went head on every time.
‘What is it?’ asked Sooli.
‘Were you singing over me in the night?’ said Pummel. ‘I mean, I’m sure you had a good reason for it if you were …’
Sooli’s face was in shadow. ‘It was a song my great-grandmother taught me. I did not realise you were listening.’
‘I wasn’t,’ said Pummel. ‘Duckling told me.’
That shadowy face turned towards Duckling. ‘And you wondered if I was being honest with you?’
‘Yes, I did,’ said Duckling. If Pummel could go head on, so could she.
‘When a Saaf offers friendship,’ said Sooli, ‘and someone replies with suspicion, it is like a worm in the heart.’
‘We’re not suspicious,’ Pummel said quickly. ‘We just wanted to know—’
Sooli interrupted him. ‘My great-grandmother knew many songs of power. Perhaps the raashk will listen to one of them and be healed. Then we will escape from this terrible place.’
She shifted a little so that the lantern light fell on her. ‘These children have been here for too long, and we have lost too many. But I do not think we will be here for much longer.’
Pummel caught up with Duckling on the way to breakfast. She was walking behind Otte, who had refused to be carried this morning and was hopping along with Spinner, just as he had done yesterday.
When Duckling saw Pummel, she frowned and nodded towards the Heir. ‘I think he’s having nightmares.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Pummel. ‘But it won’t be for much longer. As soon as the raashk is working again, we’ll escape. All of us.’
Duckling didn’t look any happier. ‘Exactly how is that going to happen, Pummel? You can’t take fifty children up through all that rock.’
‘Sooli says the raashk can do all sorts of things I don’t know about yet. As soon as she finds the right song, we’ll get out of here with no one left behind. She said I’ll be a hero.’ Pummel could feel himself blushing. ‘I don’t want to be a hero, I just want …’ He waved his hand at the horde of hungry children.
Behind them, someone whispered, ‘There’s a ghost cat in the mine. I saw it last night, prowling through the tunnels.’
Someone else replied, ‘It’s a sign. Something’s going to happen.’
‘And you believe her? About finding the right song?’ asked Duckling.
‘Yes, I do,’ said Pummel.
Duckling looked away from him and said, ‘I think we should try to find another way out. Just in case.’
They were approaching the main shaft by then. Ahead of them, the bucket rattled down on its steel rope, with Boz perched on the edge, cursing the children for their slowness. The slop smelled like cabbage that had been boiled for a month.
‘Just in case what?’ asked Pummel.
Duckling scratched her arm with the handle of her spoon. ‘Just in case Sooli can’t find the right song.’
‘That’s not what you were going to say.’
‘No, it’s not. But you don’t want to hear what I was going to say.’
‘Yes I do.’
‘You don’t! You trust people for no reason, Pummel. You trust people who sing sneaky songs over you in the middle of the ni
ght and can’t explain what they were doing.’
‘She did explain.’
‘No she didn’t. She talked around it. I don’t think she’s given us a straight answer since we arrived. Listen to her properly and you’ll see what I mean.’
Pummel could hardly believe that Duckling of all people was calling someone else sneaky. ‘You think everyone is as untruthful as—’
He stopped, but it was too late.
‘As untruthful as me?’ said Duckling.
‘Yes. No … I don’t know. But I do know we have to stick together. And that Sooli will get us out. She’ll get everyone out.’
‘I don’t care about everyone,’ said Duckling. ‘I only care about you and Otte.’ And she turned away from Pummel and marched off to get her breakfast.
That night, Duckling went exploring. She didn’t tell Pummel. She didn’t tell anyone. She just waited until the other children had fallen asleep, then she stood up and tiptoed past them, taking a tallow lantern from the wall on the way.
As soon as she was out of the night cave, she turned up the wick so the yellow light burned more brightly and the black smoke crept down her throat. Then she set off into the depths of the salt mine, feeling more like herself than she had for several days.
‘It’s awfully hard telling the truth all the time,’ she whispered to the lantern. ‘Especially when I think Sooli’s lying through her teeth.’ Then she quickly added, ‘This isn’t a lie, what I’m doing now. It’s just a bit of sneakery. I’ll tell Pummel about it in the morning.’
She’d pocketed a lump of charcoal earlier in the day, and now she marked each turn so she could find her way back. But the further she went from the night cave, the more nervous she grew.
Being alone in those black tunnels was very different from being with other people. The shadows moved in and out, as if the mine was breathing. Every corner promised something terrible on the other side. Every tunnel murmured, ‘You’re lost. You’re lost forever. You won’t find your way back to Pummel and Otte.’