The Hush

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  Susannah let out a slow breath. ‘Well, what do you think?’

  ‘I think,’ Dot said, with a fresh note of hope in her voice, ‘that she might’ve just gone past us.’

  ‘And I think,’ Travis said, ‘that you might be right.’

  Susannah allowed herself a small smile. When it came down to it, they were a good team. And once Sam returned, their gang would be complete again – and with a new member, too. A new member for a new job, the job Susannah had been waiting for. They were so close now to the big one.

  So close.

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘Five minutes, and we’ll leave.’

  The others nodded. Susannah knew they were itching to leave right now. It was hard enough to stomp down on her own impulse to flee. They couldn’t linger too long or the Cavatina’s charge would wind down and they’d be stuck waiting for a train to jump-start the Music of the engine. But the longer they waited, the further the Songshaper would draw ahead, and the larger the distance between them, the better.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘the next job.’

  ‘The big one?’ Dot said eagerly.

  Susannah shook her head, a little regretful. ‘Not yet. Soon, I promise – but we’re not quite ready.’

  ‘But Captain, there are only a few weeks to go,’ Dot said. ‘And we’ve found an unlicensed Songshaper now. That means we’ve got almost all the pieces we need to –’

  ‘Yes,’ Susannah said, nodding, ‘but we’ll still need to train him –’

  ‘Or her,’ Dot said.

  ‘– and we’ve still got to pick up more supplies. We don’t know how skilled this Songshaper is, and we don’t know …’ Susannah trailed off. ‘We don’t know how willing he’ll be to join our plan.’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame him for bowing out,’ Travis said. ‘No offence, Captain, but this job is suicidal. You’ll be throwing this fellow to the sharks and crossing your fingers that he performs his role before they tear his head off.’

  Susannah wanted to argue but he was right. This would be a dangerous job, for all of them. But for the Songshaper in particular, it would be deadly. Would any sane person agree to play the part she was going to assign to him?

  It had taken months to find an unlicensed Songshaper. Generally, folks who learnt to play Music on the black market were savvy enough to keep it a secret. Now that she’d found one, Susannah wasn’t about to let him go. Dot was right. The deadline for this job was only three weeks away. If they missed it, it would be an entire year before a chance arose again …

  She would have to ease him into it carefully. Tell him just enough of his role in the plan to pique his interest. Let him feel comfortable in the Nightfall Gang. Let him see what riches were offered to the members of the gang, and what amazing new skills they could teach him to survive. She would give him a few weeks of comfort aboard the Cavatina, with its cosy cabins and hot meals. And then, when he was wrapped around her little finger …

  Well, you couldn’t catch a shark without bait.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The night was long.

  As the hours wore on, Susannah paced through the Cavatina, tired and nervous. She ventured up onto the deck, straining to make out the shape of their enemy in the distance, even though she knew there would be nothing but blackness and the cold fingers of the Hush on her skin.

  Normally, every few nights, the gang would leave the Cavatina on a railway line and camp beneath the stars of Meloral. It was unhealthy to dwell too long in the Musically contaminated air of the Hush without a break, and there was always the risk of an Echo attack. Susannah had hoped to sleep in the real world tonight, but they had to keep moving. The Songshaper was still out there, hunting for them.

  Back inside, the corridors seemed to swallow her: the throats of patterned wallpaper, the tongues of carpet, the teeth of glinting sorcery lamps. Oddly enough, it was Sam of all people who’d insisted that the ship look less like a machine and more like a home. She would never have guessed it. Sam, who stomped about in cowboy boots and scowls. Sam, who was more comfortable with a pistol than a paintbrush. Sam, whose emotions fluctuated with unnatural jerks and sways if he so much as wandered beneath a badly tuned sorcery lamp. Yet it was Sam who had persuaded them to convert the echoship into a comfortable living space, complete with cushions and picture frames.

  ‘It’s home, ain’t it?’ he’d said. And that was all the explanation Susannah had managed to wangle out of him on the subject.

  The ship felt empty without Sam here. Susannah had never been interested in him romantically – they were both too damaged for that, and reminded each other too sharply of past ordeals – but she still loved him. Like a brother, almost. A brother with all the layers of an onion, and just as much ability to bring people to tears. They had first met in a grimy bar in Weser City, both reeling from recent trauma. When they had joined forces to create the gang, Sam had insisted that Susannah be the captain.

  ‘You’re good at dealing with folks,’ he had told her with a wistful smile. ‘I’m only good at fighting ’em.’

  Right now, though, Susannah felt too exhausted to deal with anything more complex than a griddlecake.

  ‘Any trouble?’ she said, entering the driver’s cabin.

  Dot shook her head, focusing on the sorcery map. ‘Bells are quiet, Captain. Want to stop when we hit another railway line?’

  ‘No, keep going,’ Susannah said. ‘There are a lot of fields around Linus and Sam’s only got a small boat. We might have to hunt him down.’

  Dot readjusted the wheel a little. ‘Good. I’m sick of sitting still.’

  Susannah smiled at her. She had that much right. Apart from Travis, none of the gang was particularly good at sitting still – or even staying more than one night in the same place.

  ‘You all have such itchy feet,’ Travis had once complained, when they went to move on from a comfortable city hotel after only one night. ‘Couldn’t we stay long enough to … I don’t know … savour the local flavour?’

  ‘The local tailors, you mean,’ Dot said.

  ‘We’re thieves,’ Susannah said. ‘Going on the run is part of the job description. Besides, we’ve got to give these coins to the beggars in Jubaldon, remember?’

  If she was honest with herself, though, it was more than that. As much as she valued the work they did as part of their ‘wealth redistribution program’, as Dot called it, it was partially just an excuse to keep moving. While she waited for the final job, Susannah had to keep moving. She had to keep roaming. She couldn’t stay in one place for too long: the same buildings, the same trees, the same locals … It drove her insane. Some small part of her felt the constant urge to flee, to run, to escape, as though somehow this might save her from the horrors of her own upcoming plan.

  Another part of her constantly worried about what would happen if she was caught. She had good reason to feel that way. Susannah wasn’t just a fugitive for leading the Nightfall Gang. Her outlaw status, like Sam’s, went back a lot further. All the way back to the Conservatorium, and that terrible night when –

  The third bell jingled.

  Dot scrambled aside as Susannah cursed and seized the wheel. She squinted up at the sorcery map, where a thin line of light trickled across their path. ‘That’s the Linus River up ahead! She must’ve known we’d never dare to cross it here, so –’

  ‘– she doubled back to look for us,’ Dot said, nodding.

  Susannah kept her gaze on the map. Beyond the river lay the glowing dot of Linus. They were so close. If they could just hold out long enough to reach a safe crossing point, maybe –

  ‘Left!’ Dot cried.

  Susannah obeyed, not taking time to figure out what the problem was. Dot, who usually spoke in the soft tones of a daydreamer, wouldn’t scream like that unless there was a genuine threat.

  The Cavatina surged left just as Travis burst into the driver’s cabin. At that moment, Susannah spotted the danger. A huge tree reared in the darkness, close enough to s
crape the right-hand side of their ship. If Dot hadn’t screamed at Susannah to turn, they’d have hit its trunk like a glass lantern hitting stone.

  ‘It’s not on the map!’ Susannah gasped, staring through the window. A wall of bark flashed by, distorted by the dark and rain of the Hush. Then it was gone and the window refilled with blackness.

  ‘Must’ve grown over the last few years,’ Dot said anxiously. ‘Those are fast-growing trees, those leafshiners. The map must be out of date …’

  The proximity bell rang again.

  ‘Songshaper?’ Travis said.

  ‘Yep,’ Dot said. ‘She’s catching up, too. That last ring was louder than before. Captain, I don’t think hiding’s an option this time …’

  ‘I know.’ Susannah cranked a lever up into a higher gear. ‘We’ll have to outrun her.’

  ‘Oh, naturally,’ Travis said. ‘You know, when I was choosing how to flavour my oatmeal this morning, I wasn’t aware that “suicidal recklessness” was an option for the day. Where do you keep that one, Captain – behind the sugar jar or the box of dried cranberries?’

  Susannah glared at him. ‘Got a better idea, pretty boy?’

  Travis pursed his lips, but didn’t respond.

  Susannah flicked her gaze from side to side, checking the other windows. No sign of trees, but would she even know in time? She could barely see a yard through the dark of the Hush – would she see an obstacle coming and have time to avoid it, or simply smash right into it?

  Another bell tinkled. This one sounded different: a higher, warmer pitch. Susannah wrenched up her gaze, startled, and saw the fifth bell in the collection was ringing. ‘We’ve got an echoboat in range!’

  ‘You think it’s Sam, Captain?’

  ‘One way to find out!’

  Susannah dug into her pocket with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel. She pulled out her communication globe and clutched it tightly, waiting for that familiar blue shine …

  And there it was. The fog within the globe shifted, congealing into a familiar face. Cowboy hat, heavy jaw, pale blue eyes.

  Sam.

  Chester ate breakfast in the dark.

  ‘Is it morning yet?’ he said, peering out the echoboat windows. It always looked the same in the Hush: a black morass of rain and fog.

  ‘Close enough,’ Sam said.

  An icebox squatted under the sofa, filled with bread and cheese. Chester ate his sandwich in huge chunks, ripping it with hungry teeth. The bread was a little stale, but the cheese was sharp and peppery on his tongue.

  As he ate, he kept his eyes on Sam. Despite his best efforts, he still wasn’t sure how to read the older boy. Chester didn’t like it when he couldn’t understand a person – it was like being faced with a song he couldn’t play.

  Usually, Chester prided himself on reading people. There were all sorts of folk in the towns of Meloral, and Chester had met hundreds during his travels. Nervous fidgeters, headstrong barmaids, gruff farmers, jovial washer women, gossiping errand boys, and draconian sheriffs who used their guns and badges to feel better about their … inadequacies.

  Sam was different. Whenever Chester thought he was getting a read on him – Tetchy? Ruthless? Distant? – another bubble of information would rise to the surface. Sometimes Sam seemed ruthless, like when he’d blasted those holes through Nathaniel Glaucon. But other times he was gentle, like when he took the care to clean Chester’s wound – then a moment later he’d be angry and snappish again. Sam could be fearless or paranoid. Vicious or panicky. The boy owned a dozen different temperaments, and he flittered from each to the next as though he was merely changing outfits. Perhaps that was why Sam’s body was so huge – he needed room for his wardrobe of personalities.

  And thanks to Sam, Chester had missed the Sundown Recital.

  He still couldn’t believe it. Never in his life had he missed the recital. Even now, he could feel his skin prickling and the rush of hot blood through his veins. He told himself it was just the shock of the Echo attack or a slight concussion from banging his head on the wall.

  But he knew it wasn’t really. It was withdrawal.

  He’d once been told about a senile old woman who’d lived down the street. Chester had only been six or seven at the time, but the story had shaken him to the core. When the woman had run away from home for two nights she hadn’t performed the Sundown Recital – and of course there had been no one to perform it for her. By the time the sheriff had found her, she was a huddling twitch of limbs, sobbing and screaming with fever in an alleyway.

  ‘Withdrawal,’ the sheriff had called it. ‘I seen it before. First day, you just get a bit of pain. But the second day, you’re screaming and hurling your meals back up. And if you ain’t strong enough to cope with it, you go insane. Lose your allegiance to the Song forever, and start babbling nonsense … kindest thing you can do is a bullet to the skull.’

  Now, Chester fought to ignore the thrum of heat that tingled through his veins. He had been tempted to perform the recital at least a dozen times overnight, but he knew it wouldn’t work. It was too late. The Sundown Recital only worked at sundown. There was no way to cheat the system. It would be like trying to cheat the moon, or the stars, or the Song itself. It was blasphemy.

  Besides, he still remembered the horror in Sam’s eyes.

  Shut up! Do you want ’em to find us?

  Those words rolled around Chester’s skull like cold marbles. It was his fault the Echoes had found them. He had somehow called them, through the hum of the recital. But he couldn’t go without the recital forever …

  A bell rang.

  Startled, Chester turned to Sam. ‘What’s that?’

  Sam dropped the remains of his sandwich and hurried into the driver’s cabin. Chester followed, his skin still prickling faintly with the thrum of his missed recital. It wasn’t pain – not yet, at least – but if he skipped another sundown …

  Don’t think about it, he told himself.

  In the cabin, the bell chimed again. Chester hadn’t noticed it the day before: a little metal bell, hanging from the ceiling above the wheel. It was made of copper, or maybe bronze, with a swirl of intricate carvings on its surface.

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘We’re in range of an echoship,’ Sam said.

  Sam produced a small glass sphere, the size of his palm. He held it up to the sorcery lamps and it glinted, cool and translucent. Yet as he held it, its colour shifted. It melted from being clear to a vivid green: the colour of the prairie after rain.

  ‘That’s Susannah’s colour,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The captain.’

  Chester stared at the globe. It looked a little like a sorcery lamp, but there was no hint of light from its surface. Just shifting colours, like paint on a wall. Inside, a wisp of fog swirled in the same bright green as the glass. The fog solidified, twist by twist, into the shape of a human face.

  Suddenly, Chester realised what was happening. ‘That’s a communicator!’

  ‘Yep,’ Sam said.

  ‘But … how can you afford …?’

  Sam snorted. ‘We didn’t buy it.’

  Chester stared at the globe. He’d heard of such things, of course, but never expected to see one with his own eyes. Communicators were worth a fortune; only the best of the Songshapers could enchant them, and only the highest ranks of nobility could afford them.

  The fog settled into its final shape: it was a young woman. If Chester squinted, he could make out a few details: a long nose, a tangle of curling red hair. This had to be Susannah, the captain of Sam’s gang.

  ‘Sam?’ She sounded urgent and snappish. ‘Sam, can you read me?’

  ‘Here, Captain,’ Sam said.

  ‘Did you get the Songshaper?’

  ‘Yeah, I got him,’ Sam said. ‘Just a runt of a kid, though, and he ain’t been trained too well.’

  ‘Dot can help with that,’ Susannah said. ‘Are either of you injured?’

 
‘Boy got shot in the arm, Captain, but nothing Travis can’t fix.’

  Susannah nodded. In the depths of the globe, her face was too small to read her expression. ‘I need you back here quickly, Sam. But be careful – we’ve had a hell of a night, that Songshaper from Bremen’s on our trail. If she catches us, we’ll have to –’

  A snap of sound, and the globe went blank.

  Sam swore under his breath. He clutched the globe more tightly and shook it. Nothing happened – it stayed just a clear glass ball in his hand.

  ‘What happened?’ Chester said.

  ‘Lost the damn connection.’ Sam gave the globe one more shake, his lips tight, before he dropped it with a curse into his pocket.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  Sam yanked a lever, blasting them forwards with a new-found burst of speed. The older boy looked suddenly pale. ‘Only two things can break a connection like that,’ he said. ‘Either falling out of range – which don’t make sense since we’re heading in the right direction – or …’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Or what?’

  Sam let out a slow breath. ‘Or the person you’re talking to is under attack.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Cavatina crouched in a gully, black rain swirling like a symphony around its hull. Its marker blinked on the map, guiding them forwards.

  Chester stared at it, stunned. The echoship was thirty times as large as Sam’s boat, or maybe forty. It was the size of a mansion, not a wagon. A faint shine emanated from its outer skin: a hint of Music, trapped in wood and metal.

  If Sam was pleased to see his home again, he didn’t show it. His face was drained of colour and his eyes were wide open.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Chester whispered.

  Sam pointed.

  A shadow lay beneath the left side of the echoship. Not a normal shadow, like the constant darkness that swirled around the Hush, but something deeper and blacker. Like an ink-stained jaw opening up to consume the base of the ship, licking its tongue around the wood, pressing its lips up towards the windows …