Almost subconsciously, she found herself watching him. He wasn’t feeble. Months on the road had left him fit and lean, with tan skin beneath a rumple of dark hair. He moved with a sturdy sort of grace, his muscles tight, his face determined despite the nerves.
But he was also reckless and a little impulsive. The fact that he was here at all was testament to that. The boy had played a difficult song in front of a roomful of witnesses when he could barely control his own powers. He had placed his life in a stranger’s hands, and he barely had a grip on his Musical abilities.
Maybe he wasn’t ready for this job.
But Sam met her eyes and Susannah nodded. She had made a deal and there was no backing out of it.
Travis took the lead, with a bold swagger in his step. He raised his nose and placed his hands on his hips as he strutted down the street. He looked for all the world like the arrogant young heir he was meant to be, sniffing out the town’s potential for investment.
‘Come on,’ Susannah muttered to the others. ‘Keep your heads down and don’t talk too loudly. They keep their servants tightly reined in around here.’
That, of course, was an understatement.
The sugar barons were descended from Weser nobility. Their grandparents had forcibly seized a large swathe of eastern Meloral during the failed Oscine Uprising, sixty years ago. The locals had no land left of their own, and no choice but to work the fields for their wealthy over-lords. And so they toiled on, painting the landscape with sweetness.
Here, servants walked in garb of soil and linsey cloth. Hair clung in sweaty bunches around their necks and their faces were as red as tomatoes. They bowed in respect, almost spilling baskets of bread, as another carriage rolled past. The pegasi snorted and huffed, their nostrils foaming a little from the stress and the heat.
Someone needs to hose those horses down, she thought. Were the sugar barons so rich that they could afford to run their pegasi ragged and simply replace them if they keeled over?
Susannah kept her head low, traipsing the street in quiet thought. The sunlight, which had seemed so comforting at first, was beginning to sting the back of her neck. She pulled up her collar and let down her hair, allowing a red cascade to spill across her shoulders. The air felt stifling – she could feel sweat pooling in the crooks of her elbows – and the last thing she needed was a sunburn.
‘By the Song, it’s hot,’ Travis whispered. ‘I’d hoped to visit that talented tailor I was telling you about, but I wouldn’t dare set foot in his establishment when I’m so covered in sweat.’
‘How tragic,’ Susannah whispered back.
‘Oh it is, Captain,’ Travis said. ‘I’ve heard the Linus sugar barons have some rather pretty daughters, but I’m afraid even my charms might not work in my current state.’ He peered down at himself. ‘I do hope you’ve chosen a hotel with decent bathing facilities.’
Apart from house servants, there were few poor folk in the city streets right now. They would all be out working the sugarcane fields: hacking at crops with a scythe or hauling heavy baskets. Susannah couldn’t imagine their exhaustion. In this weather, it was bad enough just walking down the street. With her long dark skirt and its layers of petticoats, she felt as though she was dragging around a saucepan to slowly boil her own legs.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Chester said.
Susannah pointed past a row of parked carriages. ‘Our hotel’s down there. We’ll talk inside.’
As they approached the centre of town she sensed a stiffening in Sam’s movements. There was too much Music in the air, she realised. The carriage lanterns, the kitchen stoves, and even the water pumps …
‘Are you all right?’ she said quietly.
Sam grunted, his expression strained. His fists were clenched together now, tight as boulders.
Susannah reached into her skirt pocket, where she had stowed one of Dot’s precious calming lamps. She handed it wordlessly to Sam. He looked away as he seized it, either too furious or too ashamed to meet her gaze.
The hotel’s facade was tall and creamy, carved from chunks of polished sandstone. Columns supported the first-floor balcony and windows glinted in the afternoon sun. A pair of finely dressed gentlemen strode out the front door, noses high as they approached their carriage. The entire building reeked of money.
‘There?’ Chester said. ‘We’re going to stay there? But how can we afford –?’
‘It’s an investment,’ Susannah said. ‘I chose it for its location, not its price.’
The woman at reception looked more bored than alert. Travis flicked his wrists and sneered at her, playing the role of the snobby heir to a tee.
‘You’re taking your servants up to the room, sir?’ the woman said. ‘Normally, our guests prefer to –’
‘Good grief, woman, of course I’m taking them,’ Travis said. ‘I am accustomed to a certain level of service and I can hardly entrust my wellbeing to a mob of rural ruffians employed by a mere hotel.’
Five minutes later, they stepped into a fancy room on the hotel’s top floor. A four-poster stood as the crowning glory, with fluttering silk curtains of pale gold, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, tinkling with crystal. When they activated its melody, every fragment of glass shone like a sorcery lamp.
‘Wow,’ Chester said, wide eyed. ‘This is amazing.’
Susannah glanced at him. It was easy to become blasé about these sorts of things: expensive rooms, ornate hotels. She spent so much time in these places nowadays – either as a guest or a burglar – that she barely noticed the puffery. But the awe on Chester’s face made her pause for a moment.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose it is.’
Travis pushed past with an eager expression and gave a sigh of contentment when he spotted the adjoining bathroom. ‘Ahhh,’ he said. ‘Civilisation.’
Susannah stole a surreptitious look at Sam, whose face was torn between elation and fury. Too many melodies, too many emotions. He clutched Dot’s calming globe like a drowning man who had been thrown a rope.
Without a word she extinguished the chandelier. Sam seemed to be in control of himself – for now, at least – but it was cruel to make him suffer for the sake of a few fancy crystals. As the lights flickered out, Sam’s stiff limbs began to unclench.
Susannah released a slow breath. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Our target is the house across the street – the home of Charles Yant, a wealthy sugar baron. He’s a nasty piece of work: keeps his servants locked in barns overnight so they don’t nick off and hitch a train to a new town.’
‘He can’t do that!’ Dot said. ‘That’s like slavery. That’s illegal!’
Susannah sighed. ‘This isn’t Weser City, Dot. There’s no real police force. There’s just the sheriff and his cronies, same in every town. And whatever the sheriff says is law – that’s what the law is.’
‘But –’
‘You’ve seen worse in other towns, Dot. Remember that family in Oranmor?’
‘Yes, but –’
Susannah raised her hand, calling for silence. ‘Look, you’ll have to take my word on this one. This whole town is run by the sugar barons. They provide the money and they own the land. The sheriff isn’t about to upset them. And a high-up baron like Yant, who brings in thousands in taxes?’ She shook her head. ‘Well, throw in a couple of bribes here and there and I bet the sheriff would let him get away with murder.’
They all stared at her. Sam’s expression was dark; Travis’s lip curled back, as though he was appalled; and Dot’s eyes were as round as buttons. To her surprise, Chester was the only one who didn’t look shocked. He sat there, staring down into his hands.
‘Chester?’ she said. ‘You with me?’
He looked up, startled. ‘Yes, Captain. Sorry. I was just …’
‘Just what?’
‘Just … I saw a lot of stuff like that, when I was a kid,’ he said. ‘Back in Thrace. It was a wheat-belt town, and the people who owned all the land used to …’
‘Right,’ she said. ‘My point’s that Yant is not a nice man. But that’s not the only reason we’re going to rob him. He’s got something we need.’
Travis stirred, looking a little more interested. ‘A collection of silver cufflinks, perhaps?’ he asked hopefully. ‘Or a genuine silk undershirt – I’ve always wanted one of those …’
‘He’s got a huge family,’ Susannah said. ‘He has seven siblings, five children of his own, and dozens of nieces and nephews scattered all over the region.’
‘You want to steal a nephew?’
Susannah rolled her eyes. ‘No, don’t be stupid. I want to steal some paperwork. Birth certificates, farming licences, wax seals, writing paper …’
‘You want to build me a fake identity, don’t you?’ Chester said. ‘When I audition, I’ll be pretending to be part of the Yant family.’
Susannah nodded. ‘You’ll need a new name, a wealthy background, a family line … You can’t waltz in without credentials; the Songshapers’ll be too suspicious.’
Chester hesitated for a moment then returned her nod. Susannah found herself watching his face. The boy wore a strong resolve in his dark eyes, despite the evident nerves in his expression.
She forced herself to look away. ‘Right. We’re going in at midnight, when Yant should be asleep. You’ve got that folding ladder you were working on, Dot?’
Dot patted her coat pocket.
‘Good. This is a simple sneak ’n’ grab job, nothing fancy. Sam, I want you in the Hush with an echoboat, in case we need a quick getaway. Dot, you’re in charge of the ladder from this end. Travis, you’re on guard duty.’ She tossed him a communication globe. ‘If you see anything, or hear anything, I want to be alerted. Got it?’
Travis tilted his head. ‘It’s hardly a scintillating role, is it? Guard duty … It sounds awfully like grunt work. You know, Captain, I hardly think the best use of my talents is to –’
‘What else are you going to do?’ Susannah said. ‘Let’s face it: you’re not exactly a hardened criminal.’
‘Of course I am,’ Travis said. ‘Why, I got up to all sorts of criminal mischief back at medical school. On one memorable occasion, I even spiked my professor’s cologne with aniseed.’ He leant forwards with a conspiratorial whisper. ‘The man smelt like a liquorice cake for weeks!’
‘I see,’ Susannah said. ‘And what did he do to deserve such a terrible fate?’
‘He confiscated my plum cravat.’ Travis looked indignant, as though this was a terrible injustice. ‘I had to wear a green one instead and it clashed terribly with my waistcoat.’
Susannah stared at him.
‘So you see, Captain,’ Travis said, ‘it was a clear case of criminality being used in the pursuit of justice. Rather like our goal tonight, don’t you think?’
‘Our goal tonight,’ Susannah said, ‘is for us to all get home safely. This isn’t a night for grandstanding. It’s for working together and doing what the job requires. Got a problem with that?’
‘Ah,’ Travis said. ‘Well, when you put it like that …’
‘Good,’ Susannah said. ‘Chester, got your flute?’
‘Yes, Captain.’
‘You’re coming with me. I want a Songshaper and Dot will be busy with the ladder.’
Chester’s mouth fell open. ‘But Captain, I don’t know if I can –’
‘You’ll do fine,’ Susannah said. ‘You fought off that Echo, didn’t you?’
‘But that was …’
Susannah gave him her sternest look. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Well, I don’t think …’ Chester must have read something in Susannah’s expression because the end of his objection died on his lips. ‘No, Captain.’
‘Good.’
Susannah peered out between the curtains. Afternoon sun painted the street with light, throwing sharp relief on the opposite building. She gazed at the balcony. The windows. The elaborate stone carvings underneath the sill. This would be a simple job. Easy to sneak in, easy to sneak out. All under the cover of darkness, without the complication of an inside man.
She glanced back at Chester with a twinge of regret for her harsh tone. Of course he would be nervous. Agitated. After all, this was his first real thieving job.
‘You all right?’ she said.
He gave her a weak smile. ‘Yeah. Thanks, Captain.’
Susannah nodded, turning back to the window. With a twist in her belly, she remembered her deal with Sam. She tried to convince herself that her concern was merely practical; after all, the auditions were fast approaching. She needed a Songshaper for her plan to work. If Chester proved himself tonight, she could fully initiate him into the gang.
But if he failed …
At sunset, Chester sat in the hotel bathroom. He needed some space from the others. He felt no real agony tonight, just the final cold, dull remnants of the withdrawal ache. As Susannah had predicted, he had survived the worst of the torment already. In another day or so, he should be able to pass his sunsets with barely a shiver.
Assuming he didn’t die tonight.
Chester’s stomach was tight – not with pain, but with nerves. To distract himself, he examined the gang’s burglary trunk, full of knick-knacks for various jobs. His fingers brushed the globe of a sorcery lamp and its melody flared on his skin, as warm and thick as treacle. There were tiny glass devices, ropes and grappling hooks, a communicator globe and a box of costume items including a sturdy silver necklace, a carriage-driver’s licence, and even a false moustache.
A trunk of lies, he thought. A trunk of secrets.
Tonight, he would be risking his freedom for the Nightfall Gang. He might even be risking his life. And yet, despite everything, Chester still didn’t know for sure if they could help him find his father. It was time for some answers.
With the lantern in hand, Chester ventured back into the main hotel room. Sam had gone for a walk to clear his head, while Susannah was out casing Yant’s security, leaving the others to keep watch until nightfall. Dot sat by the window, dunking toast into a cup of tea, while Travis trimmed his fingernails. He held them up to the light, frowned a little, then angled the blade to adjust the curve of his thumbnail.
Chester took a deep breath. He forced himself to remember that although he needed them for their information, they needed him too – they needed a Songshaper for the job at the Conservatorium. They owed him information. Convince the world you’re strong …
‘I want the truth,’ he said.
They turned to look at him. Travis leant back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. ‘And I want a mansion with a fleet of forty pegasi and a tailor on call,’ he said. ‘Tragically, we don’t all receive what we want, do we?’
‘I have a theory,’ Dot said, ‘that –’
‘We don’t care about your theories, Dorothy.’ Travis waved a careless hand. ‘Honestly, the way you blather on, you’d think I’d joined a public speaking academy instead of a thieving gang.’
Dot stared into her teacup, a quiet little smile on her face. ‘I have a theory,’ she said again, ‘that people make demands when they’re too afraid to ask favours.’
‘What do you mean?’ Chester said, slightly deflated.
‘Well,’ Dot said, ‘you could have asked nicely for information about Songshaping and I could have taught you something useful for tonight. Instead, you barge in here and make demands.’
Chester forced himself to shake his head. ‘I don’t want information about Songshaping, I want information about the vanishings.’
‘Well, if you want the latter,’ Dot said, ‘you’ll have to learn the former first and use it to help our gang. Didn’t the captain tell you? Nothing comes for free, Chester. Not even when you demand it.’
Chester ran a hand through his hair. He yearned to make an ultimatum: tell me the truth or I’m leaving. He could picture it now: his clenched
fists, his raised voice, his righteous indignation. But it would be an empty bluff and they both knew it. If he left, he might never find out the truth.
Chester sighed. He threw himself into the chair beside Dot’s and placed her sorcery lamp on the table. ‘Teach me, then. About the Songshaping and stuff, to help your gang. If I’m going to help with this burglary tonight, I need to know what I’m doing.’
Silence.
Travis sliced another little curve off his thumbnail then held his hand to the light. Dot gazed down into her cup of tea.
Request, Chester thought, not demand.
He drew a steady breath. ‘Dot, I’m sorry. Will you please teach me about Songshaping?’
She looked up at him. Her eyes were brown, unlike the pale blue shine of Sam’s or Susannah’s. She looked very young, all of a sudden. Too young for the measured words that had escaped her lips.
‘Touch that sorcery lamp,’ she said, nodding to the one Chester had placed on the table.
Chester hesitated. Was this a trick? He touched the lamp. The warm glass tickled his fingertips and the now-familiar hum of Dot’s illumination tune began to trickle through his veins.
‘Feel it?’ Dot said.
Chester nodded.
‘Know how to do it yourself?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve never been trained. I know no one here believes me but it’s true.’
Dot stared at him for a long moment. Her lips curved into a frown and she tilted her head slightly to the side, almost like a bird would. ‘What’s your instrument?’
‘I play fiddle,’ Chester said. ‘But it got taken when I was arrested in Hamelin. I’ve only got this.’
He pulled the miniature flute from his pocket. It felt cold against his fingertips. Chester knew he could play it – when he’d worked in the shop, he’d practised every instrument he could get his hands on – but it wasn’t the same as his fiddle. His fiddle was warm wood and familiar strings. It was the purr of a cat and the comfort of hot soup. It was home.
‘You don’t like the flute?’ Dot said.
‘It’s just not the same.’
The Hush Page 15