The Hush

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  ‘Oh, don’t be such a dullard,’ Travis said. ‘You should be celebrating your youth, not denying it. In a few years’ time, or so I’ve been assured, we’ll all wake up with enough wrinkles to –’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Susannah interrupted. ‘So we’ve got Chester’s identity under control.’ She picked up a piece of chalk and ticked off identity documents on the blackboard. ‘But we need to work on our escape plan. It’s one thing to get into the Conservatorium, but getting out won’t be easy.’

  ‘I still favour the bait-and-switch,’ Travis said. ‘Wait until we’re ready to escape, then alert the Songshapers to the presence of intruders. That should make them activate their alarms and deactivate the inner shield long enough for us to sneak through.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘And it has a certain flair to it, doesn’t it? It’s delicious, the irony of their own security system –’

  ‘Yes, but we can’t just tell them we’re intruding,’ Susannah said. ‘They’ll realise they’re being played.’

  ‘Anonymous note?’ Dot suggested.

  Susannah shook her head. ‘They’re not stupid. We need the information to come from a legitimate source, so they think someone’s helping them by alerting them to the break-in.’

  ‘How about a servant?’ Sam said.

  ‘No,’ Susannah said. ‘It’s an issue of timing. We need someone with enough authority to go straight to the top. A servant would waste time reporting to someone more senior, who could then pass on the report to the bosses …’

  ‘So we need a real Songshaper on our side,’ Travis said. ‘Someone with a proper licence from the Conservatorium – someone who can make an urgent report without raising his colleagues’ suspicions.’

  Sam snorted. ‘What kind of Songshaper’s gonna help us break into his own damn Conservatorium?’

  ‘Well,’ Susannah said, ‘how about one with a grudge against his bosses?’ She paused. ‘Dot, can you think of anyone at the Conservatorium who might help us? Someone with a full licence, preferably.’

  Dot shook her head. ‘I mostly hung out with other students; I never knew the teachers well. And my old friends wouldn’t trust me, anyway. Not since I got expelled.’

  Susannah nodded. ‘Well, it’s another thing to think about, anyway. We’ve still got time to iron out the details.’ She added Recruit licensed Songshaper to the blackboard. ‘Now I was thinking –’

  Chester gave a little cough.

  Susannah paused mid-sentence, and looked at him. ‘Are you interrupting me?’

  ‘Yes, Captain.’

  The others sucked in a trio of breaths. Chester felt a little of his bravado dissipate, but he forced himself to go on. ‘We made a deal, Captain. You promised me information if I picked that lock for you.’

  Susannah stared at him. ‘We’re in the middle of a meeting. It can wait until later.’

  Chester shook his head. ‘Last night made me realise how dangerous this job will be. If a rural sugar baron’s vault was that well protected, how do I know what I’ll be up against in the Conservatorium itself?’

  Susannah didn’t speak.

  ‘If I do this job,’ Chester said, ‘I’ll be taking a hell of a risk. I need to know what’s in it for me.’ He tightened his grip on his coffee cup. ‘I’m not going to pretend that I’m some tough guy giving you a grand ultimatum. I’m not going to stomp my feet and pretend I’m a brawler like Sam, or a leader like you.’ He offered Dot a wry little smile. ‘I already tried that routine and I got put back in my place quick enough.’

  He paused. ‘But I’m going to be honest with you, Captain. I can’t do this anymore. Not without the truth. Not without knowing for sure that you know something about the vanishings.’

  The silence stretched. It felt almost heavy, now, as though a fistful of awkwardness had pummelled the space between them.

  It was Sam who finally spoke. ‘Tell him, Captain. He deserves to know.’

  Chester turned to him, taken aback.

  Sam gave him a level look from under the rim of his cowboy hat. His blue eyes glinted, pale and eerie. Just like Susannah. What were the odds that two members of the gang would share such an unusual feature?

  ‘Last night, you proved yourself,’ Sam said. ‘You won your place at this table.’

  A strange look passed between Sam and Susannah. There was a long moment of silence, as tense as a fiddle string, and Chester had the distinct impression that he’d just missed something important.

  Finally, Susannah dropped into her chair. ‘I did promise, didn’t I?’

  Chester nodded.

  ‘All right, Chester,’ she said. ‘I keep my promises.’

  Chester hesitated. He felt as though he should thank her, but really, she did owe him this information. He didn’t want to imply that she was doing him a favour or that he was putting himself in her debt. So he closed his mouth, took a sip of half-cooled coffee, and forced himself to wait out the silence.

  ‘The vanishings started two years ago.’

  Susannah’s voice was shaky, with a little too much staccato in the syllables. Chester frowned. She spoke as though this was personal to her, as if it was more than just a rumour she’d heard. Had she lost someone too?

  ‘The process starts with a virus,’ she said. ‘It’s a sickness that comes from Music. They can play it into your skull, or your food, or even your clothing. The tune rubs off into your skin, so soft that you don’t even notice it.

  ‘It works on your mind. It makes you weak. It makes you compliant. Then they come to you at night, through the Hush.’

  Chester felt his heartbeat racing. ‘Who?’

  ‘The recruiters. The first thing you see is a shadow in the darkness and a hand to muffle your screams. They pull you in and out of the Hush, to test how well you endure it. If you try to struggle, they just tell you to hush.’

  She gave a bitter laugh. ‘They inject you with more Music until you stop fighting. Until you stop caring. After a few nights, the whole world is a blur of shadow and fear and pain and you can’t even tell what’s real anymore. And then …’ Susannah looked down at the table. ‘And then they take you.’ There was a long pause. Susannah glanced up at Sam, as though seeking his opinion on whether to continue. They stared at each other for five long seconds before Sam gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘They drag you into the Hush with them, when you’re in the depths of your fever. They take you back to their headquarters, and they turn you into …’

  She swallowed. ‘They turn you into a Silencer.’

  ‘What’s a Silencer?’

  ‘Someone the Echoes can’t hurt,’ Sam cut in, his tone abrupt. ‘The Echoes can’t even touch them, see, ’cause a Silencer’s own damn body’s like a ripple of Music reflecting back at them.’

  Chester froze. A memory came back to him. He thought of his first night in the Hush, in the echoboat with Sam. The Echoes had passed right through Sam without harming him …

  ‘Like you,’ he said, mouth dry. Then he turned to Susannah. Susannah, who had those same pale blue eerie eyes. Eyes that were almost like mirrors …

  ‘Yes,’ Susannah said quietly. ‘Like us.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sam was one of the first to vanish. An early test subject.’

  ‘They used me for experimenting,’ Sam said. ‘But it didn’t go quite right.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sam just looked down at the table.

  ‘They made a mistake in their Musical dosages,’ Dot said, ‘so Sam’s transformation didn’t work properly. Most Silencers lose their ability to connect with Music. Even if they’re trained Songshapers, they can’t sense the tune in a lamp or make a sorcery map anymore. But with Sam, they made him emotionally sensitive to Music. When he goes near Musical objects, they yank his emotions around like crazy.’

  There was a long pause.

  Chester breathed out slowly and turned to Dot. ‘That’s why you wrote your own melodies to replace all the lamps …’

 
Dot nodded. ‘I would’ve used the normal tunes for sorcery lamps if I could, but those tunes turned Sam into a stomping ball of fury whenever he heard them. Not that it’s your fault, Sam,’ she added, glancing at him. ‘But I used calming tunes instead, so they help to keep him more peaceful.’

  ‘Creating a Silencer is painful,’ Susannah said. ‘Long and painful. And tricky. They tie you down for weeks, keep you wrapped in your fever, and pump your body with Music. They paint a melody into your flesh, your skin, your bones, your muscles.’

  Chester stared at her, horrified. ‘But why? What do they want you for?’

  Susannah shook her head. ‘Once they’ve turned you, they lock you in a prison in the Hush. They’ve been recruiting for two years now, perfecting their techniques. They’ve got hundreds of Silencers locked away, ready to deploy.’

  ‘But you don’t know what for?’

  ‘No idea. Must be something to do with the Hush, though. Why else would they need an army of people resistant to Echoes?’

  ‘They’ve got my little sister,’ Travis said unexpectedly. He was looking down at the table, his expression grim. ‘Penelope. She was a student at the Conservatorium, and she used to invent things. Beautiful things. Sorcery decorations, and Musical light beams, and doors that played melodies when you walked into a room …’ He shook his head. ‘She vanished from her bed one night, just like all the others. They must have seen her potential and they snatched her away.’

  Penelope. The name was vaguely familiar; it stirred something in Chester’s memory. He turned to Dot. ‘Hang on – wasn’t Penelope the name of your girlfriend? Is it the same person?’

  Dot nodded, looking bleak. ‘That’s how I met Travis in the first place – through Penny.’ She paused. ‘I’m the one who made her stay at the Conservatorium. I’m the one who left her there, alone. And now they’ve got her.’

  It hit Chester so suddenly that his gut seemed to snap with the impact. ‘And they’ve got my dad. They’ve got my dad, and they’re going to turn him into one of those Silencers.’

  No one denied it. No one offered false reassurances. His father had been snatched into the Hush. He had been taken to these recruiters’ headquarters and tortured. He was probably a blue-eyed Silencer by now.

  ‘But you got away.’ Chester wrenched his gaze up to Sam and Susannah. ‘You escaped, didn’t you?’

  Sam shook his head. ‘They dumped me. I was too damaged and no good to ’em. They figured my mind was gone, so it was easiest to chuck me in with a bunch of regular prisoners for Execution Day. But normal prisons ain’t built to hold Silencers, so I snuck out through the Hush.’

  ‘But how did you know how to do it?’

  ‘Heard ’em hum the recital backwards when they dragged me in and out of the Hush in the first place.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Even with your brains all jumbled, it’s the sort of thing that sticks in your head once you get your bearings back.’

  Chester swallowed back a queasy twist of disappointment. Sam’s case looked pretty unique. His father wouldn’t be able to escape that way.

  He turned to Susannah. ‘And you?’

  She hesitated. ‘Well, they kept us in a cage. I’ve always been flexible. And I’m good at climbing.’

  Chester tried to picture it: a cage in the Hush, brimming with hundreds of prisoners. He pictured Susannah clambering up to the roof, searching for a way out, for a gap between the bars, a patch of metal malleable enough to twist aside …

  ‘A few people escaped with me,’ Susannah said, ‘but not many. Most were too broken – in their bodies and their minds. Only the fittest and the strongest made it. Even then, I spent days alone in the Hush before I figured out how to break back into the real world. I lost track of the others in the dark … I’m guessing most of them died of dehydration before they learnt the trick.’

  Chester nodded. His coffee was cold now, but he clutched the cup more tightly than ever. He imagined his father, climbing out into the blackness and wandering, alone and dying, in the unnatural mists and rain of the Hush …

  No. That couldn’t have happened to his father. His father was too old and his arthritis too painful. He would still be in the cage, withering in agony as the days stretched on.

  He felt like vomiting.

  ‘I can’t do this Conservatorium job,’ he said, finally. ‘I can’t waste time stealing jewels. I have to find my father.’

  Silence. He could sense Susannah looking at him but he didn’t want to raise his eyes. He didn’t want to see her disappointment or hear the accusations of broken promises.

  ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘And that’s why you’re going to help us on this job.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s one last thing we haven’t told you. The recruiters are the highest ranks of Songshapers. Their headquarters are in Weser City. And their prison in the Hush? It’s right in the middle of the Conservatorium.’

  ‘You mean …?’

  Susannah nodded. ‘This job was never about the money, Chester. We don’t want to rob the Conservatorium of its jewels or its gold. We want to rob it of its Silencers. Of Penelope. Of your father.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Chester, this isn’t a jewellery heist. It’s a prison break.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  For days, they churned through the darkness.

  The Cavatina wound slowly westward, keeping close to the railway line as it rambled along in the direction of Weser City. A mile became a hundred miles; a hundred became a thousand. The world was black. The Hush was silent.

  Chester roamed the ship alone, his mind wrapped up in visions of a metal cage with screaming bodies trapped inside, weakened, weary, half-starved. He imagined his father as just a body, slumped on the ground, his face pale with exhaustion as he wrapped his knuckles around the bars and screamed and screamed until he fell into a final twitching collapse and –

  No, Chester told himself. I’m going to save him.

  Sometimes he helped Susannah with her captain’s duties in her office. She showed him her logbook of income and expenditure. Chester tried to keep his voice steady and casual but their proximity in the tiny office made his stomach flip. Susannah’s hair fell in messy ringlets across the desk and she smelt faintly of cinnamon, which was her favourite topping for her morning oatmeal.

  Chester forced himself to concentrate on the logbook, clenching his fists under the desk. He noticed a series of strange notes in the expenditure column, marked by an asterisk instead of a word like food or medicine.

  ‘Donations,’ Susannah said. ‘To the poor.’

  Chester stared at the column for a moment and felt his eyes widen. So much money. The gang had given away so much money. How many lives had they saved with their donations?

  For a moment, Chester wondered if they were doing the right thing. If they risked breaking into the Conservatorium, the Nightfall Gang might be killed or captured. They might never pull off another job and never donate more money to the poor of Linus or Bremen. People might starve who otherwise might have been fed. In the long run, more lives might be saved if they gave up on this suicidal mission at the Conservatorium.

  But when Chester imagined his father screaming in that cage, his stomach knotted with new resolve. Perhaps it was selfish, but he had to save his father, no matter the cost.

  Sometimes Chester sat with Travis at the kitchen table as he drilled Chester on the life experiences of Frederick Yant, the invented persona he was to take on. Travis forged identity documents by examining the papers from Charles Yant’s vault, testing six different inks until he found a colour that matched, then adorning a blank sheet of paper with perfect calligraphy.

  As he worked, Travis boasted of his various romantic conquests. Barmaids, young ladies of Weser, and farmers’ daughters from a dozen minor towns. He spoke in a loud whisper, as though these stories were naughty secrets that shouldn’t be divulged. Chester tried to mimic Travis’s conspiratorial tone, and deliberately turned the conve
rsation back to Travis whenever it veered uncomfortably close to Chester’s own lack of romantic experience.

  Eventually, though, Travis brought up the subject that Chester had been hoping to avoid.

  ‘I see the way you look at her,’ Travis said slyly, as he pulled a dripping stamp from his fresh wax seal on a document.

  ‘Her?’

  ‘The captain, of course. It’s painfully obvious.’

  Chester’s face burned. He stammered for a moment then looked back down at the table. After a few awkward seconds, he steered the conversation back to Travis’s pursuit of a buxom barmaid in Delos. The moment seemed forgotten but from then on, Chester felt a little awkward in Travis’s presence, as though the older boy was secretly laughing at his every word.

  Of all his new jobs, Chester’s favourite was helping Dot in the engine room. In the steam and smoke and screaming metal, he felt almost invisible. It was hot and exhausting and his body ached by the end of every session. He loved it. The confines of the Cavatina were beginning to feel like a prison and it was sheer relief to wear his body into exhaustion. It helped him feel alive; it reminded him that this whole trip wasn’t just a hazy dream.

  But even with all these jobs – and the endless other chores that filled his hours, from cleaning the bathroom to scrubbing the dishes – Chester felt somewhat useless on the Cavatina. He didn’t have a single job that was solely his own.

  You’re not useless, he told himself. Your role just hasn’t started yet.

  His role, of course, was the audition. Now that his goal to find his father had aligned with the gang’s own scheme, Chester was beginning to realise what he’d signed up for. It was beginning to feel real, and he couldn’t believe that the audition was under a fortnight away.

  Everything rode on his ability to impress the Songshapers, to win a place at the Conservatorium. It was the most prestigious institution in Meloral, with an entrance process so difficult that children who’d grown up with expensive lessons and professional tutors wept in failure. Chester thought he could beat them? It was ridiculous. He pictured himself on the audition stage, the flute against his lips, an off-key note squeaking into the silence.