A city guard passed by, and Wren asked him what had happened. “It’s because of the building that was brought down, and the damaged road,” he said. “We have to miss that whole street, and this is the only other way.”
The convoy halted again; the cart three in front of them was having real difficulty getting around a bend, even with dragons helping at both sides. The minutes ticked by, and then Wren put her hand to her mouth, with a look of such horror that Patch expected to turn and see the Hamelyn Piper himself standing there.
Instead, Wren was staring through a narrow passageway that was shrouded in shadow, horrified by precisely nothing. Nothing that Patch could make out, anyway.
“What is it?” he said, and Wren pointed.
“I can’t bear it,” she said, tears in her eyes. And, without another word, off she went through the passageway.
Patch, open-mouthed, looked at the passage, and looked at the cart ahead. It would be stuck for a while yet, he reckoned. He chased after Wren, and before his eyes could adjust to the shade, he walked right into her.
“Careful!” she said. “I just wanted to catch it, there was no need for you to come.”
“Catch what?” said Patch, but then he could see it: a black cat, bewildered by the activity, was in the middle of the passage ahead of them. It meowed and scampered away.
Wren ran after it, and Patch followed. The passageway opened out a little, and bright sunlight lay ahead. There was the cat, cleaning its bottom as if nothing was remotely wrong.
“We can’t just leave it,” said Wren. “The poor thing!”
“We should go back,” said Patch. “It doesn’t look like it wants to be rescued.”
Wren took a step nearer the cat, and off it went, not a care in the world. Wren followed behind, calling, “Puss cat! Puss cat!” again and again, all her attention on the animal.
Patch emerged from the passageway into a wide street, bright and empty. He could feel a slight tremble through his feet, and assumed the evacuation line was moving again. “Come on, Wren. Leave the cat. It can look after itself.”
“Poo tat!” said a voice beside him.
With a quiet dread, Patch looked to his left. Six feet away, little Kerna was smiling up at him.
“Oh, no,” said Patch. “How on earth did you sneak away?” He thought back to Yakesha, telling them what a little escapologist Kerna was. He kneeled down and offered a hand out. “Come here,” he said. Kerna blew a raspberry at him.
“Poo tat!” said the baby, scampering off towards Wren with surprising speed. Patch caught up halfway across the street, though, and got a hand on the child’s arm.
Kerna gave him a stern look. “Poo tat!”
“Enough, Kerna,” he said. “The pussy cat will have to find its way without us. Let’s get back to the cart. Wren? Come on, let it go!”
Wren ignored him. She was still trying to coax the cat nearer, but whenever she took a step towards it, it slunk back.
And then, two things happened at once. First, Patch noticed the ropes tied from one side of the street to the other, a little way up. And second, he felt the ground wobble again.
The ropes suddenly made sense.
He turned around. There it was, in plain sight: the building next-but-one to the passageway was a collapsed ruin, the great rock from the catapult still clear to see, and a huge crack running through the road ten feet from where he stood. It was a larger crack now, he realized, stretching right across the street, and the road on one side of the crack was noticeably higher.
As he looked at it, he could swear that he saw it rise a little more, as the ground wobbled under him again. He remembered what the dragon had said, the one who’d ordered the street to be roped off: the slabs could give way at any time.
“Wren…” he said, his mouth feeling very dry indeed. “This is important. Can you turn around, really carefully? Wren!”
The cat had had enough, and ran off. Wren turned, irritation on her face. “You scared it away!” she said. “I was so close to…” She saw the baby. “Kerna!” she said. “What on earth are you doing here?” Instinct taking over, she hurried towards them, and Patch had just enough time to raise a hand, ready to shout “Stop!”, before two great slabs of stone suddenly tipped up in the road, opening a great dark hole and sending all three of them down into the black.
And a short distance away, the evacuation line kept on going without them.
Barver had never felt so proud of his dragon heritage.
It was an odd feeling, of course, because it was dragons who had caused this catastrophe, but those weren’t the dragons he felt a kinship with. General Kasterkan’s hatred of humans was shared by many, but not by the dragons of Skamos. Each and every one had the same outlook that Barver’s mother had tried so hard to encourage – that cooperation was to the benefit of all.
As the hours were counted down, Barver had helped distribute supplies and equipment in the evacuation area near the army encampment. A vast field of simple tents started to grow.
He’d felt sick witnessing that terrible catapult launch, the bell ringing repeatedly as a warning. The soldiers claimed it had been an accident, but Barver could see a hint of shame in the eyes of some of them. Not all of Kasterkan’s soldiers were entirely comfortable with what was happening, it seemed.
Eventually, the time came for the citizens to leave the city. Before the convoy assembled, the patients and staff of the city infirmary were brought out to the evacuation area. Barver saw Alia, and hurried over to her.
“Any news?” he said.
“Patch, Wren and Kerna are all well,” she said. “I asked after them. They’re in Kerna’s nursery, safe. You saw the launch, I assume? The misfire, one of their soldiers called it, but I doubt that. Perhaps they were just making sure of their range…”
Barver nodded, frowning. “I heard there was one serious injury – an old man.” He looked at the patients, fifty or so of them; some walked with help, others were laid flat in the back of wide carts.
“Yes, he’s in among them,” said Alia. “Crushed in the wreckage of his own house. Both legs broken, and an arm. A few others hurt too, but his was the worst of it.”
Barver looked out to the city. He could see the streets filling, as the convoy started to form. The long, slow walk from Skamos would soon begin. “A tragic sight,” he said. “But I’m grateful to be here.”
“You are?” said Alia.
Barver nodded. “When it mattered most.”
Alia went with the infirmary group, heading to the largest of the tents that had been erected, while Barver took up his position.
When the convoy reached the edges of the evacuation area, the citizens were directed to one of twelve sections. Barver’s role was to organize arrivals to section nine, making sure everyone took their time and left enough space around them, especially near the many toilet pits that had been dug. It was almost unbearable to see the lost looks on every face, the empty stares, the tears; he expected questions about food and water, but the people moved in a silence that was broken only by the crying of children.
The sections filled, and soon the end of the convoy was visible. A final sweep of the city began, small groups of citizens and city guards with handbells urgently checking every street, every building.
The last to be moved was Unanda Kellokeen, the oldest resident of them all.
Barver’s section was close to the dragon army camp, and he could hear two dragon soldiers laughing about her. “I heard that she’s not moved from that spot in decades,” said one.
“Well, I heard she hasn’t taken wing in over a century!” laughed the other, before spitting on the ground. “That waste of space calls herself a dragon. That’s the problem with this city, that’s why it has to die.”
“They’re infected,” said the first soldier in disgust, as the second nodded. “Infected with human ideas and human laziness. The world is for the strong, not the weak!”
Barver tried not to look at them; h
e knew they would see the anger in his eyes, and it might cause trouble. And what could he say? That dragons and humans were more alike than they thought?
That was certainly true, because there was no shortage of humans who believed the same thing they did – that strength was the only virtue that mattered, and that any signs of weakness were to be treated with contempt.
That needing help was a sin, and giving help a crime.
With the evacuation complete, the people were coming out of their daze and asking the questions he’d expected before – about where to go to the toilet and how much water they were allowed to take from the nearest barrels. But the most common question was one he’d not expected. Again and again, he was given names, and asked if he’d seen them. People from other streets, relatives who’d become separated while leaving the city.
“If they’re not close by, they’re in another section,” was all he could say in reply, but Barver’s own anxiety grew a little each time he said it. Patch, Wren and little Kerna were safe and well, he told himself.
And then he saw his uncle, hurrying towards him.
“Your friends,” said Zennick. “Where are they? I can’t find them!”
“With Kerna’s nursery group,” said Barver. “Alia checked earlier. Be calm, Uncle. Everyone’s looking for everyone at the moment!”
But Zennick shook his head slowly, and Barver had a sudden cold feeling in his guts. “I’ve spoken to the nursery staff,” said Zennick. “Kerna isn’t with them. They assumed your friends were taking care of the baby, but I can’t find them either!”
Barver thought for a moment. “Alia!” he said. “That’ll be it. They’ll have gone to find Alia, in the infirmary tent.” Zennick’s gaze was darting everywhere, his growing desperation visible. “Please, Uncle, people will see your fear. You could start a panic! The final sweep of the city has been made. Everyone’s safe.” Yet even as he spoke, he felt his own panic rise. He took to the air, off towards the infirmary tent with his uncle close behind. There, he spotted Alia and waved her over.
“Patch and Wren,” he said, keeping a low voice. “Are they with you?”
She shook her head. “They were at the nursery,” she said. “I told you.”
“The nursery staff don’t know where they are.” He nodded to his uncle, who was at the edge of the tent, searching every face. “Kerna’s missing too. Uncle Zennick’s terrified.”
“Look around, Barver,” said Alia. “The whole city is here! We’ll find them. How long do we have until the deadline?”
“Twenty minutes or so,” said Barver.
“Well, then, time enough,” she said. She thought for a moment. “Barver, have you anything of Patch’s, or Wren’s? Something important to them. I’ll see if I can get a rough bearing, we’ll have them in no time.”
“Right,” said Barver, and he rummaged in a harness pack. “Here,” he said, bringing out a Fox and Owls playing piece. “It’s the cross-eyed owl, Wren’s favourite.”
Alia took it. “Good. This’ll just take a minute.” She held the piece tightly and closed her eyes, then turned on the spot for a few seconds. She paused and frowned, muttering something before trying again.
Zennick came over. “We’re wasting time!” he said. “We should find Yakesha. Kerna could still be…” He looked to the empty city.
“Okay,” said Barver, sensing his uncle was on the verge of panic. “Alia, keep trying.”
“Of course,” said Alia, her eyes still closed.
Zennick was already in the air. It was Barver’s turn to follow, as Zennick spotted Yakesha at the front of the army encampment, beside the great bell. General Kasterkan was with her. Seeing them approach, a group of soldiers armed with pikes formed a line and called for them to turn back. Yakesha spoke to the general, and a moment later the soldiers stepped down.
Zennick was the first to speak. “Kerna is missing,” he said.
Yakesha looked to Barver. “What about your friends?”
“Missing too,” said Barver.
Yakesha turned to the general. “You can wait, surely? Until all citizens are accounted for?”
The general scowled and pointed to the base of the bell, where a large hourglass sat, more than two-thirds through. “You have until the sand is gone,” he said. “That’s the end of the last hour.”
“But my child is missing!” cried Yakesha.
“Your child is out there!” shouted the general, gesturing to the evacuated citizens. “There, among the masses, hidden in the crawling pestilence of the humans you wanted to share your lives with!”
“You must be sure,” said Yakesha. “Before you begin your attack, be sure no one is left in the city, I beg you!”
“Your motive is transparent,” the general scoffed. “A delaying tactic, nothing more!” He picked up the hourglass. “If you want reassurance, I suggest you use your time more wisely.” He raised the hourglass to his face, almost gleeful as he watched the sand fall. “It runs through so quickly…”
“You think we’d lie about this?” said Barver.
“Watch your mouth, Knopferkerkle,” said Kasterkan.
“Why would we lie?” said Barver. “To put the inevitable back a few more minutes? What would be the point? These are lives at stake, Yem…”
The use of his first name didn’t please the general one bit. “You will address me as General, or General Kasterkan.”
“Oh, shut up, Yem!” said Barver, overwhelmed by how petty this dragon was being. “This is more important than your stupid title.”
The general gasped; Yakesha and Zennick both looked shocked. Barver knew at once that he’d gone too far. He may have known Yem Kasterkan as a child, but that counted for nothing here.
“I’m sorry,” said Barver. “Forgive my outburst, I…”
Kasterkan, his face full of rage, threw the hourglass to the ground and smashed it. “Our time is up, it seems,” he snarled, before turning to his troops. “Prepare to fire!”
Yakesha kneeled at his feet, begging. “You can’t…please… They may be in the city!”
“Then you should have taken better care of them,” said the general. With a nod, the soldiers nearby stepped forward and seized the three of them. Barver struggled, almost breaking free; it took four soldiers to hold him still.
And then Barver noticed what the soldiers by the catapults were doing – breathing fire at the rear of each boulder, until a cloud of white smoke began to rise above the loaded rock.
He noticed something else: each boulder was smooth, an almost-perfect sphere.
“Those aren’t rocks…” he said, breathless after his struggle.
The general grinned, and picked up a long metal bar that hung beside the bell. “At my signal!” he cried. After a moment’s pause, he struck the bell repeatedly. First one, then two, then all the catapults launched their cargo into the air. Anguished cries came from the people of Skamos.
“No, those are not rocks,” sneered the general. “After the Tiviscan assault, I put all my efforts into maximizing our capacity for destruction. Those efforts bore fruit.”
Barver watched the spheres as they flew, leaving trails of smoke in their wakes, converging on the city ahead. “They lit them…like fireworks.”
The general gave him a satisfied smile. “Nothing gets past you, does it? Yes, these are very similar to fireworks; but less colourful, and much louder. And I promise you, the spectacle will be something to behold. Watch!”
Patch woke from a dream of bells and shouting.
He hurt all over. High above him, he could see a chunk of sky through a hole ten feet across; there was just enough light to reveal his surroundings.
It was a sewer. Arched columns supported the roof, part of which had collapsed.
He sat up, his hand splashing in a puddle of liquid beside him. He didn’t want to look. The smell down here was awful enough without seeing what they’d fallen into.
Wren’s voice startled him. “Did you hear the handbells?”
she said.
He turned and saw her sitting at the wall of the tunnel. Kerna was in her lap, looking scared. “Handbells?” he said. He remembered his dream. “I suppose so.”
“It was the last check of the city,” she said. “When I came to, I could just about hear them, so I yelled as loud as I could… Nothing. They must have already passed by. How’s your head? You’ve got a big old egg risen up there.”
Patch put his hand to the side of his head, wincing at the pain that shot through his skull. “What about you and Kerna?” he said. “Are you hurt?”
“Not really,” she said. “Cuts and bruises, that’s all. Kerna’s been quiet. I think dragon babies are tough little things, though. Can you walk?”
He stood carefully and went over to her, relieved to find that his body didn’t announce any new and excruciating pains. He pulled a face at Kerna, trying for a smile, but the baby looked on the verge of tears.
“Poo tat,” said Kerna, in the saddest possible voice.
Wren pushed herself up to her feet, grimacing as she wiped muck off her hand. “It’s a good thing adult dragons don’t have the same acidic poo as their babies,” she said. “Or we’d probably have dissolved by now.”
Then came the distant sound of the great bell – a single strike.
“One hour,” said Wren. “And nobody knows we’re here.”
Patch gestured to the hole in the roof. “Can we climb up?” he said.
“No,” said Wren. “It’s too high, and even if we could reach it, all that masonry is unstable. We’d just bring it down on top of us.”
“Then what do we do?” said Patch.
“Remember what Alia told us?” she said. “About the canyon to the west?”
“The canyon…” said Patch. “Where the sewers lead to!”
“Exactly,” said Wren. “We just follow the flow. It’ll take us deeper under the city, safe from the dragons’ rocks. Eventually, we’ll make it to the canyon.”
Patch looked up to the hole above them, tantalizingly near. Then he looked to the gloom of the tunnel that led downhill, the floor glistening with unmentionable fluids. Even with the city abandoned, there was a steady trickle of waste water – the constant run-off from the water stores and the public pools, that had kept the Skamos sewage system running for centuries. “Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Smelly and disgusting, but a plan.”
A Vanishing of Griffins Page 19