She punched her fist in the air and the tiddlins roared till the roof beams rattled.
“A cheer for Snowbone!” shouted Tigermane. “Hip, hip—”
“Hooray!”
Snowbone was swept from her feet and bounced around the barn on strong wooden shoulders. Everyone was delirious with excitement. Waiting, marching, searching: all these things were over. Tomorrow would bring revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.
No one noticed Mouse slipping outside. She walked across the grass to a bench and sat down. Why am I finding this so hard? she thought. Snowbone's right. Slavers bring nothing but death and misery to our people. So why do I feel so bad about tomorrow?
She gazed back at the barn and thought of Blackeye. If anything happens to him … No! I won't think that way.
Then Mouse noticed something. The grass was freckled with tiny white flowers. They were so small, she hadn't seen them when she walked to the bench and she had crushed them underfoot. Dozens of broken petals marked her path.
Mouse, pained beyond measure, hung her head and cried.
Chapter 37
awn, the next day.
Snowbone crouched behind an oak tree and assessed the situation. To her left, Blackeye. To her right, Figgis. Beyond them, the other tiddlins—Mouse included— watching, waiting.
Snowbone was holding a long rush torch, soaked in oil. She turned to Blackeye and nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out a metal pot. Carefully, he placed it on the ground before her and lifted the lid. Inside lay smoldering embers, red as dragon's eyes. Snowbone thrust the torch into the embers and instantly it was ablaze. She winced. Working with fire was terrifying, but it had to be done.
Figgis too had an oil-soaked torch. Snowbone used her own to light it and then Figgis passed the flame on. Down the line it went, until thirty torches had been lit. Then Snowbone raised her hand high in the air and the raid began.
Snowbone ran to the cabin and threw her torch onto the thatched roof. It landed with a dull thud and instantly began its work. Following her lead, tiddlins were all over the camp now, hurtling torches, running for cover, taking up firing positions. The cabin roof was blazing. The bunkhouse roof was smoldering. The air was surrendering to smoke.
Then someone started ringing a bell. Shouts tumbled through the morning. The cabin door opened and—poom!— Snowbone's pistol exploded. The blue-eyed lad fell against the door frame, blood pouring from a wound in his arm. He staggered back inside. Slammed the door hard behind him.
Snowbone whooped in triumph. Figgis saw her eyes: wild, ferocious, cat-bright.
The cabin door opened again. A hand threw something out. Boof! Choking yellow smoke poured from an exploded smoke bomb. The tiddlins couldn't see a thing. Boof! A second bomb. Green smoke joined the yellow. The camp was disappearing.
The tiddlins were thrown into confusion. They looked for Snowbone, Blackeye, Figgis. But they had vanished in the smoke, and the tiddlins were lost, trapped in their own private terror. Listening to the boots of the slavers as they came running, armed with axes.
Snowbone felt the earth move beneath her. Saw the smoke eddy in the oncoming wind of an attacker. Heard the bellow of anger as the giant came out of nowhere, swung his ax and— shooo!—the blade thudded into the ground beside her. She dropped her pistol in fright. Shoo! The blade struck her arm, splintering her wooden flesh. She scrabbled for her pistol, fingers fishing in the wet earth. Shoo! The blade fell a third time, taking her foot clean off. Snowbone felt her whole body reel under the impact. She fell on her face, floundered like a fish, fought for breath. But her fingers found the pistol and, as the giant raised his ax again, she flipped onto her back and fired: poom!
The giant dropped like a dead elephant. Blood and bone met earth and stone, and the mountainous man breathed no more.
Snowbone looked around. The camouflage smoke had cleared, revealing a desperate struggle. The ground was littered with bodies: slavers and tiddlins, tangled together. Figgis was pulling someone out of the burning bunkhouse. Fudge and Tigermane were trapped in a tree net. Blackeye was over by the cabin, defiantly trading blows with the black-haired man. But Snowbone could see he was tiring and, as she watched, the blue-eyed lad came up behind him, dangling an ax from his one good arm.
“BLACKEYE!” she yelled. “BEHIND YOU!”
But it was too late. The ax scythed through the air and Blackeye's legs collapsed under him.
Help us.
Voices. Desperate wooden voices, crying for help, somewhere in the camp.
Snowbone heard them and tried to get up. Then she remembered her foot. Her boot was lying close by. It was empty; the foot had vanished into thin air. She inspected the stump of her leg. It was sticky with sap and seemed to be vibrating—so fast, she couldn't see the movement itself, just the shimmer it made. And she could feel a strange tingle. Her body seemed tense, as if it were waiting for something.
And then it began. Effortlessly, painlessly, miraculously, a new foot emerged from the stump of the old. Snowbone saw it happen, felt it happen, but still couldn't believe it. A new foot? In less than a minute? She tried wriggling her toes. They worked. Everything was perfect. Just perfect.
Help us.
The voices! Snowbone suddenly remembered what was happening. She pulled on her boot, scrambled to her feet and started running. Past Blackeye, unconscious by the cabin. Past Two Teeth, sprawled in the mud. Past Mouse, wide-eyed, wandering, covered in blood. Past the well, round the back of the bunkhouse, through the long grass and—ssssoop!—a wire noose tightened around her ankle and she was thrown high into the air. She bounced once, twice, savagely, then found herself upside down, high aboveground, dangling on the wire like a yo-yo.
The cries were louder now. Snowbone jerked until the wire turned and she could see the camp again. Beyond the bunk-house stood the slaver woman, her long hair streaming like lava. In her hands she held a bucket. She was splashing liquid onto the ground. No, not the ground. There was a pit, though Snowbone couldn't see into it.
The woman threw the bucket aside and walked over to the bunkhouse. She drew out a burning piece of timber, returned to the pit and looked down. Then she smiled, said something and tossed in the timber.
The cries became screams as the pit erupted into flames. Snowbone stared in horror. There was nothing she could do.
The woman raised a hand in greeting—the black-haired man and the blue-eyed lad were approaching. The lad looked badly hurt. He was muttering, stumbling, his face contorted with pain. But the man was unharmed. He began a conversation with the woman. Snowbone writhed in anger. Heartrending screams were rising from the pit beside them, but they were chatting like friends at a picnic.
“Ancients!” she cried. “Where are you now? Help us! Help us! Do you not see this happening? Will you not do something?”
And then, to Snowbone's astonishment, something did happen. Pfooow! A single gunshot cut through the hazy air— and the black-haired man slumped to the ground. Pfooow! A second shot—and the blue-eyed lad clutched his chest, staggered and fell backwards into the burning pit.
And as the gunman appeared through a veil of smoke, the woman, panicking, turned and ran across the camp to a paddock. There she leaped upon a horn horse, jumped the fence and thundered off into the wildwood.
But Snowbone, watching from the wire, knew the battle wasn't over yet. No matter how fast that horse could run, the gunman could run faster.
“Manu!” she cried. “Follow her!”
And Manu threw down his gun and started running.
Chapter 38
anu ran faster than he had ever run in his life, out of the woods and onto the downs beyond. He could outrun a horn horse, he knew he could, but not today. Not after the fighting he'd done back at the camp. Not when the horse had such a head start. It had disappeared already, dropping down below the hilly ground.
Manu pumped harder with his arms. Faster, faster he went, following the chalky track until he saw the horse again. The woman was
low in the saddle, her hair streaming out behind her. She was heading for Spittel Point.
But strangely, when she reached the road that led down into town, she didn't take it. Instead, she urged her horse over the headland. And it was here that she glanced back over her shoulder and saw Manu sprinting behind her. She spurred the horse on. Its blue hoofs raised a cloud of dust behind it like a legion of ghosts.
Suddenly she turned left, and Manu realized she was heading for the airfield. Sure enough, when he turned he could see her way below, galloping toward one of the flying machines. When she reached it, she leaped out of the saddle and ran up the boarding ramp.
Manu pushed himself so hard, he thought he was going to die. “I've got to catch her,” he told himself, over and over and over and over again. “I've got to catch her!”
He skidded round the end of a fence and ran onto the airfield. He ducked under mooring lines, darted round machines, searching, searching for the woman. From above, everything had looked so orderly. Now he was here, it was a maze. Manu raced on and—oof!—he slammed into the abandoned horse. It was wild-eyed, shivering, black with sweat. Manu knew how it felt. He pushed it aside and sped on, desperate now—he could hear the sound of an engine firing. A heavy thud as the boarding ramp was discarded. And suddenly the air was roaring around him. The mooring lines were humming like hornets. Everything was rattling, including his teeth. And Manu threw himself to the ground just as the flying machine soared into the sky above him and accelerated away.
Manu lay in the dust and cursed. What could he tell Snow-bone now?
He staggered to his feet and shook the chalk dust from his clothes. Now that the running was over, his body was beginning to ache. He felt he'd been kicked all over. And he had to get back to the camp somehow. Perhaps he could ride the horn horse? No. It had done enough for one day. He would walk.
The dust clouds were settling. Manu looked around, momentarily interested. He had seen flying machines before, but never so close. Then he noticed a boy dragging something across the turf.
Manu walked toward him and saw a strip of clear ground with a circle of mooring rings set into it. The boy was heaving the boarding ramp clear.
“That machine,” said Manu. “Where was it going?”
The boy stopped what he was doing and tapped the side of his nose. “That ‘ud be tellin’,” he said.
“Then tell,” said Manu.
“Nope!” said the boy. He grinned and Manu saw two rows of rotting teeth. “Star sailors have secrets!”
“You're no star sailor,” said Manu. “You're just a lackey. You clear the mess they leave behind.”
The terrible grin crumbled. For a second, Manu thought the boy might cry, but he didn't. He sulked.
“Tell me,” said Manu.
“Won't.”
“Give me strength,” muttered Manu. It was like talking to a toddler. “Tell me, where was it going?”
The boy shook his head defiantly.
Manu grabbed hold of him by his elbows. “Where was it going?”
Nothing.
“Where was it going? If you don't tell me, I swear I will tie you to a mooring ring and the next machine in can land on your fat head.”
The boy's eyes widened in horror.
Manu threw him aside and walked away. “You don't even know.”
“Do.”
Manu carried on walking.
“Do!” shouted the boy after him. “Do! I overheard them!”
Manu paused. “Then tell me! Or I won't believe you.”
The boy wavered. He wanted to be believed so much.
“Where?”
The boy tried to decide what to do. He flopped his head sideways. Screwed up his face. Stuck out his tongue. Then he began to smile.
“Farrago!” he said proudly. “It's going to Farrago!”
Chapter 39
nowbone was sitting outside the barn when Manu arrived. “So?” she said. “What news?”
“I didn't catch her,” said Manu. He sat down heavily. “She escaped in a flying machine. But I know where she's going— Farrago.”
Snowbone frowned. “We have to follow her,” she said darkly.
Manu nodded. “What happened to you? Last time I saw you, you were dangling from a tree.”
“Figgis got me down,” said Snowbone. “Then I sent Two Teeth to find a wagon. We needed one to bring our injured back here.”
“How did we do?”
“Badly. Of the thirty we began with, twelve are dead, burned. Ten are … Oh, I don't know what they are! They're alive, but they're not right. Figgis thinks they're moving on.”
“moving on?” said Manu. “At their age?”
“It's possible,” said Snowbone. “They were badly wounded. The wounds have healed but Figgis reckons it's the shock. They're withdrawing into themselves.”
“What about the rest?”
“Tigermane and Fudge came off best,” said Snowbone. “They were caught in a tree net early on. Blackeye was felled, but he's OK now.”
“Mouse?”
“Ah, Mouse,” said Snowbone. “She's here, but … She got blood on her hands, see? During the raid. She washed it away, but she reckons the stains are still there. So she keeps washing her hands, over and over again. She's obsessed. And she's talking to herself all the time. She's in the barn now with Blackeye.”
“And the slavers?”
Snowbone shrugged. “I didn't bother checking. I wanted to get our people out of there.”
Manu leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. He'd heard enough.
But Snowbone went on. “Two Teeth found one wagon loaded with ashen sap. Figgis reckons That Woman is responsible for the murder of hundreds of Ancestors. Can you believe that? We've decided the sap should go to Butterbur. She might be able to use it.”
“What's the plan?” said Manu, looking at her again.
“Well,” said Snowbone wearily, “the injured ones will be staying here. I don't want to leave them, but there's nothing else I can do if they're moving on.”
She rubbed her forehead, trying to ease her growing headache. “We've stood them in a group behind the barn. I made sure they had a view of the sea.”
“That's nice,” said Manu.
“Mm. I would like it,” said Snowbone.
She fell silent. Manu didn't press her; she was clearly deep in thought.
“I shouldn't have lost them,” she said suddenly. “Their lives had only just begun. They were precious. I wasted them.”
“Don't think like that,” said Manu. “It'll drive you mad. You were the leader; they chose to follow you. They knew the risk.”
“Did they?”
“Of course they did! They weren't stupid. You have to remember: it's not easy being a leader. Bad things happen even when you make the best of plans. I was taught that. They told me, over and over again: ‘there will be losses. A leader simply has to decide how much loss is acceptable.’”
Snowbone didn't reply. Manu waited. Eventually she yawned, stretched and changed the subject.
“Two Teeth and Fudge will be taking the sap wagon to Butter-bur's house,” she said. “As for the others, well, after what's happened, I can only speak for myself. But I want to go on. I'll go to the airfield and find a machine to take me to Farrago.”
“Is that wise?” said Manu. “Ashenpeakers are slaves over there. You could be captured and sold.”
“I don't think so,” said Snowbone. “There was a boy I met once. Barkbelly. He told me a bit about the slave trade, and he reckoned the slavers deal in eggs. They're easier to handle, he said. They don't fight back.”
“It's still risky,” said Manu.
“It's a risk I'm prepared to take.”
“I'd like to come with you,” said Manu.
Snowbone looked at him in surprise. “Would you? Well, that makes two.”
“Three.”
Figgis had come out of the barn.
“Do you remember what I told you back in t
he forest?” he said. “ ‘To the last breath in my body, I will fight for my family.’ That's what I said. Well, you are my family now. You, Manu, Mouse and the rest. And the others we've lost—they were my family too. And I swear, I will have my revenge for this day.”
“So, we are three,” said Snowbone.
“Four,” said Blackeye, behind her. “We can't let them get away with this.”
“Five,” said Tigermane. “I'm coming too.”
Snowbone smiled. If Mouse joined them, that would make a perfect six.
Chapter 40
don't believe it!” cried Mo use. “After everything that's happened, you're still going on?”
The tiddlins were sitting in the barn, deciding what to do.
Mouse stared wildly at the group. “Have you forgotten what it was like?”
“No,” said Snowbone. “I will never forget.”
“Blackeye?” said Mouse. “They cut your legs from under you!”
“They've grown back,” said Blackeye. “I'm fine!” He slapped his thighs. “I'm the same as I was before.”
“Are you?” said Mouse quietly. She started to wring her hands, over and over again. “We lost twenty-two friends.”
“They lost more,” said Snowbone.
“And that makes you proud?” said Mouse. “Because it makes me sick. Sick to my stomach. I killed a man. I have his blood on my hands right now, and it will never, ever wash away.”
“If you hadn't killed him, he would have killed you,” said Snowbone.
“Only because I was there, attacking him,” said Mouse. “I was doing wrong.”
“Wrong?” gasped Snowbone. “You were wrong? You forget who those people were! They were slave traders. The lowest of the low. They peddled misery. They stole freedom. They bargained with the lives of our people. And you say that you were wrong?”
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