by Sarah Driver
NonononononohelphelphelpnonoflyatyouEttlerwilltearyouhe willgetawayget–
Ettler! I whisper, catching Kestrel’s squidge-assistant in my palms. Will you calm your flaming sails? It’s me, Mouse!
Ettler’s tentacles shiver. The little feathered squid-beast stares up at me with frighted black eyes.
Ettler? What’s going on?
Ohhhhhdeardeardearnonono!
What?
Badverybadvery, noberries, badVERY!
Tell me. I gently stroke his tentacles until the shivering stops.
Girlslockeddeephallfaraway! Don’tknowEttlerwhenEttlerfind! Gonefaraway. He chokes out a little sob and wets my palm with ink.
Girls locked away, gone far away. You mean Kestrel and Egret? I husk.
Verybadawaylocked,KestrelKestrelKestrel!Snipingbitingflappingbirdtoo!
Ettler, what can I do? Where can I find them?
Mantookmantook, he grumbles, in so much fright and heart-sadness that my chest feels carved in two. ManNASTYmandeadeyes—
Footsteps clatter along in the passageway outside, and boys’ voices grow louder and closer.
Ettler, get in here! I hiss, opening one of my pockets. The squidge don’t need telling twice – he thumps into the pocket like an arrow into a target. Swiftly, I kick the medsin bag back under the bed and hide behind the door. Please walk past, please . . .
But the door swings open, whacking me in the side. As someone grabs the edge of the door to close it, I barrel out of my hiding place, straight into the boy with the toothpick.
‘Hey! This isn’t your room, I showed you—’
His words are shoved from his mouth as I barge past him and run breakneck down the corridor, back through the Common Hall and out of the College. Ettler bumps up and down in my pocket, squealing. I pull the Spiderbus timetable out of my pocket and run towards the closest black dot on the map. I don’t stop running until I’m wedged into a seat aboard a Spiderbus, with folk peering at me strangely as I fight to catch my breath. On the ride, I stare down at the grey streets, wondering if I can risk asking Olm for help with the Opals. He’s a friend of the Spidermaster and Bluebottle, he took me to the College, and he feels heart-sad for the folk in the poorhouse . . . and he saved me from that spider.
Once we’ve crossed the bridge, I ask someone how to get to the address scribbled on the back of the timetable and then catch another Spiderbus to Olm’s house.
I stare up at a tower so high that the top is hidden by smog. At the top of a set of stone steps is a door in the middle of the tower. On the wall next to the door are bells marked with different names. When I press the one labelled Olm, the door clicks open and I step into a circular corridor cut into the stone like a worm-tunnel. The walls are a dark, gleaming wood.
Olm shows me into his set of rooms. ‘Do make yourself at home!’
In the sitting room, a lamp stands on an old wooden table – inside the lamp, pink and green fire spirits flit and twist. The light spills across stacks of books, piles of blankets and a heap of stockings for mending. I pull my cloak off cos the room is proper toasty.
Olm busies himself with setting a small iron kettle over a flame. ‘That’s a nasty scar,’ he comments. ‘How did you get it?’
Hot panic clangs inside me. I forgot to keep my face covered! Though how can I, all the flaming time? ‘A – kitchen accident.’
He nods. ‘I am gladdened to see it healing nicely!’ The fire-spirit lantern makes Olm’s face glow with green light. ‘How did you get on with your search for your friends?’
I shake my head. ‘Not well,’ I tell him. ‘I’m frighted something’s wrong.’
‘Ah, not to worry! Many of the scholars would have been in class. There will be plenty of time to meet up with them.’ He steps into a back room and reappears with a loaf of bread wrapped in wax paper and a lump of butter on a dish. ‘I haven’t much exciting fare to offer you, I’m afraid,’ he says, carefully slicing and buttering thick slices of bread. ‘In leaner times, we fall back on some of our favourite alternatives – grubs and bugs, ticks and lice, worms and slugs. We can make highly nutritious loaves from them.’
I watch him preparing the food, trying to put my fretting aside. ‘That’s the kind of thing my Tribe eats when times are tough. Bugs, and terrodyl meat – though it’s tough as anything. I tried fly pie at the Spidermaster’s house!’
The scholar laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. ‘Yes, that is a very particular delicacy of his.’ He reaches into a cupboard for platters and turns away to stack the bread on them.
Inside my pocket, Ettler stays quiet. But I can feel him shivering, and my fright for Kes and Egret tumbles anew inside my belly. I put my hand in my pocket to lift him out but he bites my finger, making me gasp.
‘I heard there’s been trouble here,’ I say, watching Olm’s back for signs of wariness. ‘They say a man called Stag controls this place now.’
‘Stag?’ he says, turning towards me in surprise. ‘Not to worry, dear – he’s not as powerful as he’d like to think.’ He smiles brightly and passes me a platter with four thick slices of bread on.
‘Heart-thanks,’ I mutter, biting my cheeks. Reckon I’ll have to do the worrying for the both of us.
‘So, young Hog. Did the scholars show you where you’ll be sleeping?’
I nod.
‘That’s good. I will keep my promise to find the names of those enrolled, so we may track your friends. Now,’ he wheezes, taking a chair at the table in the middle of the room. ‘How else may I help you?’
I take my time working out how much to say. I want to tell him about the Opals, proper bad, and part of me wonders if an Akhund like him might know about them anyway. ‘Maybe you could write to let the Spidermaster and Blue know I’m with you?’
‘Already done.’
‘And – could I send another letter, outside Nightfall?’
He nods. ‘I can lend you the ink and parchment. As for your letter, however, I cannot be certain it won’t fall into the wrong hands.’
I nod. Then I realise – if I send it with Thaw, it can’t go astray. ‘I’ll be careful.’
When he brings me the ink and parchment, I scratch a quick note to Leo, telling her I’ve found Ettler, but not what he chattered to me – I’ve barely made sense of it myself, yet, and I don’t want her sending anyone after me in case we get discovered.
‘Would you like me to send your letter on for you?’ Olm asks.
I shake my head. ‘I want to write a bit more,’ I tell him, feeling guilty for lying.
He smiles. ‘Just let me know when you are ready. And good luck at College tomorrow! Now I must put myself to bed. Help yourself to warm milk – there’s a pan on the stove.’ He creaks to his feet and takes the platters to the wash basin. The sight of his frailness and the thought of everything he’s done to help me makes me realise I trust him enough to ask for more help.
As soon as I start talking about the Opals, it’s a proper relief. ‘There’s something else, Akhund. A man is bringing an ancient jewel into the city. I need to get it from him.’
The old man slides pink-rimmed eyes over my face. ‘I see! What sort of jewel is it?’
I take a deep breath, the risk I’m taking pounding against my skull. ‘It’s a Storm-Opal.’
He sits up straighter. ‘From the legend?’
‘Aye.’
‘Goodness me!’ He clears his throat, eyes shining with excitement. ‘The last King of Trianukka had a golden crown, in which three powerful Storm-Opals were due to be set, uniting the Great Tribes of Sea, Sky and Land together in peace. But the Sea-Tribe captain, Rattlebones, hid the Crown in the belly of a whale . . .’
‘Aye,’ I say, smiling at how much energy he’s giving the telling. ‘But stories grow twisted over time . . .’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, it’s just – how do we know what bits of a story are truth, and what bits are lies?’ I chew my cheek. ‘What if Rattlebones
never took the Crown?’
‘What an extraordinary thing for so young a person to say!’ he exclaims. ‘I have a feeling you have the makings of a very fine thinker. Food for thought indeed,’ he says.
‘I heard that Stag is planning to bring the stone here. I need to find out where he’ll take it.’
‘Ah, what a web, what a web!’ Olm declares. ‘Alright, child. Let us see. Do you know which of the three Opals he is bringing here?’
I nod. ‘He’s got the Land-Opal.’
‘And what is known of the others?’ he muses.
I hesitate.
Olm’s eyes dart around the room as his mind flickers. ‘I am deeply surprised the Land-Opal is not heavily guarded, as the others must be. Otherwise anything could happen to them!’
I feel a burst of pride flush my veins. I’m keeping them safe, with no guarding at all! ‘Well, the thing is . . .’ I pull the Opals from my pocket and let the lamplight make them glimmer. Gold flecks shift under the green of the Sea-Opal, while sleek black shadows dance under the Sky-Opal’s skin. Both jewels warm under my touch, and their crackle-power makes my eyebrows tingle. ‘I found these two, and kept them safe.’
Startlement slackens Olm’s mouth. ‘Hog, you ought to feel most proud! What a thing to achieve, before you even begin your Nightfall training. May I?’ he asks, holding out his hands, fingers laced together.
I nod, tipping the gems into his palms. He examines the Opals gently, lips forming silent exclamations. Then he looks to the window and sighs, before passing the Opals back to me. ‘Might I suggest you leave these remarkable stones here, whilst you embark on your studies?’
I smile. ‘Heart-thanks, Olm, but no – they stay with me.’
He nods, then rubs his neck. ‘I am so sorry to spoil the fun of this conversation – it is the most interesting I have had in a long time! – but the hour grows almost as old as my bones.’ When I follow his gaze to the window, I see that the street-lanterns have been doused. ‘I shall have to put myself to bed, dear boy.’ He takes my cloak and hangs it up in a cupboard, then starts to hobble away, staff tip-tapping. ‘I suggest you do the same and resume your search in the morning.’
A yawn pulls at my throat. ‘Can we talk about it again before I leave?’
‘Certainly. He takes my cloak for me and hangs it up in a cupboard. ‘Goodnight, Hog. Sleep soundly.’
I tuck myself into one of the fold-down beds and listen as the Akhund’s tooth-staff taps away towards his bedchamber. Then I remember the letter I started and topple out of bed again, grabbing it from the table. I go to a window and open it. Thaw sits on a nearby chimney. Thaw girl, I chatter. Can you take this to the Forest, to Leo?
Thaw not leave two-legs girl, she utters fretfully. Mountain two-legs say Thaw stay with—
I know, Thaw! But this is the only way for my letter to reach her safely, and you’ll be back in no time!
Her feathers tremble. But she flashes me a look of heart-strength, takes the letter in her beak and flaps towards the forest, quickly becoming a distant speck in the sullen sky.
When I turn back to face the room, Olm is standing by the stove, pouring a cup of milk. I startle halfway out of my skin.
‘Sorry, child,’ he says, flinching like he’s proper vexed with himself, and leaning against the wall for support cos he doesn’t have his staff. ‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’
Pity lurches in my chest. ‘Here – let me help you.’
But he waves me away. ‘No need, no need. Goodnight!’
It’s only as I’m drifting to sleep that I remember Ettler is still in my cloak pocket. But I’m heart-certain he won’t mind spending the night there, so I let myself fall asleep.
When I wake up, Olm is busy mending my boots. I feel a pang of guilt as I watch him hunching over them, scraping and stitching and polishing. He’s so old and his hands are shaky. ‘Good news,’ he tells me cheerily.
I swing my legs out of bed. ‘What is it?’
‘I have received word of your friends!’
I stare at him. ‘For real and true?’
He laughs. ‘For real and true.’
‘Let’s go!’
‘Breakfast first, child. And no rushing, if you please.’
I eat some bread and drink some kaffy, trying not to kick the table leg in all my itching to get going.
‘Did you want me to send that letter for you?’ he asks.
‘Oh, no, I—’ I pause, thinking.
His eyebrows shoot upwards. ‘Yes?’
‘I don’t need to send it now.’
‘Ah.’ Olm pulls on a thick cloak and taps towards the door with his tooth-staff. ‘Well, anything you need, let me know. Come on, dear,’ he says, hobbling from the room.
I pull on my cloak and follow him outside.
‘I sent a parchment to the other Akhunds,’ Olm says, ‘and I am told that your friends have been seen entering the Hall of Moans, to sit their examinations. Follow me. I’m sure they will be delighted to see you again, and then your mind can rest.’
I follow him through twisting, tangled, smog-choked streets, heart soaring, until we reach a grand old building behind wrought-iron gates.
We push open the heavy wooden doors and stand in the entrance hall. ‘Where now?’ I ask, bursting to find Kes and Egret.
‘Just behind you is a classroom,’ he tells me.
I turn, press the handle, push open the door, and . . . they’re not here. There’s just a dusty, empty room set up with rows of tables. I back away, legs trembling and a lump in my throat. ‘What – where are they?’
‘Oh, are they not in there?’ asks Olm, coming and standing beside me. He places a soft hand on my shoulder. ‘Oh dear. Do you think perhaps they climbed out of the window and ran away?’
I shake my head. ‘There’s no window.’
‘Isn’t there?’ He cranes his pale neck and looks around the room like he’s seeing it for the first time.
‘You’re the Akhund!’ A spark of anger leaps into my voice. ‘You’re the one that’s meant to know this place!’ My voice dies. Shame nips me. How could I snap at this kindly old man?
He blinks calmly at me. ‘Well, of course I am the Akhund, child.’ He stares around the room again, breathing slowly through his turned-up nose. ‘Of course I am.’
I turn to look around the classroom, trying to make sense of why he’s brought me here. But then a man with greasy ropes of hair and greed-glittered eyes steps through the door and my words fade to a bitter taste in my mouth.
The man is Weasel – the ship-wrecker that helped Stag smuggle Sparrow to Castle Whalesbane.
What’s he doing here? Is he leeching off this poor old man? ‘Sunk your claws into someone else now, have you?’ I bite out. ‘The weaker the better, aye?’
Weasel glances at me, startled. Then his surprise melts into amusement that tugs his mouth and brows on end, pulling them upwards like the puppet masters with their strings. He clutches his sides, shoulders heaving with merriment.
‘Weasel,’ says Olm mildly. ‘Control yourself.’
There’s a sternness in the voice I ent heard before, and I turn towards the old man in surprise.
‘Where are—’
‘Your friends?’ he interrupts softly. ‘Naughty girls, aren’t they?’
An alarm bell jangles in my belly. ‘What? No, I don’t know any girls, they’re – boys, they’re . . .’
Olm lets out a little bubbling laugh and wipes his mouth. ‘Like you are, I suppose?’ His eyes narrow.
I shake my head. ‘No.’ My mouth turns dry. In a flash I realise what I’ve done. I’ve brought the Opals here. I told Olm about them, and all cos of my own stupid pride! My mistakes stab tears into my eyes.
‘Oh dear,’ whispers Olm.
‘If I were you, Mouse,’ says Weasel, ‘I’d stop twisting on that hook you’ve caught yourself on.’
‘She said her name was Hog,’ says Olm gently, with a trace of his old kindness. He laugh
s. ‘I’d say, that makes her a filthy liar.’
My skin prickles.
Then Weasel grabs me, turning me to face Olm. I wriggle, kick, lash out, try to bite – but the wrecker holds me in place with an iron grip. Olm’s face is filled with hate, like his kindly look was a mask. ‘The Skadowan dislike those who meddle in our business. And as their chief agent, I consider it my business to put a stop to you.’
I scream, fighting against Weasel’s grip.
‘You only have yourself to blame, you know.’ Olm cocks his head at me. ‘You chose to use that disgusting chatter of yours to send that bird away with a letter, did you not?’
A smile plucks at his rubbery lips. ‘Now no one knows where you are!’
‘No!’ I scream ’til I’m hoarse and my throat feels torn.
‘You will exhaust yourself, child.’ Olm smiles blandly.
Weasel wears a grin like a knife-slash. He points
at the floor and a gleaming black puddle gloops
open there. I gape at him – the wrecker’s got
magyk ? Olm claps his hands gleefully.
The puddle makes a skin-tuggingly
gruesome panting sound. Panting, grunting,
huffing and whispering. It spreads, slowly,
gasping as it reaches for my ankles.
I thrash desperately, but Weasel’s
arms never loosen. ‘What you done
with my friends?’
‘Do shut your silly mouth,
won’t you?’ Olm says sweetly.
Then the black puddle quests,
snuffles, leaches towards me.
I’m sucked in, then I tip
straight down its throat.
I put out my arms to stop myself but it’s no use – I’m falling down a slimy black tunnel through the floor. My sides are squeezed tight. I’m pulled down, down, down, and when I scrabble at the walls, the puddle suckers tighter onto me, pulling harder.
I fall out through the end of the tunnel and land on a hard, polished floor. I lift my head, gasping for breath as slime streams from my eyes and mouth in great wet clots. I’ve been dropped into a classroom – my pulse gallops. It’s the same one I was just in, ’cept now, boys are hunched over every table, scratching quickly at rolls of parchment. ‘What? ’ I gasp.