Silo and the Rebel Raiders

by Veronica Peyton

  “Do we look like government folk?” said Ruby in exasperation.

  “They comes in all shapes and sizes,” said the man, “and rides on all kinds of craft.”

  He eyed the raft, which Silo suddenly remembered had GOVERNMENT PROPERTY written all over it in huge letters.

  “Look,” he said, “we stole the raft, and I’m not from the Uplands. I was born and raised down the coast from here. I’m a Zyco.”

  “Figures,” said the man. “The Zycos always was a light-fingered bunch. Rafts, eel traps, the very eels themselves; nothing was safe from their thieving hands. But they say the gods sent a tidal wave to punish them for their evil ways. They’s all dead now, all save one, and him the worst of the lot by all accounts: a dwarfish, ill-tempered child with a powerful stare. They say he practiced dark arts and carried the curse of the seeing. Zyco the Psycho, they called him, but his given name was Silo.”

  “Nice to meet you too!” snapped Silo.

  The man sprang back. “So you’ve returned!” he cried. “An evil omen for all us marsh folk, and a sign of ill luck to follow! But you must prove to me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you are this so-called seer, this Silo Zyco!”

  Silo had forgotten just how irritating Marshlanders could be. Scowling, he removed his boots and displayed his webbed feet. “There! I’m the last of the Zycos. Now will you tell us where Mudville is?”

  “No! Bad fortune walks with you, webfoot! Go back to whence you came!”

  “If I do, you’ll be sorry.”

  “Why?” cried the old man fearfully.

  Silo knew his Marshlanders.

  “Because I know how to make coffee out of seaweed,” he said.

  That evening Silo, Orlando, Maximillian, Ruby, and the aged eel trapper were seated in a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of Mudville. Silo had just finished explaining how to make coffee out of seaweed.

  “…and whatever you do,” he was saying, “don’t drink it for at least six weeks. It’s not suitable for children and it’s poisonous to goats. You can use it for fishing, though. If you pour a jugful into the middle of a shoal, it stuns them. Now where can we find the Raiders?”

  “You could try the Ship and Squid,” said the eel trapper. “It’s by the harbor, next to the gutting sheds. There’s all sorts go there.”

  Silo scowled, for his coffee recipe was a good one, and the old man’s vague information seemed a disappointing return. But Ruby seemed content.

  “Let’s go!” she cried, springing to her feet.

  The raft was moored in a quiet backwater. The rain had stopped and the older children were engaged in a lively game of goatball on the marshes. In lieu of a goat Drusilla had assumed the role and was hurling hapless players around with wild abandon. The twelve smallest ones were clustered around Daisy, who was, Silo noticed to his dismay, teaching them a new song.

  “Drusilla and Daisy can keep an eye on things here,” said Ruby, “and we’ll go with Orlando. They’re bound to have heard of Valeria the Violent at this Squid place.”

  “I’m coming too.” It was Maximillian. “Something bad will happen here. Something huge and hairy will come from the sea. It makes a roaring noise, and people will run away from it. I heard them screaming. I’m scared. I want to stay with Silo.”

  Finally Maximillian had had a useful seeing, and they all rather wished he hadn’t. Although no one had seen fit to mention it, the town of Mudville had a depressing appearance, and the news that marauding marine creatures ran riot in its streets at night was unwelcome, for twilight was falling. Silently they turned their faces to the fetid warren of streets. A battered sign read WELCOME TO MUDVILLE, BIRTHPLACE OF INGALL THE UNCLEAN, and the smell of rotting fish hung heavy in the air.

  “I can see why he left,” said Orlando.

  Mudville was, as its name suggested, built mostly of mud, a closely packed warren of houses overshadowed by a soaring lookout tower. The place seemed deserted, and they saw no one until they arrived at the main square, a bleak expanse of churned mud. Here a depressed-looking goat was standing on a dung hill, presumably in a futile effort to keep its hooves dry, and an aged crone was standing before a notice board headed OFFICIAL GOVERNMENT INFORMATION: LATEST BY PIGEON POST. She was pasting a poster to it using, unsurprisingly, a bucket of mud, and Silo was horrified to see his own name in huge letters. Ruby motioned them into the shadows of an alleyway and there they lurked, watching intently as the aged crone pasted a second poster beneath the first. She straightened up slowly, inspected her handiwork, then finally hobbled off into the encroaching gloom.

  No sooner had she gone than they hastened over to the notice board and found news of an unwelcome kind. The poster read:

  WANTED

  SILO ZYCO

  also known as ZYCO THE PSYCHO, for Inciting Rebellion, Consorting with Enemies of the State, Vicious and Unprovoked Assault on a Government Official, Stealing Government Property, and the Kidnapping of Maximillian Crow. A Reward of Thirty Silver Crowns for Information Leading to his Capture.

  Silo was outraged. “None of this is true! I didn’t kidnap anyone, and no one calls me Zyco the Psycho!”

  “Everyone at the Academy did,” said Orlando. “All the other students anyhow.”

  The description below did nothing to cool Silo’s temper.

  A Thin Boy of Dwarfish Stature, Black Hair, Pallid Complexion, Wild Staring Blue Eyes, Webbed Feet, Ten Years of Age.

  “It’s all lies,” he said furiously. “And anyway, no one will know me from that stupid description.”

  But Orlando and Ruby were silent. Then Ruby pointed to the notice pasted below. It was headed STOLEN PROPERTY.

  “That’s a description of our raft,” she said grimly. “We’ll have to ditch it. Me and Orlando best go back and warn the others, and as for you two, you need to get off the streets. Go to the Ship and Squid and stay there. We’ll meet you later.”

  She and Orlando slipped off into the dusk, and Silo swiftly peeled off the posters. He approached the depressed goat and held them temptingly beneath its nose, in the hope that it might eat them and so destroy the evidence, but it merely shot him a contemptuous look. And then a bell began to toll from somewhere high overhead and a voice cried from the lookout tower: “The Sea Pig! The Sea Pig is coming!”

  Cursing, Silo stuffed the muddy posters under his cloak.

  “What’s a sea pig, Silo?” said Maximillian.

  “I don’t know,” said Silo, “but whatever it is, it’s bad news.”

  For finally the inhabitants of Mudville were to be seen. All around them doors were opening and anxious people were emerging into the square, all peering apprehensively in the direction of the harbor. Silo pulled Maximillian back into the alleyway and watched as the householders set to work barring their shutters. They worked fast, and within moments doors were slamming shut the length and breadth of the square. There followed the sound of keys being turned in locks, the rattle of chains, and the snick of bolts sliding home. Silo recalled Maximillian’s vision of something huge and hairy that came from the sea. He trusted Maximillian’s gift, and in the circumstances it seemed foolish to head for the harbor lest they come face to face with the unknown horror that was the Sea Pig.

  “We’d better find somewhere to lie low for a while,” he said. He set off up the alleyway, and as they squelched their way up its murky length a familiar scent drifted into Silo’s nostrils, one that reminded him of happier days when he had traveled with Ruddle and Blossom: the smell of hay and horses. They had arrived at a stable yard and could hear soft stirrings in the darkness and the steady munching of unseen jaws, sounds at once familiar and comforting.

  “In here,” said Silo.

  There was a shed inside the gateway. Harnesses hung from pegs and the floor was stacked high with hay. Gratefully they slipped into its shadows.

  “Will we be safe here?” said Maximillian.

  “Yes,” said Silo firmly. “See if you can get some sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
r />   And so he did for a while, propped stiffly against the wall and listening intently to the distant sounds from the streets. He gloomily considered his new status as a boy with a price on his head, and then his thoughts turned to Ruby and Orlando. Where would they find to hide the raft? he wondered. Or a horde of children, come to that? But he had been up most of the previous night and was deathly tired, and gradually his thoughts began to drift. Presently his heavy eyelids closed and his breath lengthened, until finally he slept as deeply as Maximillian, who lay curled up beside him. And so it was that, an hour or so later, when a distant roaring could be heard from the sea, he slept on unheeding, for by then he was far, far away, dreaming that he stood on the deck of a ship that sailed beneath a star-spangled sky. The full moon laid a glittering path upon the water, and a shadowy figure stood beside him at the wheel, steering for unknown lands beyond the dark horizon. Silo knew, with a sudden joyful certainty, that it was his father. Eagerly he looked up to see his face…and saw a furious bald man, his cheeks glowing orange in the light of the lantern he held.

  “That’s right!” he cried. “Very clever! Sleep right inside the doorway just where I’ll trip over you!”

  Silo shook himself awake. The man fumbled in the gloom for his saddle, then stomped off across the stable yard; all around him the horses were stirring uneasily in their stalls. Night had fallen while Silo slept, and he could hear wild cries from the streets beyond. Cursing under his breath, he dragged himself to his feet and approached the man, who was now tugging a reluctant pony from its stable.

  “What’s the sea pig?” he said. “Why’s everyone so afraid of it?”

  The man glared at him. “The Sea Pig’s just a ship. It’s her captain that’s the problem. Black Tom, they call him. He turns up every few months, and he arrives with a powerful thirst. He’s a monster of a man, and when he’s got a few gallons of booze inside him he grows frisky. Last time he tore up half of Goat Street. And he threw me in the harbor, so this time I’m leaving town.”

  “Can’t anyone stop him?” asked Silo.

  “There’s none brave enough. Besides, he says he’s a Raider, and folk around here have a soft spot for Raiders.”

  A Raider! Here at last was the opportunity Silo had been seeking. Resolutely he turned his face to the harbor, where he could hear the distant sound of running feet, screaming, and breaking glass. He had imagined the Raiders to be a noble race, friends to the common man, but it seemed he was mistaken. But it was the Raiders and the Raiders alone who could help him in his present predicament, and so he screwed up his courage and stepped out into the alley.

  “Is it safe, Silo?” said Maximillian, who had shaken himself awake and now trotted faithfully by his side.

  “Yeah,” said Silo shortly, “but just stay behind me, OK?”

  Black Tom was not a hard man to find, for when they reached the harbor they heard a peal of hideous laughter, one that grated horribly on the ears: “Huurgh! Huurgh! Huur-ugh!” Black Tom was evidently in a cheerful mood. He stood outside the Ship and Squid; the landlord appeared to be begging him not to enter, while his customers scrambled out the windows in a desperate attempt to escape. But the braver among them had taken up a large fishing net and seemed to be having a whispered discussion as to the wisdom of trying to entrap Black Tom in it. Silo understood their hesitation, for Black Tom was a mountain of a man. He wore a tattered coat decorated with tarnished gold braid, and a row of rusty medals, and a tricorner hat sat on his matted locks. He had a gigantic black beard with bits of dinner stuck in it and a single bristling eyebrow that slashed across his forehead, sheltering two mismatched eyes, one small and piggy and the other a great glowing brown orb. His mouth, the source of the horrible laughter, was open to show a set of gleaming gold teeth. He held aloft the goat that Silo had seen earlier, and as they watched he tossed it playfully at the landlord of the Ship and Squid, striking him full in the stomach. The goat seemed unhurt, if somewhat sulky, but the landlord collapsed moaning to the ground, his legs kicking feebly.

  And then Black Tom paused, looking about as though in search of a new assailant. The men with the net melted back into the shadows, and his eye fell on Silo. An evil smile spread over his face and he strode toward him on huge booted feet that struck sparks from the cobbles. As his great shadow fell across him Silo opened his mouth to speak but found himself being swept up by a powerful hand and brandished aloft. It seemed that Black Tom considered the smaller of Earth’s creatures—goats, children, and the like—simply as ammunition. Like most small people, Silo hated to be manhandled. Suspended upside down at the end of Black Tom’s brawny arm, he swallowed his fear and fixed him with his most powerful stare.

  “Stop!” he said. “I need your help. I—”

  But Black Tom uttered an astonished grunt. He lowered Silo to eye level and scrutinized him with a squint-eyed, drunken stare. Then a look of wonder crossed his brutish features. “You must be Aquinus’s boy,” he said. “You’re the spitting image of the man!”

  Silo was flooded with astonishment. Here, finally, was someone who could tell him about his long-lost father! “Where…?” he began eagerly.

  But at that instant a bucket of mud, thrown with astonishing force and accuracy, came hurtling out of the gloom and struck Black Tom square on the back of the head. A look of bemusement crossed his face, his eyes rolled up, and he fell back unconscious, his great bulk crashing down to lie motionless in the mud. Ruby—who else?—stepped into the pool of light that spilled out of the Ship and Squid, with Orlando at her side. She received a spontaneous round of applause from the bystanders, a smattering of cheers, and three cries of “Good shot!”

  “Are you all right?” she said, hauling Silo to his feet. “I saw him lobbing goats around and I thought you’d be next.”

  “I’m fine,” said Silo, his mind reeling with shock. He gazed down at the comatose form of Black Tom. “He knows my dad.”

  “Your dad keeps weird company,” she said, and then, turning to the inhabitants of Mudville who were clustering around to offer her their congratulations, “Thank you. Really, it was nothing. Glad to be of help.”

  But a beaming woman was shaking her by the hand. “I’m Edna, landlady of the Ship and Squid, and I’m very much obliged to you. Last time he was here he wrecked the place, and we’ve only just had it redecorated. If you and your little friends”—she smiled down at Silo and Orlando and Maximillian—“need somewhere to stay for the night—free of charge, of course—you’re very welcome.”

  “Thanks!” Ruby turned and gave an ear-piercing whistle.

  Drusilla materialized out of the darkness, tailed by twenty-six ragged children.

  “Come on, everyone!” said Ruby. “We’re staying here tonight.”

  A small, shock-headed tide flowed up to the Ship and Squid. Daisy was the last of them, and she addressed the astonished Edna with the utmost politeness.

  “Thank you so much for taking us in! It’s well past the little ones’ bedtime.” She smiled down at the smallest children, who stood crowded about her. “What do we say to the kind lady, everyone?”

  “Thank you!” they chorused.

  A little curly-haired moppet went one better. “Can we sing her our song, Daisy?”

  “Would you like that?” said Daisy, giving Edna a winning smile.

  They took her stunned silence for assent and launched boldly into a song about elves. Silo was appalled. They had, against all the odds, found a safe haven for the night, but surely this would ruin everything. But he was mistaken. It seemed that there was no accounting for taste, for Edna smiled down at Daisy’s little choir as they worked their way through verse after verse, and when they finally finished and beamed proudly up at her, she wiped a tear from her eye.

  “Bless you, dears!” she said. “Such a pretty song! But come on in out of the cold. I expect you’d like something to eat.”

  They nodded eagerly and filed inside. Edna turned to Silo, Ruby, and Orlando. “They’re so swee
t at that age!”

  Dumbly they nodded, well aware that it was some years since anyone had considered them sweet—if indeed they ever had.

  “What about him?” Silo pointed to Black Tom.

  “I’ll get some of the men to carry him inside. Looks like he’s out for the night; he’ll be a different man in the morning.”

  —

  Silo spent a restless night. Edna had been true to her word, and he lay in a little attic bedroom in the Ship and Squid, but it was a bit of a squash. Silo was sharing a bed with Orlando, the Bolton brothers, and Maximillian, and the latter, true to his word, tended to scream in the night. Besides, Silo was in a fever of impatience to find out more about his father—which was why, when dawn was still pink in the sky, he got dressed and crept downstairs to the bar, where Black Tom lay sleeping.

  Edna had said he would be a different man in the morning, but to Silo, as he gazed down at the great snoring length of him, he looked very much the same as he had the previous night—large and scary. He turned and studied the array of bottles behind the bar, carefully scanning the labels. There was BOOZE, BEST BOOZE, and BARGAIN BOOZE, but his gaze fell upon a squat black bottle inscribed DOCTOR PYTHON’S PICK-ME-UP POTION: Add three drops to your morning tea and say good-bye to Fatigue, Headaches, and Nervous Irritability! Black Tom had had a lively evening the night before, besides being knocked unconscious by a bucket of mud, and Silo calculated that he would be suffering from all of the above. He doubted he was a tea drinker, though, so he simply emptied the contents of the bottle into the largest tankard he could find and topped it up with Bargain Booze. It steamed and bubbled in an alarming manner, but the smell was really rather pleasant. He placed it by Black Tom’s side and poked him with a broom. Then he hid behind the door and listened. He heard firstly faint stirrings, then groaning, and then a pleased grunt followed by prolonged slurping noises. Then a profound silence fell.