Silo and the Rebel Raiders

by Veronica Peyton

  —

  A leisurely breakfast was underway at the Ship and Squid. The tables were crowded with eager children, and Daisy and Edna were bustling about the place serving bacon and eggs, while Black Tom was polishing off a gargantuan plate of sausages. Ruby shot a dubious glance at him and said to Silo and Orlando, “Is he really a Raider? I mean, from the way he was carrying on last night, he seems a bit…”

  “Deranged?” suggested Orlando.

  “He must be a Raider,” said Silo. “He knows all about them.”

  Ruby looked doubtful. “We’ll talk to him when he’s finished his breakfast, then see if he can help us out.”

  “Speaking of breakfast,” said Silo, “how are we going to pay for it? Edna said we could sleep here, but she never said anything about food. Drusilla’s on her third helping already.”

  “No problem,” said Orlando. “We’re loaded. I sold the raft for timber and auctioned off the rest of the cargo. The booze alone fetched fifteen crowns. Then I flogged the Ancient manuscripts to a book dealer—got a really good price for them. I could’ve done better, but everyone had seen those ‘Stolen Property’ notices and they knew the stuff was hot. But even so…” He grinned and laid a weighty money bag on the table.

  “Orlando’s really smart with money,” said Ruby with grudging admiration.

  And so he was, thought Silo—especially other people’s.

  Black Tom emitted a mighty belch and rose to his feet.

  “I’ll settle the bill,” said Ruby. “You two—three”—for Maximillian was hovering at Silo’s side—“go and explain the situation to him.”

  She took up the money and approached the landlady. “How much do we owe you?”

  Edna smiled kindly down at her. “It’s on the house, dear. Truth to tell, I enjoy having you here. It’s a treat to see so many young faces about the place. And that Daisy! She was up with the lark this morning to help me out in the kitchen. Such pretty ways she has about her, and so kindly to the little ones!”

  Ruby maintained a diplomatic silence. Daisy had turned out to be surprisingly useful, but Ruby still found her a bit on the soppy side.

  Edna regarded the crowded tables with a misty smile. “Albert and I planned to have a big family, but it wasn’t to be,” she said. “I always wanted to have kids.”

  Ruby looked thoughtful. “How many did you want?” she said.

  —

  Silo, Orlando, and Maximillian followed Black Tom out onto the quay.

  “Can we talk to you for a moment?” asked Silo.

  Black Tom paused in midstride, looked all around him, and then down. His eyes settled on Silo and he smiled his sinister gold smile. “You again—little Zyco the Psycho! Step aboard, why don’t you? I’ll talk more comfortable over a drop of something.” He nodded to the Sea Pig.

  She was moored just opposite the Ship and Squid and her crew were lounging about the deck. Silo’s heart sank somewhat when he saw her, for she was a broad, stubby-looking vessel and had the look of a ship that was coming to the end of a long and difficult life. Her planking was battered, her masts were reinforced with bands of rusty iron, and her sails were patched. But the figurehead was nice. A little merpig sat perched upon the bows. It had the nether parts of a dolphin and the front part of a pig, and it sat with its tail lashing and its snout proudly raised. They stepped aboard, and twenty minutes later they were to be found seated in Black Tom’s cabin. It was furnished with masculine simplicity: a table, a few stools, and a lot of dirt. The ship’s dog, Growler, a small beast with coarse black fur and fleas, lay slumbering on a pile of rags in the corner, adding a homely touch to the otherwise spartan interior. Black Tom had just finished a tankard of dark liquid, and Silo had just finished relating their adventures.

  “…so it’s really important we get to the Island and warn them before the Division arrives. We were hoping the Raiders could help us.”

  Black Tom stroked his fetid beard. “They operate from a secret base off Mainland.”

  “Yes, but where?”

  “There’s a Code of Silence. Only the Raiders know that.”

  “But you are a Raider, aren’t you?”

  “Not exactly, no.”

  They stared at him in consternation, and as they did so Black Tom seemed to shrink a little before their eyes. He slumped over his tankard, and a sulky, hard-done-by expression fixed itself on his face.

  “It’s not for lack of trying!” he growled. “I’ve always wanted to be one—found myself a ship and a crew and everything—but seems they’re kind of fussy as to who they sail with. But I’ve met with them many a time. Why, the hours I’ve spent in taverns listening to them talk of their battles and adventures! ’Tis a fine life they lead, and one that made me wish to be among their number. Yes, I’ve listened to their yarns until the dawn was pale in the sky, and I’ve drunk with them many a time!”

  Silo had a sudden sense of foreboding. “How much did you drink?” he said.

  Black Tom looked shamefaced.

  “Have you ever thrown a Raider at a pub landlord?” asked Silo. “Or in the harbor perhaps?”

  “Well, I did throw Ingall the Unclean at a tax inspector once.”

  They stared at him accusingly, and Black Tom had the grace to look embarrassed.

  “A simple enough mistake!” he cried. “He’s a small man, and hairy—I thought he was a goat. It was high spirits, is all, but seems he’s the unforgiving kind. He’s not spoken to me since, him or any of the others. This Island of yours, though”—a thoughtful gleam was dawning in his mismatched eyes—“that would be a rescue mission, helping save innocent folk from the evils of the Division. That’s the kind of thing the Raiders appreciate. If I help you out now, and the Raiders get to hear of it, chances are they’ll think me worthy to join their band! It’s a fine plan, is it not?”

  Silo nodded, but he was bitterly disappointed. Black Tom was not the man he had supposed him to be. But he would take them to the Island, and if his medals were anything to go by, he was brave at least. For the first time he read their inscriptions—SYNCHRONIZED SWIMMING, LONDON OLYMPICS 2012; EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH; PRIZE VEGETABLE: MEADOWSIDE AGRICULTURAL FAIR—and suddenly found himself doubting whether Black Tom had been their original recipient. He scowled. He had hoped to find the Raiders, that bold and selfless band who fought tirelessly for the cause of liberty, but instead had found a drunken, goat-throwing liar. It was better than nothing, he supposed, but not much.

  However, Black Tom had cheered up no end. His horrible laughter rang out: “Huurgh! Huur-ugh! Well, here’s a fine chance to wind up the Division! They’re a wrongheaded set, to my mind, forever trying to grub up a world that’s dead and gone. The Ancients have had their day, and I say good riddance to them—them and all their freakish powers! ’Tis said they could fly, and the last thing we need is a bunch of winged sorcerers swooping about the place.”

  “They didn’t have wings,” said Maximillian. “They sat in things that flew.”

  “What manner of things?” asked Black Tom.

  Maximillian considered. “They looked a bit like giant cucumbers, only they were white and had wings. The Ancients got in and lit fires in their tails—or at least, I think they did. They left trails of smoke behind them in the sky.”

  They stared at him in amazement, their minds reeling at the thought of the Ancients hurtling about the sky in blazing albino cucumbers. Black Tom looked knowingly at Silo, crossed his eyes, and whirled a forefinger at the side of his head. Then he swept a selection of bones and bottles off the table and unrolled a crumpled chart.

  “This Island of yours,” he said, “is about fifteen miles to our south. This here’s our best route—across the Gutfleet Sound.” He traced a great U-shape with a grubby forefinger, a course that took them far out to sea.

  “Wouldn’t it be quicker if we just sailed down the coast?” said Silo.

  “Quicker, yes, but we’d have to navigate the Sea of Souls.”

  “What’s th
at?” asked Orlando.

  “The site of a sunken city,” said Black Tom. “They say that back in Ancient times it was the greatest city in all the Kingdom Isles—only they weren’t the Kingdom Isles back then, just one big island called the United Kingdom. Seems that the Great Catastrophe shifted things around a little, though, and now this city lies out to sea. There’s things that lies unseen beneath the waves there, things that would rip the bottom out of a ship and send her to the seabed.”

  “Is that why it’s called the Sea of Souls?” said Orlando.

  “No!”

  A quavering voice cried out from the corner of the cabin. The dog, Growler, looked grumpy as the pile of rags he was sleeping on stood up, revealing itself to be a doddering old man of confused appearance.

  Black Tom looked depressed. “This is Old Elijah,” he said. “He’s not crew exactly. He came with the ship. We’ve encouraged him to settle ashore many a time, but he won’t have it.”

  There was no need to ask why Black Tom wanted him to settle ashore. As Old Elijah arose, so too did a remarkable stench, a noxious compound of seaweed and old socks, and the children reeled back as he advanced toward them. He fixed them with his burning eyes and raised a warning forefinger.

  “They call it the Sea of Souls because ’tis haunted by the spirits of the Ancient dead!” he cried. “Even now their great towers rise high above the waves, although the folk that built them have been dead for many a long year. Dead, yes, but not at peace, for sometimes, on still nights, passing sailors see ghostly lights across the water and hear a fearful howling, like the sound of souls in torment. And those who see or hear these things are likewise doomed, for never again do they return safe to their native shores!”

  “So how come anyone knows about it?” asked Silo.

  Old Elijah was silenced.

  Just then the great bell began to toll from the lookout tower. Black Tom cocked his head. “Seems like we might have company,” he said. “But whose?”

  It was the worst kind. When they reached the deck a voice was calling from the tower: “The Division’s fleet is putting out to sea!”

  “How many ships?” roared Black Tom. There was a pause, then: “Dunno—too far off to count. But lots.”

  Black Tom turned to his crew. “Make ready to sail! We’ve still time to outrun the vermin!”

  The inhabitants of Mudville were peering tentatively around their doors, and there was a great thunder of feet as Ruby came charging across from the Ship and Squid, a crowd of children at her heels.

  “Can our friends come too?” said Silo.

  “Hell’s bells! How many?”

  “Twenty-eight.” It did seem a lot.

  “Fifteen,” said Ruby, springing lightly onto the deck. “I told Edna we wanted to sail with you, but she said the little ones were too young for seafaring. She said to leave them behind for her to take care of.”

  “What about the big ones?” said Black Tom hopefully as he watched Drusilla heft herself aboard. She was eating a bacon sandwich and carrying a large club, and looked particularly charmless.

  Ruby shook her head. “We want to join the Raiders. That is where we’re going, isn’t it? To find them?”

  Orlando poked her sharply in the ribs. “We’ll explain later,” he hissed.

  “What about you, Daisy?” asked Silo, for Daisy was still standing on the quay, a wistful expression in her eyes.

  “Edna’s been ever so kind! She’s invited me to stay with her,” she said.

  “But you’ve got parents, haven’t you, and a home to go back to?”

  “Yes, but I escaped from the Division, same as you. They may go looking for me there. I’d only cause trouble for my mum and dad.”

  At the mention of her parents Daisy’s eyes filled with tears and she said, with a brave smile, “It’s much better I stay here. And maybe someday things will change. Maybe those who’ve been shipped out will come home, and the little ones will have parents to go back to as well. Until then I’ll stay here and help Edna take care of them.”

  Then she blew her nose and said, “Just don’t let the Division catch you, right? And make jolly well sure you stuff up their plans for the Island!”

  Silo regarded her with astonishment. The Division had a gift for making rebels of the most unlikely people. “Good luck with it, Daisy,” he said.

  “And to you too, Silo. I think good fortune sails with you—I had a seeing about you last night. You were sailing to a beautiful white palace that rose high above the waves, and there was a rainbow shining overhead. My seeings are always happy ones, and I feel sure that some joyous surprise awaits you there!”

  Silo didn’t—but he let it pass, for Black Tom was taking his place behind the wheel.

  “Cast off!” he roared. “Man the rigging!”

  The crew of the Sea Pig bestirred themselves. The Bolton brothers, old hands at the seafaring life, swarmed up the rigging like rats and Silo busied himself with warps and fenders, occasionally tripping over the ever-helpful Maximillian. Ruby laid a tentative hand on a rope while Orlando found himself a comfortable seat and watched the activity with an air of lively interest.

  A crowd had gathered to see them off, and Edna and the twelve smallest children were among them. Silo looked back as the Sea Pig drifted away from the quay. They were waving to him, and he heard Daisy’s bright voice ringing over the water.

  “Let’s sing Silo our new song!”

  He winced inwardly, but Daisy was full of surprises that day.

  Silo Zyco was a seer, a seer of awesome power,

  And he was held a prisoner inside an ancient tower.

  But Silo wouldn’t stand for it, so what did Silo do?

  He struck a pipe with all his might and filled the place with—

  “Someone’s written a song about you, Silo!” Maximillian gazed up at him with rapt admiration. His face had taken on a greenish pallor and Silo recalled, with some trepidation, that he was a poor sailor. He resolved to sleep in a separate cabin.

  Above them the Sea Pig’s tattered sails took the wind, and the water crested beneath her bows as she headed out into the Gutfleet Sound.

  His eyes are mad, his temper’s bad, some say he is a psycho,

  But if you care for freedom, give three cheers for Silo Zyco!

  The children’s voices grew fainter as Mudville slipped astern, to be finally drowned out by the slap of the waves and the creak of canvas. Silo gave the little choir a final wave and turned his face to the open sea.

  The sunlight glittered on the waves and the sky was full of towering white cumulus clouds. Black Tom might not be the most reliable of captains, but he cut an impressive figure behind the wheel. His peaked cap sat on his matted locks, his gold braid and teeth shone in the sunlight, and his beard whipped in the wind like the tentacles of an angry octopus.

  “Hoist the flag,” he roared, and a moment later the flag of the Raiders unfurled at the masthead, a long sky-blue pennant that streamed in the wind.

  Silo felt a sudden thrill of excitement. The enemy fleet were close behind them, it was true, but Black Tom said they could outrun them. He was sailing to save his island home from the evils of the Division, and before him lay the high seas and adventure. At last he was fulfilling his destiny, following in his father’s footsteps just as his dying mother had wished. He was Silo Zyco, last of the Zycos, son of Zenda, son of Aquinus the Accursed, a rebel born of rebel blood, and he would prove himself worthy of his illustrious ancestry. A glow of pride suffused him, warming him right down to his toes. Maximillian had just been sick on his boots.

  The Government’s fleet sailed majestically out from the mouth of the Rampage: seven tall ships, each bearing aloft a mass of snowy canvas, the sign of the red hand streaming at their mastheads. The first and greatest was their flagship, the Unbeatable, and behind her followed the Unsinkable, the Undefeatable, the Unstoppable, the Unavoidable, the Unvanquished, and the Unwelcome. They were a fine sight as they headed out into the Gutfl
eet Sound.

  Elgarth was new to seafaring, but as he stood on the quarterdeck of the Unbeatable it all seemed pleasant enough, for he was in an excellent mood. He had just had time to dash off a letter to his father before they sailed. It had perhaps been rather a boastful one, but the circumstances seemed to demand it. The cream of the Government’s navy had put to sea and all because he, Elgarth Early, had willed it to be so. Surveying the progress of the great fleet, he was secretly thrilled by the majesty he had set in motion: so many ships and soldiers and sailors on the move, and all because he had had a seeing—well, maybe not a seeing exactly, but as good as one. Certainly he had described it to his father as such, and then gone on to describe its happy consequences: the apprehension of the one person the Division wanted above all others, and the capture of a gang of criminals besides. He mentioned too the important discoveries that awaited them at the Island, and the triumphant return the fleet would soon be making to Parris Port; finally he dwelt on how favorably the Government would view his role in all this, and the honor it would bring to the family name. His brother was still busy burning villages, and Elgarth thought it time to steal a little of his thunder.

  It seemed that the first part of their mission would very soon be accomplished. The admiral was passing his telescope to Mrs. Morgan, who was pacing the quarterdeck in a fever of impatience.

  “Enemy ship to starboard—it’s the Sea Pig right enough. Looks like she’s making a run for it. She’s under full canvas and flying the flag of the Raiders.”

  The Sea Pig was a dark speck on the horizon, but even to Elgarth’s untrained eyes, she was a speck that seemed to be growing larger by the minute.

  “Are you sure we can apprehend them?” said Mrs. Morgan.

  “I’m certain. The Sea Pig’s the slowest ship on the coast and riddled with worm besides. Her captain’s a drunken fool—they say he stole her from a breaker’s yard.”

  Mrs. Morgan smiled. “I only wonder they chose so ill. No doubt Silo Zyco is the cause—he seems to have a taste for low company.”