Enlightenment was dawning on Black Tom’s face. He uttered a soft “Huurgh! Huurgh!” His scruffy crew looked rather pleased with themselves, and Growler cast his eyes modestly to the ground and began to wag his tail.
“That’s what we thought,” said Valeria. “We keep a lookout up on the dome there.” She nodded to the vast bulk of St. Paul’s. “We spotted the Sea Pig with the fleet hot on her tail, and we guessed you were aiming to draw them into an ambush. We sent scouts up onto the rooftops to track your route—surprised you used Whitefriars, though, on account of the giant squid.”
Black Tom seemed affronted. “No tentacled terror of the deep can daunt my valiant crew!”
“Yeah, well, I tend to avoid it myself. Anyway, we guessed you’d make your stand here in the heart of our base, and sure enough you headed straight for the Ludgate Canal. We just had time to sling the chains and get everyone into position for the ambush. But it went off pretty well. How did you know where our base was, though?”
Black Tom winked. “Mum’s the word!” he said.
Valeria nodded. “The Code of Silence—fair enough.”
Old Elijah sidled up to her, eyeing the buildings around them with fretful eyes. He was none the worse for his ducking—in fact, rather the better, for a bath had been long overdue. “Are you never troubled here,” he said, “by the ghosts of the Ancient dead?”
Valeria snorted. “Nah! There aren’t any. We spread all those rumors. This place is perfect for a secret base, and we didn’t want fishermen or anyone stumbling across it.”
Old Elijah seemed almost disappointed. “But there’s lights been seen across the water,” he persisted, “and the sound of howling.”
“That was probably my birthday party,” said Valeria. “We do let our hair down every now and then. And I think tonight should be one of those nights. I vote we hold a victory feast.” She turned to the crowded waters of Paternoster Dock. “You lot!” She had the loudest shout that Silo had ever heard. The Raiders froze to attention over their oars, and the very seagulls overhead were silenced in midscreech. “Get a move on! Feast and council of war in St. Paul’s—spread the word. And bring some booze!”
“Same old Val,” said Orlando.
She took him affectionately by the arm and they walked into the Octopus side by side.
The giant squid that lived in Whitefriars Street had had a bad day. Deep down in the watery depths, strange portents had disturbed its slumbers. A ship had passed earlier, a ship that sailed where none should sail, and now other mysterious activities were afoot. The squid could sense some great disturbance in its watery kingdom; strange echoes and vibrations dimly filtered down to where it lay—mighty, majestic, and multitentacled—in the flooded depths of a basement. Investigation was in order. Filled with a dim foreboding, it propelled itself forward with gargantuan grace, out into the seaweed forest that lay beyond its lair, then glided up toward the world above the sheltering waves. A small boat was advancing toward it, rowed by six sweating collectors, and a bony figure stood in the bows, dressed from head to toe in dripping black. She was urging them on with shrill cries.
“Hurry! Faster! Rebellion is afoot, and the Government must be warned immediately! Put your backs into it! Hurry, I said! Why are you stopping?”
For the collectors had paused in their labors and were staring in horror at something that stirred in the dark waters, something big with tentacles.
Mrs. Morgan spun around and regarded the squid with regal contempt. “It’s only a squid, you fools!”
She seized a boat hook and hurled it, harpoonlike, at the majestic monster of the deep. It instantly vanished beneath the waves in a churning mass of white water. But not for long. It was only a squid, but it was a very large one, and now it was angry.
The she-creature had invaded its territory. She had insulted and assaulted it, and she would pay dearly for her audacity. It reared up from the depths, eyes blazing with fury, and advanced in a whirlwind of lashing tentacles.
—
That evening flaming torches burned bright in St. Paul’s, throwing dancing reflections across the flooded interior. Beneath the great dome a mass of rafts had been roped together to provide a banqueting area, each one bearing tables, stools, and a selection of cheerful sailors. The Raiders, the seamen who had been press-ganged in Parris Port, and the crew of the Sea Pig were all gathered. Vast pillars towered above them, their carved capitals supporting span after span of soaring arches, and the ceiling was so high that it faded into the shadows above. All around the walls the monuments of the Ancients looked down on the living, and Silo stared about him in awe, for nothing in his life had prepared him for the sight of so much grandeur.
Maximillian followed his gaze. “Do you like it, Silo?”
“Yes. But it’s really strange. It makes you wonder what kind of people the Ancients were.”
“Well, that one there was a sailor.” Black Tom was cheerfully drunk, and he gestured to a nearby statue with his drinking pot. “The one-armed bloke. He’s got an anchor alongside him.”
And so he had. His single hand rested on the anchor, and below him stood a solemn lady wearing a helmet and what appeared to be a bedspread, her arm around two small stone boys. The plinth upon which he stood was crumbling, but one word remained visible: TRAFALGAR.
“That must be his name,” said Ruby. “And I suppose they must be his family.”
“And look!” cried Orlando delightedly. “He’s got a zoo animal!”
A noble stone beast, a bit like a gigantic cat with a wig on, arose roaring from the dark waters that lapped below the sailor’s feet.
“It’s true, then! They did keep them as pets!”
“I wonder if that was wise…,” said Old Elijah. He looked down to where Growler lay eyeing the legs that surrounded him with an alert, speculative air. “ ’Tis a lion, and if so large a creature should have some quirk of temperament, a tendency to bite maybe, the consequences could be unpleasant.”
“Too right!” said Orlando. “You wouldn’t want to visit the Trafalgar household, would you? Not with that thing creeping around behind the sofa. But then I always thought the Ancients were a bunch of nutters.”
He pushed aside a plate heaped with empty lobster shells and uttered a sigh of contentment, followed by a modest belch. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m stuffed. That was what I call a feast.”
It seemed that the assembled company had arrived at a similar conclusion, and everyone had reached the stage in the evening where they were comfortably shoving back their stools, picking their teeth, and refilling their drinking pots. There was the occasional splash as Raiders pushed their stools back too far and fell off the edge of their rafts, but that only added to the general merriment.
Valeria took her feet off the tabletop and climbed onto it. A silence fell as she paced up and down, and the only sound was the crunch of oyster shells and plates beneath her sea boots. She was evidently deep in thought. Finally she spoke.
“We’ve won a great victory here today, and Black Tom and his crew have played a brave part in it. They’ve proved themselves worthy, and from now on they’ll sail with our Raider band!”
Black Tom’s face lit up with joy. He beamed like a happy child, albeit a very large one with metal teeth.
“Now that we’ve captured the enemy fleet we can start making a right nuisance of ourselves,” said Valeria. “Black Tom can have the pick of the Government’s ships to replace the Sea Pig, but we need crews for the others. Any volunteers?”
There was a chorus of assent from the Parris Port seamen, and a spokesman rose from among them. He was a bald man, but the wild extravagance of his beard more than made up for the stark nudity of his pate.
“We’ll sail with you, and gladly! Parris Port’s no place for a sailor these days: the hand of the Government lies heavy there—’tis the third time we’ve been press-ganged this year. From henceforth we’ll sail with you beneath the flag of freedom!”
“So will we!”
It was Ruby. She gestured to the little band of children who sat around her. “Some of us are already experienced sailors”—the Bolton brothers looked smug—“and the rest of us can learn. There is one thing, though….” She hesitated, and Valeria paused in her pacing and looked kindly down upon her.
“Don’t be afraid to speak your mind,” she said.
“It’s just that our parents have been shipped out,” said Ruby, “and it would be nice to have them back.”
“You and I think alike,” said Valeria. “They say that the silver mines in the Northern Isles are worked by those who’ve been shipped out. Maybe we could mount an attack and free them. Seems to me they’re our kind of people. They’ve all fallen foul of the Government in one way or another—refused to pay taxes or taken arms against the Bucket Heads.”
“And we could nick the silver while we’re at it,” said Orlando.
Valeria frowned at him. “Silver’s always handy,” she said, “but what we really need is a new secret base. Some of the Division’s people are bound to have slipped through our net, and word of what goes on here will soon get back to the Government. This Island they were headed for, though—it’s nice and remote, right in the middle of a marsh. I doubt they see government folk from one year’s end to the next—could be useful, that. Maybe we could interest them in setting up as a secret trading post where we could take on supplies every now and then. I’d like a word with the headman to see if he’s up for it.”
Silo thought of Allman Bean and sighed. But at least it meant he could get a lift home. The immediate danger to the Island was past, but he wouldn’t rest easy until he had explained to its inhabitants the dangers inherent in digging up power stations.
Valerie continued. “Now we have to decide what to do with all the Bucket Heads we captured today.”
“Can’t we just kill them?” Drusilla had spoken. A great pile of fish bones lay on the table before her, and her club was propped conveniently nearby.
Valeria shook her head. “It’s not the Raider way to kill a man in cold blood. I say we maroon them: dump them on the beach at Normandy.”
There was a chorus of approval from the Raiders, but Old Elijah was disappointed.
“Is that all?” he cried. “ ’Tis too soft on the vermin!”
“You’ve not met the Normans,” said Valerie. “They’re the people that live in those parts, and they don’t like visitors. They’re vicious fighters too,” she added approvingly. “We tried to recruit them to our cause, but they speak a strange language that no man can comprehend—caused a lot of misunderstandings, that.” She fingered a scar on her forehead. “So Normandy it is, then! The Unavoidable and the Undefeatable can set sail in the morning.
“And finally!” Valeria raised her drinking pot. “We owe our victory here today to the courage, foresight, and ingenuity of one person. Let’s drink to him!”
Silo cast his eyes around the room to find this paragon of virtue and then realized, to his astonishment, that she was looking at him.
“Silo’s the one who brought us all together,” said Valeria, “and as a result we’ve dealt a serious blow to the Division. He’s a seer, and he could have gone for an easy life as a government-approved one, but when he found out what a bunch of bandits they were, he chose to come home to warn his countrymen and to fight for the cause of freedom. He escaped from the Unicorn Tower, he’s kept Maximillian out of the clutches of the Division, and thanks to him Black Tom was able to mount an ambush. So the boy’s done good. Only ten years old, but with a price on his head already—nice going! I vote we make him an honorary Raider.”
Black Tom lurched to his feet and brandished his drinking pot. “A toast to Silo Zyco! But from henceforth let him be known by the name his enemies call him! We drink to Zyco the Psycho!”
“No, really…” Silo hated being called Zyco the Psycho, but his protests went unheeded, for all around, people were raising their drinking pots and toasting him. “To Zyco the Psycho!”
He supposed he would just have to live with it.
The next morning Silo, Orlando, Maximillian, Ruby, and Valeria were standing on the deck of the Unstoppable. She had been renamed the Sea Pig and was under Black Tom’s command, and no longer looked quite the proud ship that had sailed under the flag of the red hand. Growler was meditatively scratching his fleas on the foredeck and Old Elijah, reclining in a hammock, was similarly engaged. The little merpig had been salvaged and now sat proudly on the prow, its snout upraised and its tail lashing as of old.
The waters about them were swarming with sailors and ships and scurrying tenders, for preparations were under way to evacuate the not-so-secret Raiders’ base. Shouted commands and the splash of oars arose all around them, and loud over all was a cacophony of hammering and sawing as shipwrights set to work repairing the damage to the Government’s old fleet. The new captains, drawn from the ranks of the Raiders, were busy recruiting crews, and the children who had escaped from the Unicorn Tower were among them. Silo could see their familiar figures at work on neighboring ships—scrubbing decks, coiling ropes, getting entangled in rigging, and, in one case, falling overboard. They had embraced the nautical life with a will, but it might take them a little while to get the hang of it.
The Unavoidable and the Undefeatable had just set sail, following the old river down to the open sea and Normandy, there to dispose of their unwanted cargo. Silo dearly hoped that Elgarth would be part of it, but he had his doubts. Elgarth seemed to have a gift for getting others into trouble while sliding out of it himself, and Silo had seen no sign of either him or Rankly since the gratifying incident with the vomit. It would have been easy enough for them to slip away amid the chaos of battle, and Sentral Lundun provided hiding places aplenty. His gloomy thoughts were broken by a mighty roar from Black Tom: “Cast off fore and aft! Man the rigging!”
Tom was eager to try out his new ship and had insisted on taking them all to the Island, although as he steered an erratic course through a mass of shipping Silo rather wished that Valeria were at the helm.
“The Sea Pig lives to fight again!” cried Black Tom. “Henceforth government folk will tremble when they see her sails on the horizon!”
Innkeepers too might fear her approach, but Silo kept his thoughts to himself.
—
Later that day the Sea Pig was sailing before a fair wind. The long low line of the marsh was visible on their starboard bow and Silo eyed it through his new telescope, prey to strange and mixed emotions. He remembered the distant dreams he had nursed when the Island was his home—of working for the Government and being acknowledged as a great seer. If he ever returned, it was to have been in glory, rich and respected. In his fantasies the Islanders had been deeply apologetic for ever having doubted his worth, and for never having spotted greatness when it walked among them. But the fates had decreed otherwise, and instead he was back after only a few months, a hunted fugitive with a price on his head. He scowled darkly at the featureless coastline, and as he did so his reverie was broken by a mournful lowing: Moooo-OOH! Moooo-OOH! Moooo-OOH! The horn on the lookout tower was sounding to signal their approach, and at its familiar note Silo raised his telescope and scanned the distant contours of his old home.
But it was not as he remembered it. The Island had changed, and strangely. The little alleys that ran down to the water had been blocked off with mud walls that bristled with spikes, and behind them he could see rows of figures clutching eel spears. Archers stood on the roof of the meeting hall with their bows at the ready, and a small crowd was standing atop the lookout tower. Then a hostile voice came drifting across the water: “Bog off, gitfaces!”
Orlando grinned. “Glad to be home, Silo?” he said.
“Looks like they’ve fortified the place,” said Black Tom.
“Yeah,” said Valeria approvingly. “Seems like they’ve been expecting company, and planning to put up a fight.”
Then an excited voice rang out f
rom the lookout. “It’s Silo!” It was Ben Mudford, and evidently his eyesight was as sharp as ever. “It’s all right, it’s Silo—he’s come home!”
Silo ran his telescope over the waiting crowd. Ben was waving enthusiastically, so too were Lula and Lily, but he saw no signs of universal joy. The majority of the Islanders were muttering to one another, and Silo could guess exactly what about: bad luck, unnatural powers, thieving Zycos, ill-gotten Eel Rights, and all the usual. As the stretch of water between him and his old home grew narrower, he found his mood growing blacker by the minute and wished he had never come. But it was too late now. It was high tide and Black Tom was able to bring the Sea Pig right up alongside the quay, striking it with a thud that shook it to its foundations, and a moment later Ben was pushing through the crowd to greet them.
“Hello, Silo! Hello, Silo’s friends! You’re very welcome! It’s been a long time since we had a ship in harbor. Why, not since…”
He paused, his brow creased in thought, but Silo remembered the Chronicles by heart and was able to help him out.
“Twenty-fifth of November 302. The Minotaur dropped by. There was a big fight and Clive Zyco impaled the captain with an eel spear.”
“Yeah, well, we come in peace.” Valeria stepped ashore and the Islanders shrank back a little, staring at her in wonder. She cut a striking figure among the muddy, sack-wearing masses: fierce, as exotic as a unicorn, and almost impossibly clean.
“We brought you some presents,” she said. And so she had—a random collection of items that had been found floating in Ludgate Canal: a barrel of tea, six cases of corned beef, and Mrs. Morgan’s luggage. “And I’d like to talk to your headman. Any chance of a meeting?”
“Of course!” Ben beamed. “Meeting in the big hall, everyone!”
He led the way, Valeria at his side and the Islanders streaming up the alley behind them, whispering and muttering among themselves. Silo felt their eyes upon him, but when he returned their gaze they turned hastily away. They were deliberately avoiding him, that much was obvious, and he dropped scowling to the back of the crowd. But when he reached the top of the alley and the Chronicle Keeper’s hut he paused. It had been the scene of the happiest times he could remember on the Island, his home after Ryker had taken him under his wing, but even so he had still been pretty miserable. It had been a mistake to come back, he realized. It brought back a flood of unhappy memories. The Islanders distrusted him as much as ever, and as for his warning about the Division, Valeria could have delivered that just as easily. As he stood brooding, Lily and Lula dashed out of the crowd that was shoving its way into the meeting hall.
Silo and the Rebel Raiders Page 21