Fetcher’s Song: The Hidden Series 3

by Lian Tanner

Gwin shook her head. None of this made sense, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Papa. Talking rat or not, she had to go and find him.

  She headed for the entrance, but the rat got there first. ‘Where’re you goin’, shipmate?’

  ‘Nowhere.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind doin’ this favour,’ said the rat.

  ‘No!’ Gwin tried to walk around him, but he was always there, right where she wanted to tread.

  Nat slid down from Spindle’s back and made his way carefully across the corral. ‘A rat?’ he said, still not believing it.

  ‘That’s me, shipmate. Rattus rattus. Sort of.’

  Gwin glared down at the creature. ‘Get out of my way. I have to go.’

  ‘Where?’This time it was her brother who asked.

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘You’re going after Papa?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Not without me,’ said Nat.

  Now Gwin glared at him. ‘Day before yesterday you said I was stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘That’s what you meant.’ She imitated him. ‘“Good thinking, Gwinith.”’

  Nat flushed. ‘I just—’

  ‘Thing is, shipmate,’ interrupted the rat, ‘I’ve been trying to get you by yourself for the last few days, and this is the closest I’ve come. You can argue all you like as long as it’s on the move. This way.’And he set off out of the corral, clearly expecting Gwin to follow.

  When she didn’t, he looked over his shoulder. ‘What’s the problem? Busted gaskets? Rusty valves?’

  ‘I’m not going with you. I’m going after Papa.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Nat.

  ‘Does Hob know?’ asked the rat, in a conversational tone. ‘No? Thought not. Would ’e stop you?’

  Gwin felt as if she had stumbled into a nightmare. First Papa, now this. She didn’t want to believe that a rat could talk, much less bargain. But there was the evidence, right in front of her.

  And Hob would stop her, without a doubt. Which meant—

  ‘What is it?’ she demanded. ‘This— This favour?’

  ‘Easier to show you, shipmate.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘Not long.’ The rat cocked its head. ‘So, you’re comin’?’

  ‘I haven’t got much choice, have I.’

  ‘Anchors aweigh then, shipmate,’ said the rat, at which Wretched began to scramble out of the manger.

  ‘Stay, Wretched,’ said Nat. ‘Stay there.’

  The rat led the way out of the corral and onto the mountain track. There he turned north, but not for long. Before they could run into Hob or anyone else, he climbed off the track and onto a side path that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years.

  Nat hesitated, then put his hand on his sister’s shoulder in an unspoken truce.

  Gwin guided him over the rough patches, whispering directions. ‘First bit’s steepish. Then there are five steps. Mind your head, there’s an overhang.’

  The rat peered at them, but said nothing.

  The path twisted and turned, climbed and fell. With every step Gwin took, her heart tried to drag her back the other way. Papa, we’re coming for you. Soon—

  ‘How much further?’ she called.

  The rat waited for them to catch up. ‘We’ll be there by six bells of the mornin’ watch.’

  ‘What’s that mean?’ asked Nat.

  ‘It means not long.’And the rat set off again.

  At last they came to a place where the rock face was pitted with caves. Some of them were no deeper than a foot or two; others disappeared into the darkness.

  The rat waved a paw at one of the darkest holes, as if inviting them to enter. ‘There you go, shipmates.’

  ‘What’s in there?’ asked Gwin.

  ‘Nothin’ that’ll ’urt you.’

  Gwin swallowed. ‘You go first.’

  The rat led them into a cave very similar to the one where the Fetchers had spent their first night in the mountains. Except this was even more derelict. Nat touched the worn walls. ‘It’s old.’

  ‘Been deserted for a century or so, shipmate, which makes it a good place for ’idin’ things that don’t wanna be found. Foller me.’ And the rat headed for a gap in the back wall.

  It was dark on the other side of the gap, and for once it was Gwin who was at a disadvantage. She and her brother swapped places, and Nat followed the sound of the rat’s paws, his fingers trailing along the rock wall.

  Through one cave, ducking their heads at the far side. Down a short tunnel, with rubble underfoot. Into another cave.

  ‘Hang on a bit,’ said the rat from somewhere in front of them. ‘Don’t want you trippin’ over anythin’ important.’

  Gwin heard a scratching sound and a lamp flickered to life. Shadows sprang up all around her.

  ‘There we are, shipmates,’ said Mister Smoke. And with an oddly shy gesture, he pointed to the far corner of the cave.

  Gwin picked up the lamp, took three steps forward – and stopped. ‘There’s someone lying on the ground,’ she whispered. ‘A boy—’

  ‘No,’ said Nat. ‘I’d be able to hear him breathing.’

  ‘Look closer, shipmate,’ said the rat.

  Gwin raised the lamp and crept forwards until she was almost touching the boy’s feet.

  It was then that she saw his face. One side of it was finely formed and beautiful. The other side was crushed, as if something had fallen on it.

  But it was neither the beauty nor the injury that made Gwin gasp and almost drop the lamp.

  ‘Nat,’ she breathed, and for a moment all thought of Papa vanished. ‘He’s made of silver!’

  THE SINGER AND THE SONG

  ‘Silver?’ Nat shuffled forward until his toe nudged the boy’s leg, then he knelt down and ran his hands over the still body. Gwin tried to breathe slowly and sensibly, but it wasn’t easy.

  Nat’s fingers found the boy’s face. ‘Who is he? What is he?’

  ’E’s the cap’n,’ said Mister Smoke. ’E’s a mechanical boy from the old times.’

  ‘A mechanical boy?’ Gwin’s eyes widened and a thrill of excitement ran through her. This was like Papa’s heirloom, only a hundred times better. This was—

  She stopped. Papa.

  ‘Cap’n’s clever as can be,’ said the rat, ‘only ’e got smashed by a rock and now all that cleverness is tucked away inside somewhere. I’ve mended what I can, with the materials I’ve got, and ’e’s woke up twice. But ’e won’t stay woke, which is why—’

  Gwin interrupted him. ‘We can’t help you, Mister Smoke. We don’t know anything about mechanicals.’ She turned to Nat. ‘We have to go after Papa.’

  Her brother touched the silver boy’s face one last time, and stood up.

  But Mister Smoke said, ‘It’s not mechanics I want you for, shipmate. It’s somethin’ else. Won’t cost you more than another minute or two. Then you can go.’ He winked up at Gwin. ‘With no one the wiser.’

  Gwin hesitated. That wink suggested there was still time for the rat to tell Hob what she was planning. A delay of a minute or two might be worth it, to get away unnoticed. ‘What is it?’

  Mister Smoke gestured towards the still figure. ‘I want you to sing to ’im.’

  It was so unexpected that Gwin almost choked. ‘You dragged Nat and me here to sing? When Papa is—’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said the rat. ‘I can see that your brother’s a bratlin’ of taste and distinction. But you’re the one that counts. I want you to sing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cos,’ said the rat.

  Gwin pulled her rabbit-skin jacket more tightly around her. One song couldn’t do any harm. ‘I’ll sing about Ariel—’

  ‘Nah,’ said Mister Smoke. ‘Give us the one about the tree.’

  ‘You mean the Hope song?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it.’

  ‘And then we can go? You won’t try and stop us? You won’t tell Hob what we�
�re doing?’

  ‘You ’ave my word, shipmate.’

  Gwin stared at her bare toes for a moment. Then she closed her eyes, cleared her throat and began to sing.

  ‘How tall the tree,

  ‘The first to fall—’

  Her voice might not be as beautiful as Mama’s, but it was just as strong. It filled the little room and drifted out to the cavelets on every side.

  ‘How wise to flee

  The worst of all—’

  She opened her eyes to draw breath – just in time to see the mechanical boy open his eyes.

  ‘The Song,’ he said.

  His voice was sweet and true, and it made the words dry up in Gwin’s mouth. Nat whispered, ‘Keep going!’

  So she did.

  ‘But hear the song

  The singer gives,

  The trunk is gone,

  The root still lives.’

  The silver face didn’t move, but the mechanical boy seemed to smile. ‘The Singer,’ he said. Then he closed his eyes – and all that sense of life and brightness was gone.

  Mister Smoke patted the boy’s forehead. ‘Cap’n? Cap’n?’

  There was no response.

  A small tool appeared in the rat’s paw. ‘I’m gunna ’ave to take ’im apart again, though I don’t know what good it’ll do. Now if I ’ad a Baniski coil, that’d be a different matter.’ And he began to turn something on the silver boy’s neck.

  ‘What did he mean, the song and the singer?’ asked Nat.

  ‘Before ’e was ’urt,’ said Mister Smoke, without looking up, ‘’e was searchin’ for a coupla things that’d ’elp us change the world. ’E found the Song a while back, but that wasn’t enough – ’e ’ad to find the Singer too. Now ’e’s done it.’

  ‘You mean Gwin is the Singer? She’s going to change the world?’

  ‘That’s the idea, shipmate.’

  ‘Me?’ Gwin couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. She was barely managing to hold her own family together – in fact, she wasn’t holding it together, because Papa was missing and she had no idea how she and Nat were going to save him. And now someone expected her to change the world? She would have laughed if she wasn’t so horrified.

  ‘This captain of yours has made a mistake,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t think so, shipmate.’ The rat raised a curved piece of silver, exposing a tangle of shiny string.

  ‘Of course he has. Look at him, he’s broken! He—He didn’t know what he was saying.’

  ‘Broken or not, shipmate, Cap’n always knows what ’e’s sayin’.’

  The lamp swung in Gwin’s hand. The shadows danced grotesquely. We should never have come here. ‘Nat, we must go. Now!’

  ‘Wait,’ said her brother. His face wore that reckless gleam again, as if he wanted to throw himself against something and dare it to break him. ‘If you’re going to change the w—’

  ‘I’m not. Come away, this is nothing to do with us.’

  ‘But don’t you want to know how—’

  ‘No! Come on! Or I’ll go after Papa by myself.’

  Nat didn’t move straight away. And when he did, his face was closed tight against her.

  For once, Gwin didn’t care. She just wanted him out of that cave. She wanted them both out of there. The mountains no longer felt safe.

  If anything, they were even more dangerous than the lowlands.

  HE’S BEEN TOOK

  The two children walked back towards the mountain village with Nat’s hand stiff and angry on Gwin’s shoulder.

  I don’t care, she thought. It’s all nonsense. Or maybe the mechanical boy mistook me for someone else. Either way, I don’t want anything to do with it.

  When Nat spoke, however, it was nothing to do with the mechanical boy. ‘Something’s happening further down the track. People. Lots of them.’

  Gwin quickened her pace. As they rounded the last bend, Wretched came running to meet them, his tail wagging furiously even as he whimpered.

  Hilde, Hob and a couple of others were hurrying up the track too, their faces grave. Behind them, the mountain people were pouring out of their little village, like ants from a nest. They carried bundles on their backs, with babies tied to some, and saucepans, ladles, pickaxes and spades to others. The younger children ran ahead with their own bundles, while the older ones drove cows or carried baskets full of pigeons.

  ‘What is it?’ said Gwin, as soon as she reached Hilde and Hob. ‘What’s happening?’

  Hob glanced at the man beside him – and Gwin realised it was Bony.

  Her stomach lurched. ‘Did you find Papa?’

  Bony shook his head sorrowfully. ‘He’s been took.’

  Gwin had been expecting this news for the last two days, but still it hit her like a hammer blow. ‘No,’ she whispered.

  ‘Devouts sprung him before he even got to Bale,’ continued Bony. ‘He dint admit to being Fetcher, not till they threatened to kill young’uns, and even then, he dint tell ’em ’bout us. But someone saw him coming off mountain road, and spilled to Devouts. Now they’s coming here. Three of ’em.’

  ‘So we’s clearing out,’ added Hob unnecessarily.

  ‘The Devouts are coming here?’ Nat’s fingers bruised Gwin’s shoulder. ‘Then you can’t go. You must stay and – and frighten them, like you did us. Perhaps they’ll run, and leave Papa behind—’

  ‘And if they don’t run,’ said Gwin, ‘then you can fight them.’

  Before Hob could reply, the crowd reached them, and Gwin found herself surrounded by a sea of clanking, chattering people. A ladle swatted her across the cheek. A baby tried to grab her hair beads. Men and women nodded as they passed, and shouted, over the noise, ‘Sorry ’bout your pa, Fetcher girl!’

  Gwin yelled at Hob over the ruckus, ‘Why are you all leaving? You can fight! There’s only three of them.’

  Hob shook his shaggy head. ‘If we fight and don’t kill ’em, they know we here. If we do kill ’em, other Devouts’ll come looking, to see where they got to. It’s not worth it.’ He raised his voice. ‘I said, not worth it!’

  ‘It is worth it,’ cried Gwin. ‘It’s Papa!’

  More cows came along, and a horde of children. Before Gwin could be swept away, Hob picked her up and set her down next to Nat and Hilde in a sheltered spot by the cliff face.

  Then he bent over and said in her ear, ‘Three hundred years we been doing like this. Strangers come, maybe we hide, maybe we frighten ’em. But Devouts be different. Always go deep into mountains when Devouts come, so they can’t find we. Our grandmas and grandpas did so, and our great-grandmas and grandpas, and all the great greats, right back to beginning. It’s kept us free, it has. Not gunna do different now, not even for Fetcher.’

  ‘But— But you said you could smell change coming,’ began Gwin. ‘At the Bring Back, you said there were signs—’

  ‘It’s no use,’ said Hilde. ‘I’ve tried everything. They’re leaving and we can’t stop them.’

  ‘You three best come with we,’ said Hob. ‘Bring liddle dog and ox too. Hide till Devouts give up and go away.’

  ‘No,’ said Nat and Gwin together.

  Hob eyed them. ‘And if Devouts take you, too? What then? You gunna babble about mountain folk? Hand over our lives in exchange for yours?’

  Nat shook his head. ‘We’re Fetchers. We don’t betray people.’

  Hob stared at him for a long moment, considering. Then he nodded, and turned to Hilde. ‘How about you? Come or stay?’

  Hilde tried to smile, but bit her lip instead. ‘I— I can’t leave them here alone. That’d be poor payment for them saving me from the masters. I’ll stay too.’

  ‘Well then,’ said Hob. ‘Wish you luck, and lots of it.’ He glanced up. ‘Here come your ox. You go anywhere, take him with you. Corral’s all closed up and hid.’

  He touched his finger to his forehead, as if that was the end of it. But then he looked at Gwin and hesitated. He and Bony whispered to each other. The sm
aller man hurried away.

  Gwin couldn’t think of a thing to say. Spindle trudged up the road towards them, pulling their cart. The mountain people parted on either side of him, then surged back together. The old ox stopped right in front of Nat, and pushed his nose into the boy’s chest.

  Nat didn’t move. Neither did Gwin, who was trying very hard not to panic. She hadn’t been able to save Mama. What if she couldn’t save Papa either?

  Bony came striding back with a pigeon in his hands. ‘This here bird,’ he said, ‘ain’t one of ours. We found her a while back, and she settled in nicely, so we kept her. She’ll fly to we, I reckon, if you loose her. She’m clever liddle thing.’

  He addressed the pigeon, saying, ‘You stay close to Fetchers. Hear me? Only fly back to us if ’n they send you. Go on, now.’

  The bird hopped onto Gwin’s fist. She stared at it. ‘But what—’

  ‘P’raps signs are right,’ said Hob. From his pocket, he produced a small scrap of cloth, a broken stylus and a stub of ochre. He handed them to Gwin. ‘P’raps there do be change comin’. If that be true, if you see other folk ready and willin’ to fight, and change roarin’ down like avalanche, then you loose bird, with message tied to leg. Not sayin’ for sure we’ll come. Not sayin’ we won’t.’

  And with that, he and Bony hurried away with the rest of the crowd.

  The last of the mountain people trickled past Gwin, brushing the road with straw as they went, so as to leave no sign of their passing. Slowly the noise lessened, until nothing remained but the shrike thrushes and the wind.

  And then it was just Gwin, Nat, Hilde and the pigeon, with Wretched grovelling at their feet, and Spindle in his harness.

  And somewhere below them, coming up the mountain track, the Devouts. And Papa.

  Dolph had hoped that the Devouts, used to high living and regular meals, would cave in straight away. But two days had passed since the rats had emptied the Citadel’s storerooms and larders, and there was no sign of surrender.

  ‘Two days is nothing,’ said Krill, standing by her shoulder as she watched the gates. ‘You know that, lass. And besides, they’ve still got water. Folk can go a long time without food if there’s water.’

  ‘I should’ve asked Missus Slink to do something about the well,’ Dolph said miserably. ‘I didn’t think of it.’