by Lian Tanner
Wretched, however, wriggled a welcome. He liked children, and if Gwin had given the slightest sign, he would’ve trotted forward to meet them.
Gwin didn’t move. I have to save Papa and Nat—
The small girl put her hands on her hips. ‘You betrayed our cap’n. He’s the hope of the world, and you gave him to Poosk. If we were on the Oyster, shipfolk’d chuck you overboard without thinking twice.’
The other girl, the one who’d hung back, said, ‘Petrel, ask her about – you know.’
Wretched’s tail thumped against Gwin’s leg.
‘I don’t want to.’ Petrel’s whole body radiated anger. ‘What if she says yes, what do we do with her then? We’d have to take her along with us, and I can hardly bear to look at her as it is.’
‘Ask her anyway,’ said the boy with the eye patch.
Petrel grimaced and said, ‘Hey, traitor. Are you the Singer?’
I have to save Papa and Nat, thought Gwin, and she stepped around Wretched.
Petrel dodged in front of her. ‘I said, are you the Singer?’
Gwin didn’t answer.
Petrel glowered, worse than ever, and turned to the tall boy with the white hair. ‘Fin? What d’you reckon?’
It was only when the white-haired boy spoke that Gwin realised he was the Initiate, without his robes. ‘You know what I think.’ He was as angry as Petrel. ‘She cannot be the one.’
‘Sharkey?’ said Petrel.
The boy with the eye patch shrugged. ‘Mister Smoke sounded pretty sure of it.’
‘Rain?’
The quiet girl was on her knees by then, with her hand out to Wretched. She studied Gwin for a long moment. ‘I think I remember you,’ she said at last. ‘You were part of the circus that came to my village when I was seven. You sang the Hope song, and your brother could hear the world breathing. Why will you not talk to us?’
‘Because she’s bad through and through.’ Petrel turned away in disgust. ‘But if she’s the one who sang the Hope song, we’ll have to take her with us. Sharkey?’
The boy with the eye patch was much quicker than Brother Cull. He grabbed hold of Gwin’s arm, just above the elbow. And almost before she realised what was happening, her hands were tied in front of her and she was a prisoner.
THE HIDDEN PATH
The children hurried south for the rest of the day, first running, then walking, then running again. At first Wretched clung to Gwin’s side, but before long he was sniffing Rain’s hand, then wagging his tail and bouncing along as if this was just another day on the roads of West Norn. Whenever they slowed to a walk, Petrel or Sharkey questioned Gwin or asked her to sing the Hope song.
Gwin didn’t answer. The rope chafed her wrists, and all she could think of was how she might escape from it, and use Ariel’s Way to get ahead of Papa and Nat.
I have to save them. I HAVE to save them.
But no matter how she twisted and flexed her hands, the knots stayed firm, and Sharkey kept a tight hold on the other end of the rope. So Gwin stopped trying to escape, and started listening to her captors’ conversation.
According to Petrel, the Citadel would be under attack by now. There were people called Sunkers, and others called Shipfolk, and they were trying to bring the Devouts down. To defeat them. To free West Norn from tyranny.
In any other circumstances, Gwin would’ve laughed. The Citadel under attack? Someone trying to defeat the Devouts? It was like the old stories; everyone loved listening to them, but no one was silly enough to believe them.
Still, it made her look twice at the other children. Three of them might wear boots, but from the sound of it, they loathed the Devouts almost as much as she did.
She tried to gather her thoughts. What if I can’t get away from them? What do I do then? Take them with me onto the secret paths?
She flinched away from the thought, then slowly circled back to it. There was still no sign of the ox-cart, which meant that Cull must be driving Spindle hard.
We won’t catch them, thought Gwin, not if we stick to the road. And we have to catch them. I have to save Papa and Nat. I have to!
She didn’t say anything until after they had passed the turn-off and were heading along the Northern Road towards the coast. They were all flagging by then, and Gwin’s throat felt as if it was lined with knives.
‘We won’t – catch up with them – like this,’ she croaked.
‘What?’ Petrel didn’t slow her pace. ‘What’re you talking – about? Mister Smoke said we would catch ’em. And I’d trust him – a lot more than I’d trust you.’
‘He’s wrong,’ croaked Gwin. ‘Papa says—’ She wanted to howl like a lost dog, but if she started she might never stop. ‘Papa says Spindle’s – descended from the same line as the blue ox, which means he’s faster and stronger – than any other ox in West Norn. They might drive him all night. But we’ll have to – rest some time.’
The four children looked at each other and slowed down a little. Sharkey said, ‘We’ve gotta catch them. Otherwise the cap’n’s done for.’
And so were Nat and Papa. ‘There’s a—’ Gwin swallowed. She’d never imagined saying these words to anyone except another Fetcher. But today her whole life had been turned upside down, and the old rules no longer applied.
Besides, she thought, if I don’t save Papa and Nat, there won’t be any other Fetchers.
‘There’s a shortcut,’ she said. ‘If we take it, we should catch them at Quorky.’
Fin stared at her. ‘I have never heard of a shortcut on the Northern Road.’
‘And even if there is one,’ Sharkey pulled a face, ‘wouldn’t Poosk take it?’
‘It’s a trap,’ Petrel said bluntly. ‘She’s gunna try and sell us, like she did the cap’n.’
Rain was more out of breath than any of them, partly because she insisted on singing as well as running. ‘Mama once told me that Fetchers can – disappear – from right under the noses – of the Devouts. Perhaps it is – a secret shortcut.’
Fin shook his head. ‘The Devouts would have found it. I agree with Petrel. It is a trap.’
‘Devouts don’t find everything,’ said Sharkey. ‘Didn’t find us Sunkers for three hundred years. I say we give it a try.’
Gwin wanted to scream at them, Make up your minds. Quickly!
But screaming wouldn’t help Nat and Papa.
At last Petrel nodded, without losing her hostile expression. ‘We’ll try your shortcut, traitor. But don’t you get tricksy. You lead us straight, or else.’
It was another couple of miles before Gwin saw the signs. Night was falling by then, but she picked out the telltale scattering of rocks, the scuff mark on the trunk of a tree and the scraping of sheep’s wool. By themselves they meant nothing, but together – she drew a ragged breath – together they were as clear as written directions.
She wished she could blindfold her companions, as she’d done with Hilde. But they would never agree to such a thing, and besides, it would slow them down too much. So she just whispered, ‘Forgive me, Ariel. But I have to save Nat and Papa.’Then, feeling horribly sick at what she was about to do, she dragged Sharkey up the bank.
It wasn’t easy to unweave the hedgerow with her hands still tied, especially in the growing darkness. But Sharkey caught on quickly, and between them they bent the branches back until there was a small gap.
Wretched was the first one through. As soon as the other children followed him, Gwin wove the branches back together as best she could. Then she led four strangers – unblindfolded – onto Ariel’s Way.
This particular part of the Way was what Mama used to call a ‘rale’, though there were two of them, rusty iron lines that were completely buried in some places, while in others they ran along the top of the ground like upside-down wheel ruts. The trees grew over them in an arch, as if to protect them from prying eyes.
‘I never knew such a thing existed,’ whispered Rain.
Sharkey looked up at the moonlight t
hat filtered through the trees and murmured, ‘It’s almost like being in the Undersea.’
Fin and Petrel didn’t say a word. But they watched Gwin closely, as if they expected nothing from her but wickedness.
The rale took them down into a valley and through a cutting in the hills. They passed blocks of stone tumbled willy-nilly across the landscape, and brick walls that only stood upright because of the vines that had grown around them, and hoops of rusty iron that looked as if they had burrowed up from beneath the earth and were waiting for someone to find a use for them.
By midnight they were all limping, and so tired that Petrel and her friends were holding each other up.
No one held Gwin up. She lurched along at the end of the rope, clenching and unclenching her fists. And when they stopped in the early hours of the morning for a brief sleep, she wrapped her arms around her brother’s dog and whispered, ‘Tomorrow night, Wretched. We’ll be in Quorky by then, and Brother Poosk will have to stop for the ferry. That’s where we’ll catch them. That’s where we’ll save Papa and Nat.’
Because of the ferry, Quorky wasn’t quite as poor as the villages around it. No one except the Devouts had any money, of course, so most people paid their fees with cabbage seeds, or dried fish heads, or a wizened apple that had been hidden from the quarterly tithe. In a hungry land, cabbage seeds and apples were riches.
Sharkey untied Gwin’s wrists so as not to attract unwanted attention, then the five children stumbled, exhausted, down to the riverbank. There was already a crowd of forty or so waiting for the night crossing. But there was no sign of the ox-cart.
Gwin looked around frantically. Could Poosk have crossed already? Had she missed her only chance?
She could feel something building up in her throat, but before she could make a sound, she heard Spindle. Or rather, she heard the cart.
She stumbled back a few steps, and saw the old ox trotting down the road towards the ferry, his chest lathered with sweat. Bartle was driving, with Poosk beside him, while Cull guarded Papa, Nat and Hilde. The mule followed behind on a long rein.
Gwin’s relief was so great that her legs wouldn’t hold her, and she slumped down on the trampled grass, feeling as if her bones had melted. Wretched stood next to her with his nose twitching in the direction of the cart and a whine starting in his throat.
‘Hush!’ whispered Gwin, and she grabbed the scruff of his neck and dragged him behind a couple of old women, so that Brother Poosk wouldn’t see them.
The other four children sprawled around her, pretending a complete lack of interest in the Devouts and their prisoners. Gwin listened to their whispering.
‘Can you see the cap’n, Fin?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Reckon he’s still there?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘How are we going to rescue him, Petrel? Uncle Poosk will not . . .’ Rain’s voice trailed off in a whisper of song. ‘How tall the tree, The first to fall—’
‘Don’t know yet,’ said Petrel.
‘Attack ’em midstream,’ whispered Sharkey. ‘All those people on board, it’ll be chaos. We dive overboard in the middle of it and take the cap’n with us.’
Fin shook his head. ‘I cannot swim.’
‘Neither can I,’ whispered Rain. And there was the Hope song again. ‘How wise to flee the worst of all—’
None of them said anything about saving Papa and Nat. But Gwin didn’t care. She was making her own plans.
‘Perhaps we could—’ Fin began.
Petrel interrupted him. ‘Shhh! They’re coming.’
Rain ducked behind Sharkey, her face pale. The ox-cart rolled through the crowd, with Poosk talking loudly to Bartle, as if the watching villagers did not exist.
‘They thought they were sending me on a wild goose chase, and that when I failed, they would hang me. But I have not failed; I have done what no one else could do. Which means there will be changes at the Citadel. You will see, Brother Bartle.’ His eyes were bright and hard, and he looked like a completely different man from the one who had made that false bargain for the mechanical boy.
Wretched growled softly. Gwin stroked his ears and whispered, ‘Shhh!’
‘They will not treat me the way they used to,’ continued Brother Poosk. ‘I will not tolerate it. They will not say no to me. They will not slam doors in my face, and tell me to wait—’
The ferryman had been in his hut. Now he came hurrying out, bowing and smiling and wringing his hands. ‘Kind sirs, gracious sirs! You wish to cross the mighty River Quor? We’ll be happy to oblige, if you’ll just wait a little while.’
It was an unfortunate choice of words. Brother Poosk turned his hard, bright eyes on the man. ‘Wait? No, I will not wait. You will take us across now.’
The ferryman’s smile froze on his face. ‘But it’s too dangerous, gracious sir. The tidal b—’
‘Are you deaf?’ said Poosk.
‘No, grac—’
‘Stupid?’
‘No, gr—’
‘Wilfully disobedient to an order from your betters?’
The ferryman blanched. ‘No, no! We will take you across, gracious sir! Right now!’
Brother Poosk sat back with an air of satisfaction.
But the ferryman had obviously dealt with Devouts before. He dragged a filthy scrap of paper out of his jerkin and said, ‘If sir will just sign here, proof that he insisted? See, when we all drown, Citadel’s going to come down hard on my wife and children, and blame me for—’
‘When we drown?’ interrupted Cull, leaning forward.
‘Yes, sir. When the tidal bore comes through we’ll be dragged under. You will have seen it on your way west, yes? How the wave rushes upstream like a maddened bull at the turn of the tide? Nothing can stand in its way, gracious sir, particularly not my little barge—’
‘Brother Poosk,’ said Cull. ‘A short wait will make little difference.’
Poosk glared at him, then turned back to the ferryman. ‘When does this tidal bore come?’
‘Main wave should be through shortly after sundown, gracious sir. But then there’s the following waves, which we call ruffles—’
‘We will go directly after the main wave,’ snapped Poosk.
His prisoners took no notice of this exchange. Papa and Nat were leaning against each other, as if that was the only comfort they could find. Hilde sat beside them with her face in her bound hands.
I’ll save her too, if I can, thought Gwin. I hope she can swim.
The ferryman was protesting again, as strongly as he dared. ‘Sir, the ruffles are not to be treated lightly—’
‘Do you wish to keep your pathetic little ferry?’ snarled Poosk.
‘Y-Yes, gracious sir! Directly after the main bore, of course, sir!’
Gwin nibbled the edge of her collar. If it’s dark and everyone’s watching out for the ruffles, it’ll make my job easier.
And for the briefest of moments she felt as if this unspeakable day might end better than it had begun.
That is, until Brother Poosk waved his hand at the waiting villagers and said, almost as an afterthought, ‘It will be too crowded with this riffraff on board. Leave them behind. We will have the ferry to ourselves.’
THE FERRY
Gwin was having trouble breathing. I have to go on that ferry!
All around her, people were whispering more or less the same thing.
‘Leave us behind?’ said one old woman, in a horrified voice. ‘But we’re burying my poor daughter and her baby first thing in the morning. I’ve got to get across!’
‘Don’t start fretting yet,’ said her companion. ‘Maybe the Master’ll change his mind.’
The man directly in front of them said over his shoulder, ‘Masters only change their minds when they might gain from it.’
‘They’ll gain all right if I miss my daughter’s burial,’ muttered the old woman, crossing her arms. ‘They’ll gain a clout over the head! See if they don’t!’
/> The man said, ‘You need a hammer, missus? I’ll lend you mine.’
‘Shhhh!’ murmured the companion. ‘Don’t say such things! You’ll get us all sent away.’
‘I’m past caring,’ said the old woman. ‘They take everything we’ve got, and still they want more.’ But she fell silent all the same.
Petrel turned to Rain. ‘Will he change his mind? What d’you reckon?’
‘I do not think so,’ whispered Rain, who was still hiding behind Sharkey. ‘Uncle Poosk does not care about other people.’
‘Then what do we do?’ Petrel’s face was desperate. ‘How can we save the cap’n if we can’t even get on the stinking ferry?’
No one had an answer for her.
Meanwhile, the ferryman was almost falling over himself in his desire to be agreeable. ‘Leave them behind? Certainly, sirs! Should we leave the quarterly tithe behind too, to give you more room? No rush for it, after all.’
Poosk eyed him. ‘Where is it?’
The ferryman pointed with his chin. ‘That pile of boxes and bags, gracious sir. Forty per cent of produce, going to the Citadel as required. There’s grain from last year’s harvest, and cabbages, and the last of our winter apples – we’d never say no to the Citadel, I’m sure they need it more than we do—’
The old woman hissed, so quick and sudden that only the people around her could tell where it came from.
A shiver of excitement ran through the waiting crowd. Everyone knew that the Citadel had no need of extra grain or cabbages. The Devouts had too much already; they grew fat on it while the villagers starved. But no one dared protest, not where they might be overheard. Not usually.
Poosk scanned the crowd, his face hard. Then he turned back to the ferryman. ‘There are carts waiting for the tithe on the other side?’
‘Yes, gracious sir.’