Fetcher’s Song: The Hidden Series 3

by Lian Tanner

  They weren’t scuttling now; they didn’t have the strength. Many of them limped; some of them wore bloodstained bandages. One man, close to the front, rode in a wheeled chair, with a protective cordon around him.

  Every one of them, man and bratling, showed the unmistakable signs of hunger. But the Devouts’ faces were still grim with purpose, and the bratlings looked as if they had fallen into a nightmare and didn’t know how to wake up.

  As they hobbled closer, someone behind Dolph cried out, ‘There’s my Dovesy! Dovesy!’

  One of the smaller hostages sobbed in distress. A townswoman pushed past Dolph and fell to her knees, crying, ‘Gracious sirs, don’t hurt her, I beg you!’

  She might as well not have spoken. The Devouts stumbled past her, four abreast.

  ‘Where are they going?’ whispered Dolph. ‘They must know we’ll follow ‘em.’

  ‘Maybe there’s food somewhere,’ said Krill. ‘I’ve heard they collect it from the villages every quarter. Maybe it’s on its way. And if they’ve got food and hostages, I’m not sure what we can do.’

  The Devouts drew level with the watching army, and shipfolk and Sunkers fell back with a groan and let them pass. The mountain of food that the rats had stolen from the Citadel was still where it had been dropped, and although Krill had been feeding the townsfolk from it for days, it looked no smaller. When the Devouts saw it, they surged towards it, snatching up bacon, biscuits and salted herring, and stuffing them into their mouths, then filling their arms with whatever they could carry. They seized water bottles from the camp too, and bedrolls, and loaded them onto the bratlings.

  The watching army groaned again, and so did the townsfolk, but there was nothing they could do. Even Adm’ral Deeps wouldn’t order an attack, not when the lives of so many bratlings were at stake.

  But as the last of the Devouts came out of the Citadel, Dolph and Missus Slink fell in behind them. So did a couple of Sunkers, then more and more of both crews, until the entire army was shuffling along at the same snail’s pace as the Devouts. Krill and his cooks brought up the rear, rolling barrels of supplies.

  ‘Devouts’ll have to stop some time,’ Dolph said to Missus Slink. ‘They’ll have to sleep some time. And when they do, we’ll get ’em.’

  DO YOU THINK ME SO GULLIBLE?

  Gwin woke with a headache, and the sun glaring in her eyes. It hadn’t been so bright for days, and her first thought was that it would be good travelling weather, which might cheer Papa up a little.

  Her second thought was that either Nat or Papa must have got up early, because the cart was swaying and rattling beneath her, and she could hear Spindle’s hoofs on the road.

  She felt a wave of relief. For weeks she’d been the one to wake up first, to cook breakfast, to make sure they set off at a reasonable hour. She’d sung when she didn’t feel like it, struggled to make things work the way they were supposed to, carried the burden of being a Fetcher almost entirely by herself.

  And now at last someone else was doing their share. Which was just as well, because Gwin’s head was so sore that she wondered if she was sickening for something. Her wrists were sore too, which was odd. Perhaps she wasn’t sick; perhaps she’d just slept in the wrong position.

  She tried to sit up.

  Somewhere above her a deep voice said, ‘The Fetcher pup is awake, Brother Poosk. Shall I toss her out of the cart to walk with the others?’

  It was a long way down the coast road to the Citadel. With the prisoners walking, Brother Poosk could no longer push Spindle so hard, but neither was he willing to let them rest more than necessary. Every day, they set off before sunrise. At dusk, they lit the torches and kept going far into the night.

  Gwin was used to walking great distances, but not like this, with a rope around her wrists and despair in her heart.

  She’d fought for so long to hold things together, to keep her family safe. She’d tried and tried and tried with all her strength, and it had come to nothing.

  That was bad enough. But then she overheard Brother Poosk congratulating himself on having captured Hilde, the woman he’d been sent to find. ‘And such good fortune,’ he crowed, ‘that I also stumbled across the Fetchers and the mechanical boy.’

  At which point Gwin realised the awful truth. The Devouts hadn’t been chasing her little family at all, not at the beginning. They’d been hunting Hilde, who Gwin had rescued. In trying to make things work the way they were supposed to, she had doomed them all.

  It was too much to bear. By the end of the day, she had retreated into a merciful numbness, where she didn’t have to think or feel or care about anything.

  And so they travelled south. Every now and again Papa or Nat or Hilde tried to coax Gwin out of her silence, but she didn’t even raise her head.

  Brother Poosk, in contrast, was growing more cheerful by the day. Once, he turned to his prisoners and cried, ‘Your days are numbered, Fetchers. Make the most of what you have left. Dance! Sing! Tell your stories to the birds and the stones.’

  Cull and Bartle sniggered, but Papa looked at Gwin, then cleared his throat and began to sing in a voice that was little more than a croak,

  ‘There once was – a girl, a blue-eyed girl,

  A girl with a song

  And a bold bold heart—’

  He hadn’t even finished the first verse when Brother Poosk interrupted him. ‘Enough! I have never heard such rubbish.’

  And that was the end of that.

  Some time later, Nat twitched as if he’d heard something unexpected. ‘Bird,’ he whispered.

  Gwin plodded along beside him, too numb to even wonder what he was talking about.

  ‘Pigeon,’ murmured Nat.

  And that was the end of that.

  Except it wasn’t. Not quite. That night, Gwin’s exhausted sleep was interrupted by a rough whisper. ‘Wakey-wakey, shipmate.’

  ‘Nnnh,’ mumbled Gwin.

  A tiny paw raised one of her eyelids, and a long whiskered nose peered at her. ‘You in there, shipmate? Still got all your circuits? Listen, Petrel and crew’ve caught up with us. They’re worn to the bone with runnin’, and could do with a good meal, but they’ve got news. D’you know the Grand Monument? They’re gunna trot ahead and wait for us there. So when you see a big pile of rocks on the seaward side, you be ready to move.’

  And he dashed away, leaving Gwin to close her eyes and go back to sleep.

  Next morning, as usual, the Devouts ate a lavish breakfast while giving little to their hungry prisoners. But even Gwin couldn’t help noticing that Brother Poosk was not happy.

  ‘I tell you, there was more bacon left,’ he snapped. ‘And now there is barely enough for a single meal. How do you explain that, Brother Bartle? Hmm? You were on guard last night. Did you think I would not notice?’

  ‘It was not me, Brother,’ protested Bartle, as he buckled Spindle’s harness. ‘I did not go near the bacon. Perhaps there was not as much as you thought—’

  ‘I do not make mistakes.’

  ‘Then it must have been Cull.’

  But Cull swore it hadn’t been him, and they argued for half the morning, as the cart creaked onwards.

  Gwin wondered if she should be watching out for a pile of rocks. But it felt like too much effort, and as the hours wore on and nothing happened, she knew she was right.

  No one’s going to save us. It’s the end of three hundred years of Fetchers.

  Nat edged closer to her and whispered, ‘You all right?’

  Gwin said nothing.

  Nat left her alone for a few minutes, then edged back. This time his whisper was even quieter. ‘I can hear something. Under the cart. Like someone sawing wood.’

  Gwin couldn’t hear a thing over the rattle of the wheels. She considered telling her brother about Mister Smoke, but if she did, he’d only be disappointed when nothing happened. So she kept her mouth shut.

  As the sun sank over West Norn, Brother Poosk dug in the pocket of his robe and pulled ou
t Papa’s heirloom. ‘Ah, Fetcher, I had almost forgotten. Come up here and tell me about your timepiece. Quickly now, before the last of the light disappears.’

  Bartle, who was driving, raised the whip, and Papa shuffled forward at the end of his rope.

  ‘What is this?’ asked Brother Poosk, stabbing his finger at the face of the heirloom.

  Exhausted though he was, Papa was still a Fetcher, and as he limped along beside the cart he did his best to explain. ‘It predicts the – aspects of the moon. When it will be – new. When it will be – full.’

  Gwin thought she saw something in the gloom ahead. A great pile of stones, as big as five or six village huts set one on top of the other.

  The cart rolled towards it. Brother Poosk interrupted Papa’s explanations to say, ‘I am not stupid, Fetcher. I know that is the moon. I was talking about this bit here.’ And he poked at the heirloom again.

  ‘I believe that is when – the moon and the – sun come together,’ croaked Papa. ‘And turn – the middle of the day – into night.’

  ‘Turn day into night?’ said Brother Poosk, his voice rising in disbelief. ‘I have never heard anything so ridiculous. This is just one of your stories. Do you think me so gullible?’

  Papa shook his head. ‘It is called – eclipse. There is one – coming very soon. In fact—’ He appeared to be counting the days in his head. ‘I think – it is tomorrow. At noon. It is getting too dark to see – but in the morning – you will notice how the little hand – points.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Brother Poosk, with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘Cull, light a torch so I can see.’

  By the time the torch was lit, and jammed into its bracket on the side of the cart, they were passing the Grand Monument. Poosk studied the heirloom curiously, then turned back to Papa. ‘How does the timepiece know about this – eclipse?’

  Halfway through an uncertain explanation, Papa stumbled over a rut in the road, and almost fell.

  ‘Keep up, Fetcher,’ said Brother Poosk. He twisted in his seat. ‘Woman, come and help him. I have more questions.’

  Hilde hesitated, and Cull, who was walking close by, raised his cudgel in a half-hearted fashion, as if he was sick to death of the prisoners but would still beat them if they gave any trouble. ‘Move,’ he grunted.

  Hilde limped forward and put her arm around Papa’s waist.

  ‘Tiny wheels, you say?’ prompted Poosk. ‘What makes them go?’

  Behind them, the Grand Monument was almost lost in the darkness. I was right, Gwin thought numbly. No one’s going to save us.

  A heartbeat later, Nat leaned towards her and whispered, ‘Someone’s coming. Up ahead.’

  The figure was almost upon them before Gwin saw it. ‘Brother!’ cried a boy’s voice. ‘Brother Poosk!’

  It was Fin, and he was panting, as if he’d been running hard. As he came into the torchlight, Gwin thought she heard a sound from Hilde.

  ‘Brother, I am so glad – to have found you,’ gasped Fin. ‘I must tell you – no, do not stop, I will walk along with you – the most amazing – thing has happened—’

  Brother Poosk leaned forward, saying, ‘What is it, boy?’

  ‘I am sorry, I have a – a stitch,’ panted the Initiate, clutching his side.

  ‘Never mind your stitch, what is your news? Is it from the Citadel? You did reach the Citadel, did you not? Cull, come here.’

  Cull hurried towards the front of the cart. Nat hissed through his teeth, as if he’d heard something else—

  With an earsplitting crack, the cart’s axle snapped.

  Poosk and Bartle were thrown off the cart and onto the roadway, where they sprawled, cursing at the tops of their voices. The mule kicked Cull and sent him flying.

  Petrel and Sharkey dashed out of the darkness.

  ‘Treachery!’ screeched Poosk.

  A knife appeared in Fin’s hand and he slashed right through Spindle’s harness. Bartle scrambled to his feet and brought the whip down on the Initiate’s arm. Fin cried out and dropped his knife, but before Bartle could grab him, Spindle bellowed and galloped off down the road, knocking the Devout back to the ground in the process.

  Nat’s head swivelled back and forth, trying to follow what was happening. Sharkey leapt into the broken cart and grabbed hold of the mechanical boy. At the same time, Petrel sawed through the ropes that tied Gwin and Nat to the cart.

  Gwin didn’t move. The shock of the rescue had ripped the numbness away, like a scab off a wound. But now she found herself paralysed by self-doubt. In saving Hilde she had brought disaster upon her family. What if she did the wrong thing again? What if she made things worse? What if people died because of her?

  Beside her, Nat gasped, ‘Papa? Hilde?’

  ‘We’ll get ’em.’And Petrel ran forward.

  But Bartle was on his feet again, and now he wielded the Initiate’s knife. Poosk screamed instructions. Cull staggered towards the cart and seized the mechanical boy’s legs. A desperate tug of war began.

  Petrel left Papa and Hilde, and raced to help Sharkey with the mechanical boy. But the two of them were not enough. With a shout, Cull jerked the limp body out of their grasp.

  Petrel and Sharkey hesitated. Bartle roared and raced towards them. The children dodged away from him, but at the last minute, Petrel dashed back and grabbed both Gwin and Nat by the hand.

  Nat cried, ‘Papa!’

  ‘Run!’ shouted Papa. ‘Run!’

  And with that, the two Fetcher children were dragged off the road and into the darkness, leaving Papa, Hilde and the mechanical boy in the clutches of the Devouts.

  THE GRAND MONUMENT

  Petrel could hardly believe it. She and her friends had driven themselves to the point of exhaustion and beyond to catch up with the ox-cart. They had cut across country several times, never sure if they would be able to find the road again. They had scoured the area around the Grand Monument to find the right place for the attack, and chewed their fingernails almost to the quick while they waited for the cart. And after all that, they had failed to rescue the captain.

  She was furious with herself, and furious with the Fetcher bratlings too, but she said nothing, just hustled them through the undergrowth as fast as she could, with Sharkey and Fin bringing up the rear. She’d scouted this route earlier, while there was still light, going over it until she knew it almost as well as she knew the passages of the Oyster.

  There was a cry of triumph in the distance, followed by a barrage of cursing. The Fetcher boy jerked to a halt so suddenly that Fin almost ran into him. ‘What was that?’

  It was probably Mister Smoke leading the Devouts astray, but Petrel wasn’t going to say so. She hadn’t forgiven the boy’s sister for betraying the captain, which was why they were in this mess in the first place. ‘Get a move on.’

  The boy didn’t budge. ‘What about our father?’

  ‘Nothing we can do about him,’ said Sharkey, from somewhere in the darkness. ‘Or your ma.’

  ‘She’s not—’

  ‘Count yourselves lucky that we got you two away,’ snapped Petrel. ‘Now are you coming, or do you want to wait for Poosk and his bully boys?’

  They didn’t go directly to the Grand Monument. Instead, Petrel took a devious path, avoiding the soft ground that would mark their passing. By the time they reached the monument, the Fetcher bratlings were flagging badly.

  ‘How much further?’ whispered the boy.

  At the sound of his voice, there was a whine from the bushes and the dog came barrelling towards them.

  ‘Keep him quiet!’ hissed Fin, and the Fetcher boy fell to his knees, whispering, ‘Hush, Wretched! Yes, Gwin’s here too. Hush!’

  Somewhere nearby, Rain murmured, ‘Sorry, Petrel, the dog wriggled away from me. Have you got the captain?’

  ‘No!’ Petrel’s frustration spilled out in a stream of words. ‘All we’ve got is the Singer and her brother, and now Poosk and his men’ll be on high alert and I don’t see how we’
re gunna get near the cap’n again, and they’ll be after us as soon as they stop running in circles.’

  ‘The dog found a little shelter,’ whispered Rain. Petrel could just see Scroll, asleep on the other girl’s shoulder. ‘We could hide there while we work out what to do next. If we can get far enough in, we might be able to light the lantern.’

  The place the dog had found was really just a crevice between two of the stones that made up the Grand Monument. It was a bit of a scrabble even for Petrel, who was the smallest of the six. Sharkey, who was the biggest, had to take off his jerkin and wriggle and twist and squirm until he came out the other side scraped half raw.

  They found themselves in a narrow space, surrounded by stones piled upon stones. Water dripped from a point above Petrel’s head, and puddled on the ground at her feet. ‘How do we get further in?’ she asked the darkness.

  ‘Here.’ A cold hand grasped Petrel’s and tugged her closer to the ground. ‘I have not been through, because I was afraid. But the dog went through and back again, and he did not come to any harm.’

  The gap in the stones was so close to the ground that Petrel had to lie on her belly to inspect it. She couldn’t see a thing, but her questing fingers told her that she’d probably fit through, though it’d be another tight squeeze for Sharkey.

  ‘Come on,’ she said. And she wriggled headfirst into the narrow space, feeling as if she was back on the Oyster, and trying to hide from Chief Engineer Albie.

  She could hear the others behind her, whispering to each other. At one point, Fin hissed with pain. Rain was singing, so quietly that only the occasional note reached Petrel. Scroll woke up and cooed in protest. The Fetcher girl’s beads clacked against stone, and her brother murmured something to the dog.

  Wish we’d left those two behind, thought Petrel. Wish we’d gone for the cap’n straight off, all three of us, and got him away before Poosk and his mates knew what was happening.