by Lucy Saxon
The greying man turned to Fox.
‘Fox, once you’ve dropped off Cat, I want you to meet me at our usual supplier’s. We’re bringing in more than usual this trip, and I’ll need all hands to carry things.’
‘You’re leaving him alone in the city on his first try?’ Fox asked in shock, jerking a thumb in Cat’s direction.
Harry shrugged.
‘He’ll have to learn sooner or later. Being part of this crew means being part of a family, and that means the lad has to help where he can, same as the rest of us. And we left you alone on your first try,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes, but I’d been pickpocketing for years before you found me. I knew what I was doing. He’s completely green – you can’t expect him to know what to do all on his own!’
Cat flushed at the implication that she needed someone to hold her hand.
‘I can handle myself, Fox. I’ll be fine on my own,’ she insisted hotly.
‘See? Lad says he’ll be fine. Let him prove it,’ Harry cut in before Fox could turn his anger on Cat. ‘Like I said, we don’t have deadweight on this ship. No arguments, the boy’s flying solo. Now get on with it – we’ll see you in a bit. Remember, Cat, half past five. The clock tower is the tallest building in the city, you can’t miss it. Keep an eye on the time, and don’t stray far from where Fox leaves you.’
Cat nodded, and Harry nudged Fox’s shoulder.
‘Go on, then, brat.’
Still scowling, Fox turned away from the group, walking out of the door without waiting for Cat to catch up. She sighed under her breath in frustration and raced after him, wondering again if all teenage boys were like him, or if he was just a special case.
Catching up with Fox halfway down the corridor, she elbowed him in the stomach, annoyed.
‘What was that for?’ he exclaimed.
‘You’re being an arse,’ she told him frankly, feeling a small thrill as she said one of many words deemed ‘impolite for ladies of her breeding’ by her father. ‘I’d appreciate it if you stopped. Besides, that can’t have hurt, you’ve got about six layers on,’ she added, rolling her eyes.
‘I haven’t “stopped” being an arse since I was younger than you. You’ll just have to deal with it.’
Cat scoffed, climbing the trap ladder with ease.
‘I highly doubt that. You were relatively personable before. So, to borrow a phrase from Matt, who peed in your porridge?’ she asked, standing to the side while Fox lowered the gangplank.
‘No one. And I don’t believe my bad mood is any of your business,’ he retorted sharply.
Cat let out a triumphant sound.
‘So you admit you’re in a bad mood?’
He growled quietly, ignoring the question, stalking past her down the slightly wobbly plank. Cat followed, picking up her pace while trying not to fall off the edge. Fox didn’t turn to check she was following, but strode on, weaving through the growing crowd with ease, coat flaring out behind him. She was surprised to see a distinct lack of military purple among the clusters of people; she hadn’t expected any men in work uniforms – everyone knew that Anglyan traders weren’t allowed off their ships in foreign docks, so as to avoid causing riots – but she’d anticipated plenty of sharply dressed government men keeping an eye on goods distribution, and soldiers in their bright purple uniforms to keep the peace as people of all nations mingled. She couldn’t even see a single low-ranked Anglyan officer.
Cat kept her eyes fixed on the shock of red hair that stood out among the crowds of people with either dark or incredibly fair features. In Anglya, most people had brown hair, blue or brown eyes, and very pale skin. There were some variations – such as red or blonde hair, and green or grey eyes – but they were few and far between. Here, there seemed to be just as many fair-haired people as there were dark-haired. Maybe if Fox ever got out of the sulk he was in, he would explain it to her.
She eventually managed to reach his side, jogging to keep up, a scowl on her face.
‘Slow down, would you? I’ve never been to this city before – if your hair weren’t so distinctive, I’d already be lost by now,’ she snapped.
At the reminder that he was meant to be looking after Cat, Fox slowed, glancing to the side with the faintest of apologetic looks.
‘Sorry, I forgot,’ he said grudgingly.
Cat didn’t know whether that was ‘I forgot you were following me’ or ‘I forgot you were new to this’, or even ‘I forgot I had to keep you safe’.
‘Well, don’t, in future,’ she muttered, grabbing on to a loose buckle strap at the waist of his coat. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she grinned impishly. ‘Just making sure you don’t run off again. Now I can actually pay attention to street names and find my way back to the shipyard. It’s not like I can ask for directions – I don’t speak a word of Siberene.’
‘Casechz da stromseil jyetta,’ Fox said, the words harsh and guttural.
Cat stared at him blankly.
‘Excuse you?’ she replied. He half smiled, turning down a narrow street with squat slate houses on either side.
‘Casechz da stromseil jyetta. That means “where is the skyship port” in Siberene. Of course, you probably won’t be able to understand the response, but … maybe if you let them know you’re Anglyan, they’ll draw you a map or something.’ He shrugged, hands in his pockets. ‘Better than nothing.’
‘You speak Siberene?’ Somehow Fox didn’t seem like the type of person to learn foreign languages. She would have expected it from Ben maybe, or even Harry, but not Fox.
‘A little. I speak enough of most languages to get by in their country of origin. Merican is easiest because their language is basically Anglyan. I have a fair grasp on Erovan and Siberene, and I can say “where are the pretty women?” and “could I have an ale?” in Dalivian. The man who taught me insisted that should I ever visit again, those would be the only phrases I’d need to know,’ he explained, making her giggle.
‘Impressive,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe you could teach me a little?’
Fox’s eyes were unreadable behind his tinted goggles.
‘Maybe. If you don’t get left behind today. Which you will do if you don’t remember the name of this street. It’s the main connector between the central courtyard and the district where the shipyard is.’ He removed a gloved hand from his pocket to point to an engraved sign hanging from a tall metal post at the end of the road. It read Stratzephyn, and she wondered aloud what it meant.
‘Literally, it means “marriage street”,’ Fox explained, ‘because it marries the business district with the housing district. The river separates them, and this street is part of the bridge.’ Fox gestured up ahead as the street seemed to rise. As they drew closer, Cat realised there was indeed a bridge, and she looked over the steel railings to see a fast-flowing river full of large chunks of ice.
‘It’s half-frozen! Surely they can’t fish in it?’ she asked.
The river Brenin, which flowed through Breningarth, contained fish, and was fast-flowing and big enough to fit water turbines – even if it was full of the filth of the city – but the flow was nothing compared to this. She imagined that trying to place a waterwheel in this river would only result in the wheel snapping.
‘The ice is brought down from the mountains, not from the river itself. But actually there are plenty of ice water fish further outland, and the water is crystal clear and can be drunk straight from the river. It’s also a free source of ice, so a fair few butcheries have underground rooms built out into the riverbed where they can keep their meat cold,’ Fox told her.
Cat’s eyes widened, impressed.
‘Oh, so is this the main courtyard, then?’ she queried as they reached the end of the bridge. For the centre of the city, it didn’t look like much.
‘Not quite,’ Fox replied, leading her between a bakery and a tailor’s. When she could see past the crowds, she stopped in her tracks, gaping. The main courtyard was just that: one gigantic courtyard,
surrounded by shops and small businesses. In the centre was a large ornate fountain, a jewelled eagle taking flight in the centre, spraying water up into the air and glistening in the sun as it fell back down to the pool below. Diamonds tipped the eagle’s golden wings, while dark rubies crested its shoulders and large vibrant sapphires glittered from its eyes.
It must have cost a fortune, Cat thought, amazed.
A dark grey stone path stuck out from the fountain at each compass point, with squares of an odd white grass in the centre. Children were kicking balls to one another, running and laughing, while adults strolled leisurely around the courtyard, some with bags of shopping on their arms. It looked wonderful and peaceful; nothing like the frostbitten wasteland she’d seen on the newscasts, with people struggling to survive under the harsh punishments enforced by Anglyan law.
Maybe that was one of the other cities?
‘What’s the fountain for? It’s beautiful,’ she observed, and Fox nodded.
‘One of a kind, isn’t it? It’s the Rudavin fountain, commissioned by King Andrei Rudavin nine years ago when Siberene gained complete independence. The Siberene eagle is on the royal family’s crest.’ She frowned at his words, sure he was mistaken; Siberene wasn’t independent. Their monarchs and government still answered to Anglyan rule.
‘People believe that if you throw a copper in the fountain when the wind blows North, your deepest desire will be granted,’ Fox continued, not noticing her confusion.
Cat licked her finger and held it up to the wind, her face falling when she realised the wind was blowing East. Fox laughed, patting her on the head.
‘Not today, shortie. Anyway, stay within the central courtyard, keep an eye on the clock tower, and if you want something hot to eat there’s a little shop in the Southwest corner that does fresh pasties for a couple of coppers. They’re usually pretty good, but I wouldn’t ask what’s in them. You’re probably best off not knowing.’
Cat made a face at that, but nodded, her eyes seeking out the Southwest corner. The clock tower was as noticeable as she’d been told it would be – a tall, sturdy building with a huge black and white clock face, and a steel bell encased in glass on the top.
‘OK, stay in the courtyard, don’t lose track of time, don’t ask what’s in the pasties. Got it. Anything else I need to know?’ she asked, and Fox shook his head.
‘Not that I can think of. Good luck, and be careful. Don’t do anything foolish,’ he told her seriously. Then, reaching out to clap her on the shoulder, Fox turned on his heel and sprinted off the way they had come.
Cat felt suddenly bereft without him. She set off towards the fountain where most people seemed to be gathered. Keeping her head down, she walked at an easy pace, trying to blend in. Seeing a girl about her own age chatting in exuberant Siberene with a woman that could only be her mother, Cat felt a pang of longing. Her mother would know she was long gone by now. Would she be pleased? Unhappy? Cat couldn’t quite be sure, but she at least hoped her mother was proud.
Looking around, she had to admit she was very confused. The Anglyan newscasts had led her to believe that Siberene was recovering after their failed fight for independence. The pictures showed the people dressed in rags far too thin for the intense cold weather, with barely anything to eat.
But Siberene seemed to be prospering, and Fox had said the fountain was commissioned after their independence nine years ago. That certainly didn’t match up to anything she’d been taught or seen on film. She wished she understood the language, so she could figure out what was going on.
Deciding she needed to find out as much as she could while she was here, Cat walked along the path, keeping her eyes peeled for anyone who looked an easy target for pickpocketing. She might not have done it before, but she knew the idea behind it; be sneaky and silent enough to pinch a purse while the person is distracted, then slip away as quickly and quietly as possibly so that you don’t get caught. Watching the crowd carefully, she noticed she wasn’t the only pickpocketing child about; she counted at least three, and smirked to herself. Some things were the same wherever you went. Fox knew what he was doing, dropping her off here; even if she got caught, she probably wouldn’t stand out that much from the others. She knew back in Anglya, very few people bothered to take pickpockets to the authorities, just taking their money back and sending them on their way. Still, she couldn’t risk missing the ship’s departure. Getting caught wasn’t an option.
She spotted a man sitting on a bench reading a newspaper. He was wearing expensive clothes and had a large emerald ring on his middle finger. She understood that jewels were a lot less expensive here than in Anglya, as Siberene was where most jewels and metals were mined, but even so, the man was obviously rich. His money purse was by his side, attached by a buckle to a strap on his heavy coat. It had evidently slipped out of his pocket.
Cat glanced around to see if anyone was watching her, and seeing the coast was clear, sidled up to the bench, dropping down behind it as if playing hide-and-seek. As she pretended to hide, she curved her body to conceal the fact that she was unbuckling the purse and sliding it into the inside pocket of her coat. Straightening up, she tried not to laugh triumphantly as she ran away.
Success!
Grinning to herself, she stopped by the edge of the fountain. It was even more beautiful up close. The jewels were of the highest quality, and the silver – for she was sure that was what the statue was made of – was sculpted perfectly. She wasn’t surprised to see no less than four uniformed men around the fountain, each with a pistol at his belt. She wouldn’t leave such an extravagant item unguarded either.
Kneeling on the wide concrete rim, she saw the bottom of the pool was littered with shiny pieces of copper. There was a big blue, white and black pennant with the Rudavin family crest flying high from a pole near the Eagle, showing the wind direction. It was slowly edging round from East to Northeast, and Cat crossed her fingers that it would reach North before she had to leave. Even if it was only a silly superstition, there had to be a reason so many people believed the fountain worked. Sighing to herself, Cat stood up and wandered in the direction of a group of women who were in heated discussion. One of them had left her handbag on the floor to her side.
She had work to do.
Chapter 7
Two hours and four bulging purses later, Cat was well and truly into the swing of things. Syvana was so different, and yet so very similar to Breningarth: the overcast sky, almost as dark as the stone buildings themselves, threatening snow at any moment; the upper-class people going about their daily business, walking past the lower class with their noses upturned. Their inattention was something Cat found useful as she walked through a crowd of well-dressed men with her eyes on a blue velvet purse hanging from one man’s belt. She reached out with nimble fingers, slipping the purse off his belt and into the folds of her coat, and turned away, darting from the crowd before she could be caught. Her stomach rumbled, and she let her eyes drift to the clock tower. Plenty of time for a short lunch break.
Sneaking a couple of coppers from one of the pouches, she looked for the pasty shop Fox had recommended, her body freezing cold despite her many layers. Finding the shop by smell rather than attempting to translate the signs, she slipped inside, welcoming the warmth of the small room. The display case on the counter was full of cakes and pastries, and the oven at the other end had a sign above it reading, Pasty, 3c. Pleased that the word for pasty was evidently the same in both Siberene and Anglyan, she walked up to the counter where a cheerful-looking elderly woman stood in a thick long-sleeved dress and dark blue knitted shawl. Setting three coppers on the counter, Cat bit her lip nervously and pointed to the oven.
‘Pasty?’ she asked, praying she came across simply as a nervous young boy rather than a foreigner.
Luckily, the woman smiled, tottering out from behind the counter and pulling on a pair of thick oven mitts. Opening the oven door, she removed one of many pasties sitting on the rack over the glowin
g embers, wrapping one end in newspaper and handing it to Cat with a quiet ‘Spa’asza.’
Cat nodded with a shy smile, having no idea what the word meant.
Hurrying from the shop, she winced at the blast of cold, lifting the pasty to her lips. It was buttery and delicious, and she was smiling as she set off for a wander, staying close to the edges of the courtyard and looking at what the shops had to offer. As expected, there were a fair few jewellers’, as well as shops selling clothes, rugs and blankets made or lined with furs. She had the brief thought that had she been with her father, she could have probably bought whatever she wanted from any of the shops, before reminding herself that had she been with her father, she wouldn’t have been in Siberene in the first place.
She remembered what Matt had said about not believing everything in the newscasts, and resolved to demand answers from the others when she got back to the ship.
Passing a newspaper stand, she desperately wished she could read Siberene; so much information on those pages that she couldn’t have, it was infuriating.
Cutting across the Eastern path back to the centre of the courtyard, she paused by a vendor selling sweets and eyed a small paper bag of toffee squares wistfully. They were her favourite. Finding the price tag on the shelf below the bag, she saw it was a silver. Maybe … surely Harry wouldn’t know that there had been an extra silver in one of the purses when she’d stolen it? She could always replace it with money from her own purse once she got back to the ship.