by Steve Feasey
Coupons that could be exchanged for food were hard to come by in the slums. A gold star ticket would be enough to feed a family for three or four days.
‘What’d I ’ave to do for ’em?’
‘Forget.’
The boy glanced up at the cable and back at Tia again. A mischievous look spread across his face. The kid was street-smart. ‘Forget what? I ain’t seen nuffink.’
‘The Agency for the Regulation of Mutants can be very persuasive. They might try to “help you to remember” after I’ve gone.’
The boy spat on the ground. ‘I hates the ARM! It’s cos of them Uncle Gorp’s dead. Mum says they beat him senseless when they found him selling stuff he shouldn’t ’ave been. Conkerband or sumfing.’
Tia dug in her pocket and pulled out the tokens.
The boy quickly snatched them from her fingers, as if he thought she might change her mind. He stared down at them.
‘They’re real,’ she said.
‘Was it yours?’ he asked without looking up.
‘What?’
‘The fing I never saw.’
‘The monkey? Yes.’
‘Was it important for it to get back inside?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Ain’t you scared?’
‘Of what?’
‘Me touching you. I’ve got Rot.’
‘No, I’m not scared.’ Every Citizen had been given a jab to inoculate them against the disease. It cost next to nothing, but had not been offered to those outside the walls.
The boy sniffed again. ‘I’m glad it got away from the bird.’ With that, he disappeared back inside the shack.
Tia watched him go. ‘Me too, kid,’ she said. ‘Me too.’
Rush
The route down the mountain was much easier than the ascent. A path of sorts wound its way through the forest, and the group made good time as they followed it. Animals lived in the overhead canopy, their calls ringing out in warning as the intruders entered their leafy world, but try as he might, Rush only caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the tree-dwelling creatures. It was a huge hairy thing with a rodent face, and it was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
They exited the tree line close to the river, their captors pushing them forward at the end of the poles until they were standing at a small dock.
Making its way towards them from the islet was a ferry, a dilapidated old thing that looked as if it might sink at any moment. In the centre of the deck the figure of an old man was cranking on a large winch, turning the handle at the top of it round and round so the device gobbled up the wet links of a half-submerged chain stretched from one shore to the next. The winch filled the air with a loud cling!-cling!-cling! noise that was almost painful on the ears. As Rush watched, something broke the surface next to the ferry; a long scaly head with black eyes appeared, rolling over for a moment and revealing a mouth filled with teeth. The head disappeared beneath the murky surface again, followed by a snake-like body that must have been as long as Brick was tall. The boat bumped up against the edge of the dock, the vessel’s operator straightening up and turning to face them.
The man was older than Rush expected. Like the mountain men, he was wiry and thin, his face all angles and sharp points. He wore a long coat, leather of some kind, that hung down past his knees, with muddy boots of the same colour and material. His long grey hair was shoulder length. There was something in his mouth that he chewed on one moment, shoved into the hollow of his cheek the next. He reminded Rush of a scarecrow figure he and Josuf had made to ward birds away from a plot of land where they tried to grow vegetables.
Even in dock the ferry listed alarmingly in the water, and the scarecrow caught Rush looking at it sceptically. The old man sucked his brown teeth, nodding his head, and continued his chewing.
‘She in’t too pretty, is she? But she gets herself back and forth over this river when I ask her to, and that’s all ’at counts. Yup.’ He nodded to himself as he said this last word, then he spat a long thick stream of something brown and vile into the water, wiping the rest of the juice off his chin with his sleeve.
‘Usual fee?’ Forkhand asked.
‘You got business –’ it sounded like ‘bezznezz’, the way the ferryman said it – ‘in Logtown?’
‘Yep. We got trade to do with Kohl.’
‘Then it’s the usual fee – payable upon leaving.’
As the mountain men and the captives climbed on board, the scarecrow ferryman pushed a lever on top of the winch and started turning it again so the vessel began to pull away from the dock.
Forkhand turned to Rush and Brick. ‘When we get to Logtown, I intend to sell you both to a man called Kohl. He’s like the mayor of the place and he owns the mill. He’ll put you to work. Now I guess you might get it into your heads to try and run away, but I’m telling you right now, that would be foolish.’ He raised his voice so the old man on the winch could hear him. ‘The only way on and off the islet is via the two ferries, isn’t that right, old man?’
‘You could try to swim it,’ the ferryman answered without looking up, ‘but I wouldn’t recommend it. If the tide didn’t carry you away and drown you, the eelsnakes in the water would get you. I seen ’em strip a harg to the bones in less time ’an it takes me to say my own name.’
‘Besides,’ Forkhand said, ‘Kohl don’t take too kindly to runaways. I hear he’s taken to cutting a foot off anyone who tries it these days.’
The ‘town’ consisted of little more than a hard dirt road lined on either side by poorly constructed wooden buildings, many of which were in need of repair. The huge mill, in contrast, appeared to be sturdy and well maintained.
Just as Rush was beginning to wonder where the people who worked the place were, a drawn and haggard-looking woman emerged from a narrow alley dragging a heavy-looking sack of sawdust. She glanced out at them, quickly averting her eyes when she saw the trappers. Rush’s heart sank when he saw the woman was missing one foot; a crude wooden stump was strapped to her leg where it had been.
‘Take a good look,’ Forkhand said when he caught the boy staring, ‘and remember what I said about runaways.’
They approached the building nearest to the mill. Before they reached the wooden veranda outside, a man came out wiping his hands on a cloth. Another man, this one almost as big as Brick, was with him. ‘Well, well,’ the man with the cloth said, ‘if it ain’t the four Tapp brothers.’ There was no sign of welcome in his voice or in the look he gave the trappers. ‘What brings you here this time? Caught me another wild boarnog?’
‘No, sir, but we got some merchandise for you, Mr Kohl.’
Kohl looked at Rush and Brick.
‘Got you some more workers for your mill. Also brought along some furs and pelts. Winter is coming and –’
Kohl cut Forkhand off with a wave of his hand. ‘These two mutants – where’d you find them?’
‘Up on the mountain.’
There was something about the way Kohl kept looking at them both that made Rush even more uneasy than he already was. Nevertheless, the young mutant spoke up.
‘These men captured us! They have taken us and – urgh!’ Rush’s words were cut off by the brother behind him yanking down on the pole, momentarily strangling him with the noose.
‘Brick!’ the giant bellowed, starting to move to his friend’s aid.
‘You shut your food-hole, young ’un,’ Forkhand said, ‘and tell the big dummy to do likewise. When I want you to speak, I’ll let you know.’ He turned to Kohl again. ‘I can tell you’re interested in these two. How much . . . ?’
‘I’m not buying these mutants from you.’
‘But –’
‘I am taking them from you though.’
There was a beat as Forkhand took this in. ‘Now you wait just a minute, Kohl.’
‘No, you wait just a minute. I had a visit from an ARM unit yesterday. I don’t like visits from the ARM. They came on to my island and demanded to know if I’d come a
cross any young Mutes on the run. I said no, but clearly my word wasn’t worth a damn to them, so they went through the town, house by house, broke some stuff and beat up some of my men. They didn’t find anything, but they told me I was to look out for a boy of around fifteen, a couple of girls of the same age, and a giant man-child who is thought to be none too bright.’ He looked from Brick to Rush and back again. ‘It appears as if two of them have just landed on my doorstep. When the ARM left they said they would be back in two or three days. They also said that if I was to come across any stray young Mutes travelling this way, I was to keep them under lock and key until their return. They’ll be back tomorrow or the day after, so I’ll be taking these Mutes off your hands to give over to the ARM in the hope that they will leave me the hell alone. You don’t want that to happen, you tell me where you’re going on to, and I’ll be sure to send the ARM after you so you can explain your reasons in person.’
Forkhand shook his head and swore. When he looked at Kohl again, he narrowed his eyes at the man. ‘They say anything about a reward?’
‘If you’re around tomorrow, you can ask them that yourself.’
‘Shoot, I ain’t going near no ARM.’
Kohl was about to say something else when he stopped, noticing the rogwan for the first time. ‘What the hell is that?’ he said.
‘That? That is the other reason we are here.’ Forkhand straightened up and puffed his chest out. ‘Got ourselves a fighting critter we intend to enter into your contest this evening. Reckon this thing could be a match for any of your beasts.’
‘Dotty isn’t theirs! She’s –’ The air was expelled from Rush in one go as Forkhand hit him, thankfully with the hand made of flesh, in the stomach. Brick gave another roar and would have charged in if a crossbow had not been levelled at his friend. ‘Uh-uh, big fella,’ Forkhand said. ‘You’ve been a good boy up until now. You keep it that way. Don’t know what you’ve done to get the ARM on your tail, but you two ain’t worth a damn to me now, so there’s really no reason for me to be as nice to you as I have been.’
‘Nice?’ Rush glared up at the man. ‘You’ve treated us like animals!’
Forkhand sighed and turned to Kohl, shaking his head. ‘Some people, eh?’
Kohl turned to the hulking figure standing beside him and gestured at the pair. ‘Lock these two in the jail, Henk. Give them some food and get those damn pole things off them. The boy’s right. After all, we’re not all barbarians, are we?’
Rush tentatively touched at the red line around his neck where the rope noose had rubbed it raw. Brick’s seemed to have healed already. Despite not being tied up any longer, their situation, at first glance at least, had not particularly improved. Their cell was a small room with a hole in the floor at one corner that served as a toilet; the smell emanating from it was truly vile, and neither of them had any wish to use it. A heavy wooden door dominated one wall, and set into this, at eye level, was a square opening. Standing on tiptoe, his face pressed against the door, Rush could just make out the short passageway linking the three cells. At the far end, standing in the doorway leading to the street, was Henk, the giant who’d been charged with guarding the two prisoners for the night. Rush watched him. The man was muttering under his breath, clearly unhappy at being given the task while the rest of the town gathered for the evening’s festivities. Earlier, a group of loggers had passed by outside, shouting out to the jailer and mocking him. They’d told him how they’d get extra drunk on his behalf and left, their laughter slowly fading away. The language the man had used to tell the group what he thought of their offer was colourful, to say the least.
Go on, Rush thought. Move out a little further. Just for a few moments . . .
Raucous laughter, followed by a loud cheer, drifted down to the jail from the hill, and it was this that finally drew the man out to stand on the steps and look off in the direction of the noise.
Rush wouldn’t have long. His heart was beating fast, but he tried his best to ignore it. He needed to focus on the task in hand.
Hanging on a small hook beside the front door were keys to the three cells. Rush knew the top one opened the door he was pressed up against, and he concentrated on it with all his might.
Brick looked up from the corner he was sitting in. ‘Rush?’
‘Shhh.’
Metals, particularly alloys, were sometimes hard for Rush to control. He reached out with his mind, focusing on the metallic object and trying to merge with it until he felt that familiar connect. Silently, the key swivelled upward, as if an invisible finger was tilting it to the horizontal, then rose off the hook. It wavered in the air a little, before slowly moving along the corridor towards him. At the door it paused, turned on its axis, and headed for the lock, slipping silently inside.
Unaware he’d been holding his breath, Rush suddenly let it all out, gasping and collapsing against the door while his head buzzed with the exertion of what he’d just done. Moving the key had drained him, but he had to get himself back together again before going through with the rest of his plan.
‘Brick,’ he whispered after a few minutes, beckoning the big guy over. ‘In a second, this door is going to open. The man guarding us won’t know anything about it until it happens, but you heard the noise the hinges on this thing made when they put us in here. As soon as it opens, he’ll know.’
‘Who’s going to open the door?’
‘I am.’
The hulking mutant thought about this for a second or two before nodding his head and saying, ‘OK.’
‘I need you to stop that man from raising the alarm.’
‘How?’
‘Hit him.’
It was clear from the look on Brick’s face he was unhappy at the idea of having to injure anyone.
‘If you don’t, we won’t stand a chance of rescuing Dotty, and the people here will hurt her. They’ll also turn us over to more bad people, people who will hurt us.’
‘Hit him?’
‘Just hard enough to make him go to sleep, that’s all.’
Brick considered this. ‘OK.’ He nodded.
The guard lay in a crumpled heap on the floor of the cell. Rush tore the sleeves off the man’s shirt, stuffed one into his mouth and tied it in place with the other. They shut the door and locked it again, returning the key to its home.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to Brick.
‘Your bag.’ Brick gestured towards something hanging from a large hook, on the far wall.
Rush was surprised to see his rucksack, and even more amazed to discover inside it all the things Tink had given him for the journey. Thanking his lucky stars, he threw it over his shoulder, checked the street outside was clear and headed off up the hill with Brick loping along at his side. His mind was working overtime as he tried to figure out what to do next. They were out of jail, but he still had no idea how the hell the two of them were going to rescue Dotty and get off an islet surrounded by deadly unswimmable waters.
Tia
Tia warily approached the establishment known as the Three-Eyed Dog, pausing to check if she was being observed. There were a few people milling around the narrow passageways surrounding the place, but nobody seemed particularly interested in her. Even if she had not already known about the Dog – she’d once filmed a report outside here, using the premises as a backdrop – there was no way you could miss it. Built on the ruins of old, decaying concrete that had somehow survived the war, it was one of the biggest buildings in Muteville, both in size and reputation. The noise that poured out of the front doors was loud and raucous, an alcohol-fuelled buzz over which music could just be made out. As she got nearer, Tia could hear the unmistakable sounds of laughter, both female and male, chairs scraping against the wooden floor and glasses being chinked together.
She cursed beneath her breath, wondering why her contact had insisted they meet here, of all places: a dive where the seedier elements of life – from both sides of the city’s wall – came to hang out.
She hesitated at the door, steeling herself before pushing it open and taking in the interior.
Men and women in various states of inebriation filled the large barroom, most of them appearing well on the road to drunken oblivion thanks to the cheap hooch that was brewed and sold on the premises. Such establishments were not found inside the city; they were considered vulgar. The air was a thick blue smoke-filled fug, and Tia shuddered at the idea of having to breathe in the second-hand exhalations of whatever it was the patrons were puffing on. Just as alcohol was frowned upon inside the city, hardly anyone smoked there, and never in a public place.
Many of the Dog’s customers sat at large round tables, betting food tokens and other items on cards held in their hands. By the look of their clothing, quite a few of the patrons were Citizens – on a day trip to Muteville to ‘take in the freaks’, or ‘slumming it’ as it was known. Her own dress also marked her out as a visitor. She wondered if any of the day-trippers was Eleanor’s go-between, the man or woman she’d used to make contact with this Silas person.
A number of women meandered around the place, talking and laughing raucously with the male clientele. That these women were popular with the city day-trippers came as no surprise to the young journalist. She’d done a report on this once, keen to show how, despite the Principia’s edict that Citizens and Mutes did not ‘cross-breed’, many of the visitors seemed only too happy to fraternise with pretty mutant girls. Her piece, broadcast on her father’s media channel, had been dismissed as ‘subversive nonsense’ by President Melk.
Tia took a deep breath and stepped inside, half expecting to be turned round and marched straight back out again because of her age.
She needn’t have worried; nobody so much as batted an eyelid. As she approached the high wooden bar, the green-haired man behind it turned to her and asked her what she was having. Age restrictions clearly weren’t a big thing in Muteville drinking establishments.
‘I was wondering if Bella was here.’