by Lian Tanner
“Me too!” said Bonnie.
“Good,” said Olga Ciavolga. “Where is your bow, child?” Herro Hahn’s face grew paler than ever. “Surely you’re not
involving the younger children in this! Isn’t it enough that my son—”
“The children are involved whether we want them to be or not,” interrupted Olga Ciavolga. “Have you ever seen a city stricken by plague, Herro, or torn apart by a marauding army?”
“N-no, but—”
“I have. And I tell you, we must all do whatever we can to stop it from happening here. Do you understand me?”
Herro Hahn swallowed—and nodded. Olga Ciavolga turned back to Bonnie and raised an eyebrow. “Your bow?”
“In the office.”
“Please fetch it, Sinew,” said the old woman. “Bring a bow for me also, and a tinderbox, and cloth for wrapping around arrow heads. Pistols too, if you can find them.” To Bonnie she said, “We will shoot flaming arrows in front of the rats, yes? We cannot turn them back with such feeble weapons— there are too many of them. But Double is right; perhaps we can slow them down a little more.” She turned to Mouse and Pounce. “Are you two with us? Good. You have your own skills. Do what you can.”
Goldie was listening to the museum. Deep in the back rooms, the floors shook under the weight of a thousand booted feet. Rats swarmed, slick and dirty, down staircases and under floorboards. The museum raged, and Broo raged with it, his whole body trembling with the desire to fight.
“Sinew, go quickly,” said Olga Ciavolga. “We do not have much time. Dan, tell Goldie about the Beast Road.”
Herro Dan nodded, slow and sad. Then, in a voice that came from the mists of his childhood, he began to chant.
“Who can walk the Beast Road? There must be three. Two mortal enemies, with one between them who is both friend and enemy, native and stranger.”
That’s me, thought Goldie with a shock of recognition. Me and Princess Frisia! Native and stranger!
“Where does the Beast Road go?” chanted Herro Dan.
“To a timeless place from which no one has ever returned.”
“What?” said Pa, looking horrified. “ No one?”
“And you’re going to send our daughter?” squeaked Ma. “What does the Beast Road hold?” continued Herro Dan.
“Terror for those who hurry. Death for those who linger. But for Furuuna
it holds salvation.”
He stopped and blinked. Goldie cleared her throat. She felt as if she were being dragged toward something so big and frightening that she could hardly bear to think about it.
Terror.
Death.
. . . And salvation.
“F-Furuuna?” she said in a shaky voice. “There is no Furuuna, not any longer. Is there?”
“If the ancient land of my people still exists anywhere,” said Herro Dan, “it’s here in the Museum of Dunt.”
“But what’s the salvation?”
“Don’t know, lass. The old folk always said it was somethin’ you had to find and bring back, but no one knew for sure.”
Goldie’s whole body ached, and all she wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep for days on end. But she swallowed the gritty lump in her throat and said, “Two mortal enemies. That’s Broo and the cat.”
The brizzlehound pricked up his ears. “ I am going? Good. If there is terror I will BITE it!”
“Hoooouuund,” muttered the cat in disgusted tones, but at the same time it staggered to its feet and came to stand beside Goldie. Somewhere in the distance, kettledrums began to beat.
“And one who is both native and stranger. That’s me . . .” Goldie hesitated, but this was no time for secrets. She must tell them. “With the voice of Princess Frisia inside me.”
“What?” said Double.
“Really?” said Bonnie, briefly distracted from her worry about Toadspit. “You lucky thing!”
But Herro Dan and Olga Ciavolga glanced at each other, and Olga Ciavolga murmured, “We suspected as much. Does that mean you have the wolf-sark as well?”
Goldie nodded, and for a moment everyone except the two old keepers seemed to fade into the background. “You—you don’t think I’m mad, do you?” she whispered.
“You?” said Herro Dan. “I never met a saner person. Seems you’re strong enough even for this.” He hugged her. “But what a burden you’ve been carryin’, lass.”
Goldie buried her face in the old man’s shoulder, speechless.
They did understand after all. She should have told them long ago. She should have trusted them.
“You are afraid of the wolf-sark, are you not?” said Olga Ciavolga softly.
“Yes!” Goldie raised her head. “I nearly killed Mouse when we came out of the Big Lie. And I nearly killed Favor too!”
That was just yesterday, she realized with a shock. It felt like weeks ago.
“But you did not kill them, child. Remember that, when the wolf-sark next takes hold of you. Remember that you are still there, deep inside.” The old woman gripped Goldie’s arm with a steady hand. “Even Frisia did not find the wolfsark an easy thing to live with. But it is a weapon, nothing more, and like all weapons it is up to you how you use it. Remember, there is always a choice.”
Warmth and strength flooded through Goldie. They trust me, she thought. They believe in me.
She stepped out of Herro Dan’s embrace and the world swam back into focus. Somewhere not too far away a bugle
sounded, and thousands of hairless tails dragged—hisss— hisss—through dusty corridors. The air in the Tench sizzled at the thought of what was coming.
“Where do I start, Herro Dan?” said Goldie. “Where do I find the Beast Road?”
The old man’s reply was cut off by Sinew, who came trotting through the door carrying two bows with their quivers, and several pistols. “Nearly didn’t make it,” he said cheerfully. “The roof of the office fell in just as I was leaving. Here, Bonnie, your bow is unharmed, which is more than can be said for my nerves.”
He winked at Goldie. “Got the Beast Road sorted out? I thought you might have. What can I do to help?”
“Not you,” said Goldie. “Ma and Pa.” And she gave her parents and the Protector brief instructions.
“We trust you will come back to us, sweeting,” said Pa, somberly brushing the hair out of her eyes.
Ma bit her lip. “We’re proud of you. You know that, don’t you?”
Goldie nodded, unable to speak.
“We’re cutting it fine,” said Sinew, handing one pistol to Double, and offering the others to Bonnie’s parents. Herro and Frow Hahn took them gingerly, their faces a picture of confusion, fear and determination.
“Yes,” said Olga Ciavolga. “We had better go. Dan will follow as soon as he can.” As she spoke, she slung her bow over her shoulder, took out her kerchief and began to untie all but the biggest knots.
Immediately, a dozen winds blustered through the Tench, raising a storm of plaster dust and rattling the cell doors as they passed. Above the noise, Goldie could hear Sinew’s voice as he hurried out of the room. “Looks like it’s just us few brave folk, eh, Bonnie? Plus Olga Ciavolga’s breezes, which should never be underestimated. Still, it’s a challenge, isn’t it, Mouse? Let’s hope my playing is bad enough to stop an army!” He struck a cheerful note on his harp. “Come on, Pounce, Morg. Come on, Frow Hahn, Herro Hahn, keep up or we’ll never see you again! Come on, Double. . . .”
Morg flew after him with a screech, and the Hahns ran to join Olga Ciavolga. But Double did not move. Instead, she took the bird brooch from her pocket and pressed it into Goldie’s hand. “You might not want an aunt who has been a slaver,” she said quickly. “Yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me, and I deserve every bit of it. I’ve done things that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life. But I’m not going to see my niece lost, with no one to save her. If you don’t return from wherever you’re going, why then, I’ll come after you!”
With those wo
rds, she drew Goldie into a fierce embrace. Goldie found herself hugging her aunt in return, and gaining unexpected comfort from those strong arms. Then the slaver too was gone.
“Quickly now,” said Herro Dan. “You’ll have to carry the cat. She’s very weak still.”
Broo growled. “I would not let myself be carried like a milk-fed pup! Can we not leave the creature behind?”
“Hush, Broo,” said Goldie. “I need both of you.”
Then she scooped the cat up in her arms, turned to Herro Dan and said, “I’m ready.”
A timeless place . . .
The Beast Road began in the very heart of the museum, deep inside the hill called Devil’s Kitchen. Goldie stood on its threshold with the cat in her arms and Broo breathing down her neck. Her lantern created a small circle of light, but everything else was darkness. The air in the tunnel was dry, and the rock walls were sharp with crystals.
She had been here before. Or at least, she had passed the
entrance to this tunnel without knowing what it was.
Somewhere below her was the Place of Remembering, with its ancient bones and whispering skulls.
Herro Dan stepped forward, his own lantern swaying as he dug in his pocket. “We don’t know where you’re goin’, lass, or what you’ll find when you get there. So take these. Just in case.”
He dropped a pile of silver coins into Goldie’s hand. Then he patted her shoulder. “Go on, now. It’s nearly sunset. There’s no time to waste.”
Goldie’s arms tightened around the cat. “Broo?” she said. The brizzlehound’s breath was hot on her cheek. “I will lead the way,” he growled. “Stay close.” And he strode into the tunnel.
It was not until Goldie followed him that she realized the true weight of darkness. It pressed upon her from every side, filling her ears and nostrils. The light of her lantern shrank almost to nothing.
She crouched down with the cat on her knees and tried to turn the wick of the lantern up. But instead of growing, the flame shrank further and further, until at last it flickered and died.
There was no sign of Herro Dan’s lantern. It should have been only a few paces behind her, but the old keeper had disappeared so completely that he might never have existed.
“Broo?” said Goldie, in sudden fright. “Are you there?”
“I am here,” rumbled the brizzlehound, his wet nose nudging her forehead.
“Something’s wrong with the lantern,” she said, and she dropped the coins into her pocket and fumbled for the tinderbox.
“We must not linger,” said Broo.
“I know. But I can’t see.” She tried to rekindle the wick, but now there was something wrong with the tinderbox as well, and it would not give her so much as a spark.
“Maybe we should go back and get another lantern,” she said. “For safety. We don’t know what might be ahead of us.”
“Death comes to those who linger.”
“But I can’t see!” Goldie’s breath was sharp and shallow in her throat. The darkness was crawling into her head now, and she found it almost impossible to think.
She clutched the warm body of the cat. “Cat? Can you see?”
“Of course she cannot,” said Broo scornfully. “I will go first. My nose is better than any lantern.”
The cat stiffened in Goldie’s arms. “Doooown,” it demanded.
“No, you can’t walk,” said Goldie.
“Cccccan!” spat the cat, and it tumbled out of her arms onto the hard ground. “Firssssst!” it said, and Goldie heard a scuffle as it tried to limp past Broo.
The brizzlehound’s growl came from the very depths of his soul. “I am first! Get out of my way, useless cat, or I will KILL you!”
“No!” said Goldie, and she wrapped her arms around Broo’s neck. She could feel the tension vibrating through his body, and she knew that, although they squabbled like small children, the hatred between the two creatures was real. Her journey was on the brink of failing before it ever began.
“Listen to me,” she said quickly. She felt a little calmer now that there was something to do. “We don’t know where the danger will come from, so I want Broo to walk behind me and protect our rear.”
The brizzlehound began to protest, but she drew him closer and whispered in his ear, “The cat is very weak. I need it in front of me in case it falls over. And I need your strength at my back.”
Aloud, she said, “Cat, are you sure you can walk? We can’t afford to go too slowly.”
She felt the cat rub against her knee. “Firrrrst,” it purred. It twitched its tail. “Hoooold.”
They set off again in darkness so thick that Goldie wondered if she had gone blind. She shuffled along with Broo at her shoulder and the cat’s tail between her fingers—a tail that dipped and jerked as its owner’s poor battered body fought to stay upright. But Olga Ciavolga was right, the descendants of idle-cats were tough, and the trio made good time through that first part of the tunnel.
Herro Dan’s words echoed inside Goldie’s head. Terror to those who hurry. Death to those who linger. Were they going too fast? she wondered. Or not fast enough? She had no idea. All she could do was press on in total darkness and try not to think about what might be happening to her friends.
It was easy to lose track of time. But Goldie thought they had been travelling for no more than a few minutes when she heard Broo rumble at her shoulder. “I can see—”
And then, as suddenly and completely as if a wall had fallen in front of him, his voice was cut off. At the same time, the cat’s tail vanished from between Goldie’s fingers.
Something told Goldie that she must not make a sound, so she stifled the gasp that came to her throat and did not call out to either animal. Instead, she stopped and fumbled all around, searching for their warm, reassuring bodies.
She could not find them.
She ran her hand over the wall of the tunnel, trying not to panic. A moment ago it had been as dry as old bone. Now it was wet, and she could hear water dripping close by. She could hear her own breath too, and somewhere inside her a knot of terror was growing bigger by the second. What had happened? Where was she? Where were her companions? Should she keep going or turn back and look for them?
She thought of the other keepers, trying to slow the approach of death and destruction. And Toadspit, who, if he was still alive, would be getting ready to fight the Fugleman. And she knew that she must keep going, no matter what. She slid one shaky foot forward—and felt a hard edge, as if the path ended right there in front of her.
No. No, it didn’t end, she realized. It just became very narrow. A ledge, nothing more. Goldie shuffled forward, pressing herself against the wall. Wherever she was, it was cold. Water dripped from above and trickled down her neck. She had the sense that there was a great wide space on her left, like a cavern with a low ceiling.
The distant splash, when it came, froze her in her tracks. It sounded big. But even worse, it sounded horribly familiar. A moment later, just as she had feared, water rose and lapped hungrily at her feet.
She was in Old Scratch.
She had no idea how she had got there, but it was the last place she wanted to be. Her breath grew sharper. She took a too-hasty step forward, and her foot slipped. She heard the splash again, closer now, and knew that the creature that lived beneath the water could smell her fear.
And was hunting her.
She had never been so afraid. Terror gripped her, and for a dozen heartbeats she could not think or move. The darkness lay like a blanket over her face.
But then she remembered Toadspit and all the other people who were relying on her. And she knew that she must not fail.
She took her terror in both hands, like a spiky, shivering, ugly ball she could hardly bear to hold. She greeted it politely, the way Herro Dan had taught her so long ago. Then she did what she had to do, in spite of it.
She ran.
She ran along the ledge in the pitch dark, with her feet quick and clever on t
he slimy bricks, and the wall to guide her. She ran with the dreadful splashing sound growing closer and closer and the water leaping up in front of her and grasping at her ankles and knees. She ran until her desperate fingers found a wooden door set into the wall. She fumbled for the door handle. She threw it open and fell through it, pushing it shut behind her and tumbling to the ground in a panting heap.
When she opened her eyes again, there were two men standing over her.
She couldn’t see them properly at first. The light was too bright and her eyes rebelled against it. She blinked and jammed them shut and blinked again. She put her hand on the ground to steady herself and felt grass between her fingers.
“Is a leedle gel,” said one of the men in an unmistakable accent—and the terror struck Goldie all over again.
She was on the wrong side of the Dirty Gate. In the war rooms.
It’s not real, she thought frantically. The Dirty Gate is open, so these men probably aren’t even here anymore. The Beast Road is just trying to frighten me. It’s not real! It’s a sort of dream!
One of the men grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. Goldie blinked up at him. He wore a gray coat and knee breeches and had only one arm.
His companion had a terrible scar that arced across his face, ending in an empty eye socket. His single blue eye glared at Goldie as if his wounds were her fault. “Is de same leedle gel,” he growled.
With a gasp, Goldie realized that these were the two men who had captured her and Toadspit months ago, when they went through the Dirty Gate searching for Herro Dan. The children had come close to death on that occasion. Only Goldie’s cleverness, and the ferocity of Broo and Morg, had saved them.
Goldie could see now what that ferocity had done.
Her knees were as soft as jelly. It’s not real! she told herself again.
But the soldier’s grip on her wrist was real enough, and so was the bayonet that his friend was fixing purposefully to the barrel of his musket. The rank smell of the army camp drifted past, and Goldie knew that it was not a dream at all, but one of the museum’s mysteries, and that if she died here she would really die. There would be no one to find salvation. No one to stop the Fugleman killing Toadspit. No one to save the museum and Jewel.