The Silver Door

14 - The Stowaways

Sonia sighed. ‘This is what happens when you travel with heroes,’ she murmured. ‘How they love to take risks!’ Her words were mocking, but her eyes were dark with sympathy. It was as if she knew as well as Rye did that Dirk’s need to do something—anything—to smother his grief over Sholto’s death had made him seize upon the idea of hiding in the trader’s wagon.

‘But in fact Dirk is right,’ she added, after a moment’s thought. ‘While he carries that metal hook, the hood, the shell and the speed ring will not work as well as they should. We might be taking a risk stealing a ride, but it is a smaller risk than making the journey on foot.’

‘I doubt there is any point in making the journey at all,’ Rye said through stiff lips. ‘We no longer have any reason to believe that the one they call the Master is the Enemy sending the skimmers to Weld.’

‘But Rye—’

‘We thought my dream of Sholto was proof that the skimmers were here,’ Rye went on doggedly. ‘But the dream meant nothing. Sholto was never in a red place. He was in the Saltings. Then he was in the Scour. And then he was … gone.’

He could not say ‘dead’. He could not bring himself to say the word.

‘My dreams of Dirk were true,’ he mumbled, feeling as if the words were being dragged from him one by one. ‘I thought it was the same for Sholto.’

He felt Sonia touch his arm and swallowed desperately to stop himself from breaking down. It had meant so much to him to believe that he had a special bond with both his lost brothers—a bond that could help save them.

‘I am sure the dream did not mean nothing, Rye,’ Sonia said quietly. ‘You have a gift. At times—at certain times—you can reach out to people you care for. And I have been wondering …’

She hesitated, then her hand tightened on his arm and she hurried on. ‘We know from the fragments of journal we found that Sholto had begun to—to see things that were not real. Could it be that in the dream your mind and his were linked so closely that you were sharing one of his visions?’

Understanding came to Rye on a wave of pain. Yes, that explained it all. He had been sharing a delirious vision—the vision, perhaps, that had come to Sholto as he lay dying in the abandoned jell pit. It was no more based on fact than Sholto’s ravings of enemies who drugged his drinking water.

That would account for the fact that in the dream of the red place the skimmers menaced Sholto but never reached him. The skimmers had been illusions, like the dead skimmers of his journal notes.

Rye leaned against the wagon and closed his eyes. The rusty metal was warm against his cheek. Gradually his pain eased and a strange sort of comfort took its place. Perhaps he had been wrong about what the dream of the red place meant, but he had been with Sholto all the same.

And Sholto seemed very close to him now. Perhaps, Rye thought slowly, that was because the wagon had once held Sholto’s possessions. Or perhaps it was just because Rye knew it had, and his imagination was doing the rest.

‘We missed him by so little,’ he murmured. ‘I knew, when we left Fleet, that time was short. But I had no idea how short.’

An image of Sholto’s lantern burning on alien ground floated into his mind. And with it, quite suddenly, came the knowledge that Sholto would not have despaired at this moment. He would have put his feelings aside and turned the cool light of his reason on the situation.

Rye did his best to do the same, and the mists that had clouded his mind cleared a little. He sighed and opened his eyes to find Sonia watching him anxiously.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘Of course the Master could still be the Enemy of Weld. We have no proof that he is, but we have no proof that he is not, either. And of course we must find out one way or the other.’

The girl nodded wordlessly.

‘And of course Dirk is right about hiding in the wagon,’ Rye went on. ‘It is what Sholto would have done also, if he had had the chance.’

It was more difficult for Rye and Sonia to clamber up into the wagon than it had been for the taller Dirk, but they managed it. In moments they were crawling into steamy, strong-smelling dimness, with the hide curtain flapping down behind them.

‘At last!’ Dirk’s voice hissed from the shadows.

Rye’s elbow struck something hard and he grunted with pain. Reflecting ruefully that the armour shell protected him from attack but not from his own clumsiness, he turned to see what had hurt him.

It was a bulky metal box with a padlocked lid. The box was bolted to the floor beside the driver’s seat, and very near its base there was another of the curious little painted designs.

It had clearly been daubed by the same hand as the design on the outside of the wagon, but this time the spots and crosses were enclosed in a square instead of a circle.

‘Look at this,’ Rye whispered to Sonia, pointing at the mark. ‘There was something like it outside, too. Could it be some sort of protection charm?’

‘If it is, Four-Eyes has little faith it, since he feels he needs to protect the box with bolts and a padlock as well,’ Sonia answered dryly.

‘It is the slimy cheat’s cashbox, no doubt,’ Dirk said, overhearing. ‘Do not touch it.’

‘It is too big to be a cashbox,’ Sonia objected, but this time Dirk did not bother to reply.

Rubbing his elbow, Rye sat back on his heels and looked around.

The driver’s seat was like a throne, very large and padded with goat hides. Squarely in front of it a metal wheel sprouted like a giant daisy from a pole sticking up through the floor. A window gave a clear view of the way ahead, and below the window was a metal panel studded with levers, knobs and a large dial like a clock face with only one hand.

The shadowy storage area behind the seat was packed to the roof with barrels, lumpy sacks, yellowed bones, bundles of ragged garments, and baskets overflowing with everything from old boots to digging tools. Hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the roof, Dirk was fossicking in one of the baskets.

‘I thought some of Sholto’s things might still be here, but so far I have found nothing I recognise,’ he said. ‘Not that it is easy to find anything in this jumble.’

‘Look at all this food!’ Sonia said indignantly, prodding a bulging sack that smelled strongly of onions. ‘And Four-Eyes said his supplies were low! He is a cheat and a liar, just as Bones said.’

As if to prove her point, the trader’s voice boomed out on the other side of the trench. ‘Well, my friends, I fear your scourings don’t amount to very much this time. Two shivs of tarny roots I’ll give for the lot, and that’s generous.’

‘Generous?’ a woman cried shrilly. ‘It’s robbery!’

There was a chorus of angry jeers.

‘It’s not my fault that times are hard, my friends!’ Four-Eyes called in an injured voice. ‘I’m doing the best I can for you. Nanny’s Pride farm is the last stop before I reach here, as you know. The good folk there assured me that the tarny roots in the sacks they gave me were pulled only this morning. You won’t get fresher!’

‘Fresh or wilted, tarny roots all taste like horse feed to me,’ another voice grumbled. ‘Didn’t you get any salted meat from Nanny’s Pride, Four-Eyes?’

‘Very little,’ sighed Four-Eyes. ‘They’re struggling to produce anything but tarny roots since so many of their people were taken for the Diggings.’

Rye crawled to the doorway beside the driver’s seat, pushed the goat hide flap a little aside and cautiously peeped out.

The area between the hut and the Soak was crowded with the people from the mounds, and torches now burned in several places. The trader was still sitting opposite Cap with his back to the wagon. But he had removed the velvet beret from his head, and gleaming in the back of his hairless skull were two staring eyes.

Rye’s stomach turned over. ‘The trader has eyes in the back of his head!’ he hissed.

‘What?’ demanded Dirk from the back of the wagon. ‘Do you mean—?’

‘I mean what I say!’ hissed Rye. ‘The trader has an extra pair of eyes—I can see them!’

Sonia squeaked in horror.

‘Rye, get away from there!’ Dirk snapped, sounding very rattled. ‘You are not wearing the hood, remember!’

‘Yes, Rye, come on!’ Sonia whispered, beginning to edge between the towering stacks of goods.

As Rye turned from the doorway there was a high, chittering sound right beside him. He jumped, then sighed with relief as a small pink nose poked inquisitively from beneath the driver’s seat.

‘A clink!’ he exclaimed.

‘Keep your voice down!’ Dirk growled. ‘And leave the clink alone! Four-Eyes keeps it to catch mice, I daresay.’

As they did in Fleet, Rye thought, remembering the little creature he had seen in the fireplace of the Fleet guest house.

Olt’s men had killed that clink—killed it for no reason except pure, bullying spite. Wincing at the memory, Rye dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of hoji nuts left over from the uncomfortable meal in the Saltings. The pink nose twitched and the clink chattered excitedly.

‘Do not feed it, Rye,’ Dirk warned, alerted by the sound. ‘If you do, it will come after you, begging for more, and give us away. Clinks are never satisfied.’

Rye hurriedly pushed the nuts back into his pocket. With a disappointed snuffle, the clink vanished beneath the seat again.

‘Oh!’ Sonia exclaimed. ‘Look at this!’

Wondering what she had found, Rye sidled through the piles of goods till he reached the back of the wagon.

He found Dirk and Sonia crouching by the rear wall on a tangle of empty sacks. They were peering into a large box that had been wedged into a corner. The box had wire mesh at the top, and inside were a pair of fine ducks and six downy ducklings, snugly nestled in a bed of straw.

‘We will put the cage by the bridge, where it will be quickly seen,’ Dirk was saying excitedly. ‘It will seem that it has appeared by magic!’

‘Yes!’ Sonia hissed gleefully. ‘And Four-Eyes can hardly claim the ducks are his. He swore he had nothing of value to trade.’

Dirk grinned up at Rye, his eyes sparkling. ‘By the Wall, just think what this will mean to Cap’s people, Rye! If they tend these birds well, in time they will have a whole flock! They will have fresh eggs every day, as we did at home.’

Rye gazed down at the family of ducks sleeping with their heads under their wings. How long ago it seemed since he, Dirk, Sholto and their mother had sat around the table in the little house in Southwall, talking in low voices and eating the cold food that was all they could risk at night in skimmer season.

He remembered Sholto peeling the shell from a hardboiled duck egg and saying the words that had haunted him ever since.

For skimmers, Weld may be nothing but a giant feeding bowl in which tender prey are conveniently trapped.

Life is very hard for the poor souls of the Den, Rye thought. But the night skies at least are safe. If there are skimmers in this place, they go to Weld to feed.

And that is why you are here. Remember why you are here!

Rye stiffened. It was as if Sholto had whispered in his ear.

‘If we do as you say, we can forget travelling to the Master’s headquarters quickly and in secrecy,’ he said in a level voice. ‘Four-Eyes will know someone has been in his wagon. He will search it from end to end. Nothing is more certain.’

Dirk hesitated, the excitement slowly fading from his face.

‘But Rye, do you not want to help Bones and his people?’ Sonia demanded passionately.

‘Yes,’ Rye said. ‘But we are here to find the source of the skimmers. We should not lose sight of that goal. We should not—’

‘Not allow ourselves to be drawn into struggles that do not concern us,’ Dirk finished flatly. ‘As I did, beyond the golden Door.’

‘Dirk, I did not say that!’ Rye felt his face grow hot.

Dirk regarded him quizzically. ‘Perhaps not, little brother, but it is true. And I was about to do the same thing again. Of course you are right. Cap and his tribe will have to do without our help for now.’

Sonia was frowning and biting her lip. Rye wondered if she knew how hard it had been for him to say what he had—if she knew how it would have thrilled him to put the ducks into the hands of Bones and the other people of the Den.

Whether she did or not, she did not argue. Casting a last, regretful look at the cage, she seized a few of the empty sacks and began to drag them to the other back corner of the wagon, wrinkling her nose at the smells of onions, salted fish and goat that rose from the coarse fabric as it was moved.

‘Ho, Cap!’ Rye heard Bones shout. ‘Where be the magic ones? They be a match for cheating ol’ Four-Eyes, them three!’

‘They’ve gone, you buffoon!’ a high jeering voice shrieked. ‘As soon as they got rid of you they—’

‘Needle, hold your tongue!’ Cap thundered. But the damage was done.

‘Why, Cap!’ cried Four-Eyes with obvious relish. ‘I thought you said—’

‘Gone?’ roared Bones at the same moment. ‘Gone an’ left us?’ And he began to howl like a beast.

The piteous sound pierced Rye’s heart. He covered his ears, but he could not escape it.

The howling still had not stopped when Four-Eyes strode back to the wagon in triumph. Scourers trailed behind him, carrying the jell and the bloodhog skull he had traded for a sack of tarny roots, some salted goat meat, a bunch of traveller’s weed and a promise to keep silent about the Den’s vanished visitors.

It went on while Rye, Sonia and Dirk, huddled in hiding, heard the hiss of steam and felt the wagon floor shuddering beneath them as the monstrous vehicle began to move.

And it was still ringing in their ears as the wagon puffed away from the Den and turned onto the track to the Diggings, carrying them with it.