The Third Door

6 - Fell End

An odd-looking vessel had come into view from behind a clump of trees, pushing along the ribbon of water with a faint chugging sound. It was square and low, with a steaming funnel. Many small red and yellow flags fluttered gaily above the heads of several figures gathered on its deck. As Sonia, Sholto and Dirk turned to look, a great cloud of steam billowed from the boat’s funnel, and there was a long, loud hoot.

Yells of excitement rose from the town. The music stopped and people began swarming towards the little jetty.

By the time the strange craft arrived, a small knot of self-conscious men and women had gathered beneath the banner to greet the visitors. Behind them, the mud-spattered townspeople were chattering, waving and cheering lustily.

As the vessel was tied securely, Rye wondered which of its passengers was Chieftain Farr. Was it the man with the lean face and sunken eyes in a long black robe and a close-fitting black cap? Was it the haughty woman with the coronet of iron-grey braids and the very correct dark green gown that covered her from wrist to ankle?

Was it the plump old woman who looked like a kind grandmother in a book of fairy tales? Or the elegant, golden-skinned woman smiling beside her? Or could Farr possibly be the beefy, red-faced man in a blue velvet coat and frilled shirt who was furtively tugging at his high collar as if it was strangling him?

As the gangplank slid into place, Rye discovered that it was none of them. The crowd roared as a big, black-haired man rose to tower above his companions, holding the small boy he had stooped to pick up in one arm. The man gave his free arm to the elegant woman and they moved over the gangplank together.

‘Farr!’ the crowd chanted. ‘Farr! Farr! Farr!’

The big man grinned, then put the little boy down and stepped forward to shake hands with the officials on the jetty. His boots shone and his white shirt was spotless, but these were the only things that set him apart from the people who greeted him so eagerly. His thick hair was already springing back into an untidy bush, despite the water that had been used to smooth it down. His hands were brown and rough, with strong, blunt fingers. He looked a little like Hass, the fisherman who had helped Rye in Oltan. Perhaps that was why Rye liked and trusted him on sight.

Farr introduced his companions to the crowd simply and without ceremony.

The hollow-eyed man, it seemed, was called Manx, and was a member of what Farr called his advisory council. The woman with the braids, Sigrid of Gold Marsh, was also a council member, and so was the stout man, whose name was Barron.

The crowd clapped politely when the first two were named, and with more energy as Barron made his clumsy bow. But when Farr presented his wife, Janna, his son, Zak, and the sweet-faced old woman who was Zak’s nurse, Petronelle, there was a roar of cheers.

‘They care more for their chieftain’s family than for the council members, it seems,’ Sholto muttered.

‘They are moved because Farr has brought his wife and son with him,’ said Dirk. ‘Living hard by the Fell Zone, these people must face danger every day. Farr is showing them that he and his family are willing to share that danger, and they love him for it.’

Sholto raised an eyebrow. Rye was smiling to himself, thinking that for all Sholto’s cleverness, he would never understand people as Dirk did, when he felt a cold shadow slide into his mind.

Hatred. Malice. Danger …

A terrible feeling of foreboding, even worse than the dread he had felt in the Fell Zone, gripped Rye’s heart. He sensed nothing from Sonia, but when he turned to her he realised why. She was curled up in the shadow of a canoe, fast asleep.

In confusion he turned back to face the jetty. Farr was speaking again.

‘I can see by your banner, friends, that you’ve remembered what I told you at the beginning of your great task, far from here and three long years ago,’ Farr said, looking out at the sea of eager faces. ‘I’m glad of it. The future’s in your hands now, as your work nears its end, just as truly as it was then. By your sweat, blood and courage thousands of people who might never know your names will live and prosper. On their behalf, I offer you my deepest thanks.’

He waited for the wild applause to die down before going on.

‘When I stood for election as your chieftain, I said that I respected our traditions and would resist change for change’s sake. I promised to be cautious. But I also swore that if the slay attacks and other acts of violence didn’t stop, I’d take action.’

Thunderous cheers. Rye, Dirk and Sholto looked at one another in shock.

‘Slay attacks!’ hissed Dirk. ‘By the Wall—’

Farr held up his hands to silence the cheers.

‘In less than a week, I’m told, the pipeline you’ve built will reach Fell End,’ he said. ‘As you know, it’s a key part of our plan—’

‘But how, Farr?’ someone shouted from the back of the crowd. ‘Won’t you tell us even now?’

The officials on the jetty looked embarrassed by the interruption. Farr only grinned. ‘I know how curious you must be, friend,’ he called. ‘But the secret has to be kept for now. The enemy mustn’t suspect our plan until everything’s in place and we can bargain from a position of real strength.’

‘Why bargain?’ a woman cried shrilly. ‘Fight, I say! Avenge our dead!’

Many in the crowd shouted agreement.

Farr’s grin faded and he shook his head. ‘Revenge won’t bring back the people we’ve lost,’ he said soberly. ‘It won’t repair homes, or build up our herds and crops again. If we can stop the attacks by threats alone, I’ll be more than satisfied.’

There were few cheers this time. Clearly most in the crowd were disappointed. Behind Farr’s back, the councillors Manx and Sigrid exchanged dubious glances. Barron, his plump, red face puckered in concern, pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his sweating brow.

Farr squared his shoulders. ‘Peace is what I hope for, yes! I’ve never made any secret of that. But all who hear me now can be sure of one thing.’

He had raised his voice slightly. His keen eyes searched the crowd.

He believes there are enemy spies here, Rye thought suddenly. He is speaking to them as much as to these workers.

‘A wish for peace doesn’t mean weakness,’ Farr went on, his face very stern. ‘If we have to attack to save ourselves, then attack we will. And our move will be swift, final, and delivered without mercy.’

The crowd was his again. He stood for a moment, unsmiling, as the storm of cheers, stamps and whistles broke over him. Then he offered his arm to his wife and together they moved off the jetty with their son and the nurse, the three councillors and the flustered welcoming party following.

‘So, Rye,’ Dirk said tensely, ‘your instinct was right. The wooden Door has led us to an ally we did not know existed! Ten to one the pipeline is to supply water to troops in the Scour.’

‘That is all very fine,’ Sholto muttered, as the crowd engulfed Farr and the band struck up again, ‘but Farr is dreaming if he thinks his threats will stop the Master. He plainly has no idea what he is dealing with!’

‘None,’ Dirk agreed grimly. ‘We must get to him and warn him—tell him what we know.’

‘You two go,’ said Rye. ‘I will stay with Sonia.’

‘That is pointless, Rye,’ Dirk said impatiently. ‘Sonia is safe here, and she will not stir in the little time we will be away. When that girl decides she is tired, nothing can wake her! Remember how she was on the roof of the Harbour? Dead to the world, amid all that excitement! She is a mystery to me!’

‘She is … remarkable,’ Sholto murmured.

Rye glanced at him sharply. Sholto was looking down at Sonia with a gentle, puzzled expression Rye had never seen on his face before.

So, Rye thought in confusion. Sholto … Sonia …

For some reason, he felt a pain in his heart.

‘Throw back the hood, Rye,’ Dirk ordered. ‘We do not need it here, and in fact it will hinder us. We need to be able to mingle with the crowd, talk to people while we wait our chance to get Farr alone.’

Rye looked around. The riverbank was deserted. There was no one to see them appear. Slowly he pushed back the hood and followed his brothers to the little jetty.

‘I still cannot think how Nanion of Fleet, for example, had not heard of Farr and his settlement,’ Dirk said as they moved into the bustling main street of the town.

‘Perhaps more people escaped from Olt’s domain than Olt or anyone else knew,’ Rye suggested. ‘They could have slipped away in secret, a few at a time, many years ago.’

As he spoke, they reached the town square, which was as big as a small field and seething with people. Farr and his wife were standing together in a small island of space in the centre, admiring a pair of beautiful, honey-coloured horses being displayed by a small man who reminded Rye strongly of FitzFee. Nearer to the brothers, the long tables were being stocked with fresh platters of food, and the benches were filling.

Another banner flapped above the tables.

‘What luck!’ Dirk exclaimed. ‘I am ravenous! We can eat and pick up some gossip at the same time.’

As they squeezed onto the end of a bench, those further along made room for them in friendly fashion. A plump, cheery woman sitting on the other side of the table pushed a metal platter towards them. The platter was heaped with wooden skewers threaded with grilled vegetables and chunks of meat.

‘New around here, aren’t you?’ the woman asked, as the brothers thanked her. ‘Heard there was work to be had, I daresay? Well, you heard true. A week will see the pipeline finished, but there’ll still be plenty of cleaning up to do after that, and good hands are always welcome. It’s not everyone has the stomach to work out here. Tuck in!’

The food was wonderful. The meat was spicy and tender, like nothing Rye had ever tasted before. Juice ran down his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand without a thought for Weld manners.

‘Oh, very good!’ Dirk mumbled with his mouth full.

‘Just what I was saying,’ said the little man beside him. ‘They’ve done us proud today. Best bit of hog I’ve ever eaten.’

Dirk and Rye froze, their cheeks bulging. Sholto carefully put his skewer down.

The woman laughed heartily. ‘They think you mean old-style bloodhog, Sol!’ She leaned across the table and patted Dirk’s hand. ‘It’s the new breed, lovely,’ she explained kindly. ‘Descended from wild bloodhogs, they say, but bred and raised in Riverside. You’d have passed fields full of them on your way upriver—didn’t you notice? No horns, no nasty tempers, and flesh as sweet as a hoji nut!’

Dirk nodded weakly. He swallowed what was in his mouth and quickly drained the beaker of ale that a sweating boy in a long, grubby apron had set down before him.

The joke of the strangers who thought they had eaten bloodhog spread around the table. Soon everyone was chortling and taunting the newcomers. Rye blushed and Sholto looked down his nose, but Dirk grinned broadly, lifted a fresh beaker of ale and toasted his tormenters, earning himself a hearty cheer.

After that, Dirk and his brothers were treated as old friends. Food was pressed on them till they could eat no more. Their hopes of learning more about Farr, the pipeline and Fell End proved fruitless, because so many people had begun singing along with the band that it was impossible to talk without roaring. But it was so good to sit with a full stomach in good company for a time that in truth they minded this very little.

I have not felt so at home since … since before Dirk and Sholto went away, Rye thought dreamily. At the same moment he felt the armour shell freeing itself from his fingertip. It had sensed that he had relaxed. Quickly he caught it and stuffed it back into the brown bag, twisting a little aside so that no one would see.

As he turned back to the table there was a stir. Chieftain Farr was leading his smiling lady into the circle of dancers. Benches quickly emptied as people jumped up to join the widening ring.

‘Oh, imagine dancing with Farr!’ cried the cheery woman, looking hopefully at Dirk. And in a moment Dirk was on his feet, gallantly offering her his hand.

‘You too,’ he hissed at Sholto over his shoulder. ‘Talk as you dance! This is our chance to find a few things out at last!’

Dirk had not thought to ask Rye, and for this Rye was profoundly grateful. He sat unnoticed on the end of the empty bench, smiling as Sholto bowed stiffly to a young woman with yellow bows in her hair and led her away with a sour look on his face. Sholto hated dancing.

Rye wondered how Sonia felt about it. He wondered if she had woken. He called her softly in his mind but received no reply.

Leave her be, he told himself. You do not need Sonia at your elbow every moment. He slid round on the bench, turning his back on the dancers.

The other side of the square was now almost deserted. The chieftain’s son, Zak, was solemnly inspecting a solitary peddler’s collection of brightly glazed pottery animals while his old nurse vanished into the little maze of stalls in a side street. As Rye watched, the boy suddenly made his choice and proudly handed a coin to the peddler.

His last sale made, the peddler closed his tray and departed. Zak was left alone. For a moment he stood patiently waiting for his nurse to return, then his attention seemed to be attracted by something nearby. Rye squinted to see what the boy was looking at. At first he could see nothing, then, suddenly, he caught a glimpse of something extraordinary.

A shining bubble was floating in mid-air, an arm’s length from Zak’s nose. The boy stretched out his hand, but the bubble moved a little away from him. He hesitated, then ran after it. The bubble drifted again, towards a shadowy doorway, and again the boy followed.

A creeping chill trickled down Rye’s spine. Instinctively he rose, then realised that he should not approach the boy alone. However he felt about this place and its people, he was a stranger. He should not draw attention to himself. He looked around for help, looked back at Zak, and felt a surge of relief as he saw someone he recognised moving out of the darkness of the doorway.

Then sweat broke out on his forehead. As the familiar features emerged from the gloom, they were changing. They were melting, and reforming. The skin was thickening, bulging and splitting till the head, limbs and swollen body were shapeless masses of rough bark sprouting fat tongues of white fungus. The eyes were dark green holes. The hair was brightening, standing out from the head like crackling flames. Great, thorny claws were sprouting from the outstretched hands. And Zak screamed like a baby goat in peril as the shining bubble burst in his face and the monster leaped at him, claws reaching, wide jaws gaping like a trap.

Rye leaped at the same moment, with all the power of the speed ring behind him. His only weapon was the bell tree stick, but the stick was in his hand as he threw himself between the beast and the child.

Dimly he heard screams of alarm and the sounds of running feet. He thought he felt Sonia wake and cry out to him. He felt a great thud as the monster collided with him. He was blinded by a flash of white light …

Then his head struck the ground, and there was only darkness.