‘Well that certainly looks guilty,’ Jimmy muttered.
Coe didn’t hear him; he’d whipped his horse after the two men as soon as they’d started off. It was a chase they had no hope of winning, for their horses were hardly as fresh as the kidnappers’. They’d been riding steady, while the two men had apparently dawdled along with many a rest, for Jarvis and Jimmy to have overtaken them so soon.
Still, we have to try, and we might get lucky.
Jimmy clapped his heels into the horse’s sides. It took off after the other man’s mount: horses were obviously gang-minded, Jimmy decided. He could feel the power of the gait, the thunder of hooves and the rushing speed, faster than anything he’d experienced before – and the hammering of the saddle against his abused hams. Jimmy flapped his elbows like a chicken, but he had almost supernatural balance, and managed to get into the rhythm of the horse’s gait without difficulty. He had the odd notion that he had no idea what to do if the horse decided to stop suddenly; Jarvis hadn’t mentioned how to ride at a gallop and he genuinely had no idea of what to do to slow the animal. The saddle was slamming him hard in the arse and his teeth were rattling. He put his heels down, as Coe had reminded him several times during the day, and stood up in the stirrups. Suddenly, his teeth stopped rattling and his head stopped bouncing enough to have a clear view ahead. Ah ha! he said silently, that’s how you do it! He let his knees flex and his legs and hips rolled with the horse’s gait, while his upper body remained relatively level with the road.
For a giddy moment, Jimmy thought, this riding business isn’t so bad if you keep your wits about you. Then the horse decided it was tired of running, and it was only Jimmy’s uncanny reflexes and superior sense of balance that kept him from launching from the horse’s back, landing on the hardpan road with painful consequences. As it was, he ended up in front of the saddle, hugging the animal’s neck. The horse seemed irritated by the unexpected display of affection and with a snort began to trot, returning Jimmy to the teeth-rattling again.
Jimmy pushed himself back into the saddle, and started his rocking motion for a trot. He was about to try another gallop, when the horse crested a rise.
Beyond the next hill was a large, fortified manor house – practically a castle – with a moat around it; it lay among rather neglected-looking gardens and there was a low wall around those with a wrought-iron gate at the end of a lane that gave off from the main road. The two men headed for it like lost chicks to a mother hen.
Jimmy pulled up suddenly, or perhaps his horse did. He could feel a wrongness, almost exactly as if something very dead and very cold had drawn a hand down his spine and then pushed the hand inside him to clutch at his gut. He yelped without volition and the horse whinnied in protest, then suddenly he found himself headed back towards Land’s End at a gallop without any instructions he could remember. It was only with difficulty that he managed to pull up, leaning back in the saddle, bracing his feet in the stirrups and hauling down until the horse’s mouth nearly touched its chest.
He looked around, panting, and Coe was right on his heels, looking pale and grim, if more in command of his mount.
‘What was that?’ the young thief asked. ‘Ruthia, what was that?’
It was a long moment before the older man answered. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. He gave Jimmy a quick look. ‘It’s good to know I wasn’t the only one to feel it, though.’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘We should get out of here in case they send someone out looking for us. I’m fairly certain I could handle those two brigands, but I’m not willing to take on a dozen household guardsmen.’ He started down the road, then looked over his shoulder. ‘You staying?’
Jimmy looked at him, then back toward the manor house. ‘No sir,’ he said and followed.
‘Where have you been? I wanted him here last night!’
Rip didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded like a very crabby old man. He felt funny, like when he had been sick last winter and slept all the time. He felt too warm and too wrapped up but when he thought to move, he discovered he was too tired to do anything about it. He couldn’t be bothered even to open his eyes. Besides, his hands wouldn’t move, and his feet were tucked under him and he just couldn’t seem to think of what to do next. But he could listen.
‘Sorry, m’lord. But the boy’s place was a long way away. We left Land’s End at dawn this morning, sir.’ This was the growly voice he’d been hearing lately. He’d never heard him sounding so nice before.
‘Dawn you say! And it took you half a day to get here! Did you carry your horse on your back? Did you walk on your hands like a mountebank? Five hours!’
‘Well but, sir, if we was too late by not ‘aving ’im ’ere last night wot does it matter if we babied the ’orses this mornin’? The poor creatures is that tired, me lord.’
That last was the weasel voice, or so Rip thought of it. And even now he didn’t sound nice, but wheedling and whining and nasty.
‘Impudence!’ cried the old man. There was the muffled sound of someone being clouted. ‘Take your money and go!’
There was a clinking sound muffled somewhat, like coins in a sack dropping to the ground. Then there was a silence that went on too long. Rip shifted uncomfortably and wished everyone would shut up and go away.
‘Thank ye, sir,’ the growly voice said at last.
Rip felt himself lifted, and sensed he was being carried. It wasn’t uncomfortable and this person wasn’t talking, which was a relief. He heard the click of a lock being undone, then a door being opened. Then more walking, followed after a while by the sound of another door being unlocked. Then he felt himself being lowered onto something soft. He relaxed and settled down to sleep at last.
Rip woke as if swimming up from a dark place. He blinked and stirred, not knowing where he was. Then he felt a presence and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
‘He’s awake!’
Rip’s eyes opened in surprise. A girl with dark eyes and curly brown hair was in front of him. She seemed a year or two older than Rip, though she was petite enough she wasn’t a half-head taller. She grinned. ‘I’m Neesa,’ she said. ‘Who are you?’
He was in a room – a big room, bigger than his family’s whole house! And the bed was big too, bigger than Ma and Da’s bed, with smooth sheets. There were hangings on the wall, cloth with pictures in them, pictures like old stories.
He was taken completely by surprise when a boy roughly his own age hopped up on the bed and began jumping up and down.
‘What’s yer name? What’s yer name? What’s yer name?’ the boy shouted gleefully.
‘Stop that, Kay!’ an older girl said, giving the boy a shove that knocked him onto his back. ‘You know what it feels like when you wake up.’
Kay giggled, ignoring the girl’s glare. She offered Rip a clay cup. ‘Thirsty?’ she asked.
Rip nodded, took the cup and upended it, drinking its contents down in a few big gulps. It was some sort of fruit juice, but not like apple cider; more like berries.
He gasped for air and said, ‘Thanks.’
‘I was thirsty it seemed like forever,’ the girl said. ‘I’m Amanda. My family calls me Mandy.’ She was older than Rip, looking to be almost as old as Lorrie, but unlike his sister, Mandy was a solemn-looking girl, with bright blonde hair and pale blue eyes.
‘Rip,’ he said by way of introduction. ‘Where am I?’
The room he was in had stone walls under the cloth; he felt a moment’s awe at how much of the fancy cloth there was. He knew how long Ma and Lorrie had to work to make even enough for a new shirt.
The stones neatly shaped into blocks, not like the stones in the fireplace at home. People in funny clothes riding horses rippled in a draught; it wasn’t really very warm, and there was a queer musty smell to the air he didn’t much like. The bed, he looked around – no, beds – had lots of covers. His even had a roof on it, like a fancy tent.
‘You’re in my bed,’ Mandy said. Not that she was going to ki
ck him out of it immediately, but like she was just letting him know he couldn’t stay forever.
‘Are we in a castle?’ Rip asked. He couldn’t think of anywhere else that had stone walls. And – that word Emmet told me in the story of King Akter – tapestries! Yes, those are tapestries! And kings live in castles of stone.
Mandy shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s a castle.’
‘We can’t go out,’ Neesa said. She glanced around and put her arms around herself, as if cold.
‘Sometimes they come and take someone,’ Kay said. He lowered his voice to a whisper, ‘And they never come back.’
Rip looked around. He didn’t know what had happened, why he wasn’t safe at home with his parents. He was frightened. ‘Maybe their mothers and fathers come and take them home,’ he said hopefully.
Kay’s face screwed up into a mean little knot. ‘You just got here! You don’t know anything!’ He hopped off the bed and ran over to one of the other beds, flopping down and turning his back to them. Rip could hear sobbing as Kay cried into the covers.
Rip softly said, ‘I want my mummy and daddy.’ Tears welled up in his eyes. Mandy watched him for a moment, then leaned close to him and put her arm around his shoulders. ‘He’s just scared. They take more boys. I’ve been here a long time and they’ve taken away four boys.’ Lowering her voice even more, she tapped the side of her head with a finger. ‘Kay’s not quite right. He’s Neesa’s age, ten, but he acts like he’s five.’ She lowered her voice even more. ‘Neesa’s not right either. She sees things and hears things.’ Rip was surprised to learn Kay was ten years old. He didn’t look it, or act it.
Rip was sturdy and tough for seven. He had been around when his father had butchered animals and had helped his sister dress out rabbits she hunted. His nature was to get quiet and withdrawn rather than to cry or complain; softly he said, ‘I’m scared.’
Mandy patted him on the shoulder. ‘We’re all scared, boy. Are you hungry?’ she asked.
‘Food will help,’ Neesa said. Her eyes were bright and she nodded.
Rip sat all the way up and scrunched forward until he was able to put his feet over the edge of the bed, where he swayed dizzily before flopping over onto his back.
Mandy sighed and got up. ‘Stay there. I’ll bring you something.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t,’ he said, feeling queasy again.
‘Did you eat today?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know.’ He frowned. He couldn’t remember anything except an occasional comment in the dark by Growly or Weasel. Where were his father and mother? He couldn’t feel Mother at all, that was strange. It was like when he lost a tooth and there was a space there before the new tooth came in. Maybe this time there wouldn’t be a new thing coming. Lorrie? He reached for her and felt, very faint and far away, an echo of her presence. Maybe he was just too far away from his mother to feel her. But something told him that wasn’t the case. It felt like memory, but without the pictures and sounds that came with remembering.
‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked Mandy.
She dropped the plate of smoked meat, cheese and apples into his lap, giving him a cold look. ‘We don’t talk about them,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ he asked, reasonably enough, he thought.
‘That’s your bed,’ she said, pointing to a bed in the corner.
Rip knew that she was telling him to get lost. He slid off the edge of the tall bed carefully and stood, unsure for a moment if he was going to fall down. ‘Don’t be angry,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand.’ He shook his head. ‘Why are we here? Where are we? I just want to know what’s going on.’
‘Go sit on your own bed and eat,’ Mandy snapped. She hopped onto her bed and sat hugging her knees, glaring at him over them. Rip could see her eyes shine, as if she was trying not to cry.
Puzzled, and a little hurt, Rip went over to the bed in the corner and sat down. He hung his head over the plate so that they couldn’t see the tears running down his cheeks and stuffed a hunk of meat into his mouth. He didn’t want to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Even when Lorrie was mad at him, she didn’t treat him like this, like he just didn’t matter.
‘We don’t know anything,’ Kay said into the heavy silence, his crying fit over. ‘Nobody will talk to us. They bring us food, but they don’t say a word. They only come to bring us food and water and to clean up.’
‘Or to bring someone or to take someone away,’ Mandy added. ‘That’s all we know.’
‘But we think …’ Kay began.
‘We think our parents are dead,’ Mandy said.
‘No!’ Neesa shouted, her face red with anger as she slapped Mandy’s arm.
‘Ow! Get off my bed, right now!’ Mandy said and gave the younger girl a shove.
Neesa fell to the floor and began to cry. Kay rolled his eyes and pulled the pillow over his head, while Mandy crossed her arms and ignored them. Rip put his plate aside. He went over and put his arms around the girl and she clung to him, weeping as if her heart would break.
‘I don’t want my daddy and mummy to be dead,’ she wailed.
‘Maybe they’re all right,’ Rip said, trying to reassure her. ‘We don’t know.’
She sniffed and looked up at him, then nodded. ‘Yes, maybe they’re all right.’ She pushed herself up to her feet. She gave him a brief smile and crossed over to her bed, where she gathered up a roll of cloth and brought it back with her. She sat beside him and began vigorously rocking the bundle in her arms while singing loudly.
At least she’s singing, Rip thought. It was tuneless and wordless, but he thought it was supposed to be a lullaby and the roll of cloth a baby. He stood up and went back to his bed and his meal.
The cheese was wonderful: soft and mild in flavour, with a slightly nutty taste. He’d never tasted anything like it before and he looked around the plate greedily for another piece.
Two days later Rip woke up determined to escape his luxurious prison. He was too young to recognize that he had been drugged, but he knew something had changed since he woke. He was scared, and missed his family, but sensing Lorrie out there somewhere reassured him. But he knew, somehow, that his only hope of ever seeing his family again was to run away.
He didn’t like any of the other children. Well, he didn’t dislike Neesa, but she was very annoying most of the time. She was always singing. The first night he’d been unable to sleep because she never stopped. So he went over to her and asked her to shut up. Then he realized that she was sound asleep and still singing!
Mandy had rolled over and said, ‘She does that all the time. You’ll get used to it.’
But he did not think he would. And he absolutely hated Kay. He might be bigger and older, but like Mandy said, he acted like half his age. If he didn’t get out of here soon, Rip was sure he was going to try to kill Kay. He was a biter and a pincher and he liked to sneak up on you and do one or both. Rip had punched Kay in the stomach once, already, so hard Kay had almost thrown up, and had sat on the floor gasping for breath for a long time. Still, it didn’t seem to matter. Kay would stay away for a while, maybe an hour, then he’d pinch and run, trying to hide under the bed. He didn’t bother Mandy or Neesa the way he did Rip, so Mandy must have taught him to leave them alone. But now Rip knew he was going to have to beat Kay to get him to stop, and Rip didn’t want to beat anyone; he just wanted to go home. Besides, he didn’t know if he could beat Kay up, unless he somehow got on top of him.
He was also frightened by the feeling that someone was watching him. He’d wakened the morning before with a feeling that someone was leaning over him. But when he opened his eyes there was no one there. But the feeling didn’t go away until he reached out. Since then he’d felt as though someone was standing behind him, staring, or holding something over his head. Sometimes it felt as if more than one person was watching him.
‘Mandy,’ he whispered.
She looked up at him and he went over to perch on the side of her bed.
; ‘What?’ she whispered back.
‘Do you ever feel like … like someone you can’t see is watching you?’
Reaching out, Mandy grabbed him by the neck and drew him close. ‘Shut up!’ she said through her teeth. ‘Talking about it, or thinking about it, just makes it worse.’ She smacked him, then said out loud, ‘Now get off my bed.’
Mandy spent the rest of the day glaring at him and refusing to talk, and he couldn’t really blame her. She’d been right, things had gotten worse.
All that day he’d felt as if people were standing close to him, leaning over him and staring. He tried to ignore it, but it was so unpleasant that he’d hardly been able to eat supper. Then later that night he’d been wakened by the sense that someone had touched him. He opened his eyes to see the black silhouette of a man standing before him. And then the man was gone, just like that. Rip lay still, absolutely still, feeling as though the man was still standing there and that he meant no good, and that he had no face but what Rip had seen, a blackness like a shadow made solid.
Rip was so scared he could hear his own heartbeat and he wanted to cry but he didn’t dare, so his throat ached and it was hard to breathe and his mouth was as dry as cotton and he had to use the pot but couldn’t. He wanted to wake one of the others so that he wouldn’t be alone in the dark, but he was afraid to speak out loud. Rip was so wide awake it never occurred to him that he might go back to sleep. But somehow he did. And when he woke, it was with the feeling that someone unseen was leaning over him. He lay there thinking, I’ve got to get out of here.
Twice a day a fat man with a mean face and a bad smell came to bring them food and take away the slops bucket, replacing it with an empty one. Other than that the door was locked and there were bars on the windows and they were up high anyway. So Rip would have to get out when the door opened.
‘I’m going to get out of here,’ he told the others.
The girls just looked at him; Mandy in scorn, Neesa with eyes wide. Rip didn’t think she knew what he was talking about.
The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy Page 89
