Walls of Wind and the Occasional Diamond Thief Boxed Set

by Jane Ann McLachlan

  Prad Gaelig steps forward. “It is time,” he says. “You have to get as far as possible from here while it’s still dark.”

  I touch the door of the fever hut. Agatha will never let me inside. “You’ll stay here?” I ask Prad Gaelig.

  “I’ll stay here until morning, when others will come.”

  “And every night?”

  He hesitates.

  “Every night till she comes out alive. As she did for Tira.”

  “Every night,” he agrees.

  “Alright.” I lean against the door. “I’ll do what you want, Agatha, if I can. But I don’t know where to start.”

  “You know, Kia. In your heart, you know.”

  I’m about to protest, to insist she just tell me how to go about finding the person, but Prad Gaelig clears his throat impatiently beside me.

  “Stay close to the walls of the hut and work your way around to the back,” he whispers. “I’ll stay here where the guard can see me. You’ll have to walk through the swamp. It’s dangerous. The path’s under water and the swamp is deep on either side.”

  “How will I see it?”

  “You won’t. You have to know where it is.”

  “It’s a secret path? For the priests?”

  He looks uncomfortable. “Yes.”

  I don’t ask him why the priests need a way to come here secretly, but I wonder how many people they’ve helped die of CoVir. And then, why he wants me to take the path.

  “It runs from island to island, as the other one does, but it zigzags,” he says, not appearing to notice my hesitation. “When you’re directly behind the hut, put your foot in the water and feel for the path. When you find it, head toward the nearest island to the left. On the other side of that, head for the nearest right island. Then the nearest to the left again. Two more to the right. The next one is left again. Then three to the right, one left, four to the right, and left, each time adding another to the right before one to the left until you’ve circled around to the edge of the swamp and reached dry land.”

  “One left, one right, one left, two right, one left, three right. Got it.”

  “Good. Don’t be fooled by the size of the islands. Any clump of land in the right direction, just keep to the pattern. The path will take you to dry land well to the east of the road we came here by. Follow the summer star, the brightest one in the sky—there it is, see it?” He points without raising his arm. I look up and nod. “Good—walk east under it, through the fields. That will lead you back to the city. Give me your boots.” He pulls from beneath his robe a pair of knee-high slippers and offers them to me. I stare at them.

  “Your boots,” he repeats. “I can give you ten minutes, maybe fifteen. Then I’ll throw a stone into the water, over there,” he nods in the opposite direction of the secret path, “and I’ll leave your boots at the edge of the water.”

  “You thought this out before we came,” I say, making no move to take the slippers he’s holding out to me.

  “Jumal did,” he says. The corner of his lip twitches into a half-smile. Jumal’s half-smile.

  Don’t be afraid, I won’t let anything happen to you, I hear Jumal say, and despite everything, for no intelligent reason at all, I feel myself smiling back. I take the slippers. They’re firmer than they look, and smooth—waterproof?

  “Go to my apartment. Jumal is waiting for you, he’ll take you somewhere to hide.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to.”

  “I can’t put him in danger for me.”

  “He won’t be in any danger. Repeat my instructions.”

  There’s no time to argue, so I repeat his instructions, but I promise myself not to let Jumal risk himself any more for me. Hiding a fugitive from two of the Triumvirate has to be treason.

  “When you get to my apartment tell Naevah to gather as many people as she can and bring them here.” Prad Gaelig’s voice is barely audible. “Tell her they must hold a vigil here day and night, until the Select’s quarantine is over.”

  “Does Naevah know...”

  “She won’t ask why.” He looks at the door of the fever hut through which his tiny daughter came running into his arms.

  I nod. “Goodbye,” I say, softly tapping the door. It’s so inadequate. I want to tell her—I want to beg her to come with me...

  “Kia—”

  I lean in, right against the door. “I’m here,” I whisper.

  “Remember this: you are worth more than you know. Believe it.”

  I swallow. You too, I want to say, but I can’t get it out.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Behind the cabin, beyond even the dim glow of the palm light, the night is pitch black. I align myself with the middle of the hut and walk straight forward, feeling the way with my feet on the slight downward slope to the water.

  A dark shape appears suddenly in front of me. I throw my hands up. The sleeves of my robe pull on branches: a tree. Prad Gaelig didn’t mention a tree in my path. Did I walk at an angle? How would I know? Behind me the hut has vanished into the night. I’ll have to find the hidden path by touch when I reach the water.

  I push the branches aside and make my way around the tree then stop, holding the end of a twig. I run my hand along it until it joins a thicker branch, and measure off about the length of my leg. I bend the branch quickly back and forth until it cracks, and pull it free. I can almost hear those fifteen minutes he said he’d give me ticking away, but now I can move faster, sweeping the ground ahead of me. It’s not as good as a real cane with autosensors, but better than nothing.

  When I reach the edge of the island I sit down. The cold dampness of the groundcover seeps through my robe and jump-suit. How deep under water is the path? Leaning forward, I poke the twig into the swamp, swishing it left and right. It meets no resistance so I scuttle sideways and dip it in again. After two more tries I feel something solid blocking the twig’s path. I lower my feet carefully into the swampwater.

  The path is more than a foot under water; my slippers sink into the freezing water with only an inch to spare. They are waterproof, but the cold goes right through them. Holding my robe up, I move my right foot sideways till I reach the other edge: about two feet wide. Carefully I rise, extending one arm for balance. My left foot slides an inch sideways as I stand up. The rocks are flat but slippery with slime. I can’t make out any clumps of land in the darkness. The pattern will help me locate the path from each island, but not stay on it.

  I fight back a sense of blindness that nearly overwhelms me. I try to step forward. My feet are frozen to the path. It’s just a walk-strip, I tell myself, and it’s not even moving. Still, I can’t make myself walk forward. What if it stops abruptly and I plunge into the water far from land? What if it leads me deep into the swamp and ends, marooning me where no one will ever find me?

  I back up carefully and sit down on the island, catching my breath in a single sob of relief when I feel firm ground underneath me. I can’t do this.

  Broken-nose will take me back to the High Priest, and he’ll keep Prad Gaelig with him. No one will send Naevah and her friends out to guard the fever house until it’s too late.

  Behind me I hear the murmur of Prad Gaelig’s voice talking to Agatha, camouflaging my escape. Ahead there’s only darkness, and the deep silence of still water, and the putrid smell of decomposing vegetation. And the remote possibility that Agatha might survive this, if I can send help. I stand up and inch my right foot forward along the path, and then move my left foot forward gingerly, feeling my way with my feet as well as the stick.

  I have to hurry, put distance between myself and the guard. If Prad Gaelig knows of this path the High Priest’s guards will, too. But every inch forward is weighted with fear, every step deeper into the treacherous swamp is harder to take. I force myself forward, silently repeating Prad Gaelig’s instructions until I’m clambering up onto the first clump of land, crossing it with legs grown steadier on dry land, then once
again bending over the water, searching it with my stick for the secret path. How long will the guard be fooled by my boots and a stone? Will he come down this path, just to make sure? Or leave me out here to die?

  I follow the path over five clumps of land for more than an hour when I notice the sky is clearing. Moon and stars blink sleepily through breaks in the cloud cover, helping light my way. I try to speed up, conscious of the passing time, and hurry over another clump of land. I step onto a rock on the other side which my twig locates.

  My foot slips sideways and I plunge into the cold water, dropping my stick. Where’s the path? My hand grabs for the rock—a single rock, slippery with moss. I lunge for the land. The bank is muddy and falls away steeply. Clumps tear off in my hands as I try to stop my fall. I sink underwater, holding my breath, fighting to keep from panicking.

  My feet touch bottom. Something bumps against my legs. I reach down to push it aside and feel an arm, a human hand. I kick wildly, lunging sideways and propelling myself up from the bottom despite the weight of my sodden robe. As my head breaks above water I fling my arms over the stone path and heave myself up onto it, scrambling backwards onto the land and uttering little bleats of terror, uh, uh, uh. I run to the center of the island, dripping and shivering, and stare at the water. A dark lump floats up beside the pathway.

  The thing in the swamp doesn’t move. I realize I’m in more danger of freezing than from it. I struggle to pull the soaked robe over my head. My hands shake as I pull off my slippers and tip out the water.

  I shudder with cold, my teeth chattering uncontrollably as I wring out my robe. It must be someone who had CoVir. But no, they cremate those who die that way. I don’t want to go near it, let alone walk past it, but I have to take the path. I have to get to Prad Gaelig’s apartment or I’ll freeze to death. Before I can change my mind I walk down to the water and crouch at the edge of the path staring at the still, black shape. Its clothing billows around it, unlike soaked wool. I lean forward...

  And jump back in horror as I recognize the blue and white habit floating on the water.

  Hamza! Oh, God, it’s Hamza!

  Dead, beside the priests’ secret pathway.

  I turn, peering into the darkness behind me. The guard might be coming for me. The High Priest’s guard, loyal only to the High Priest. He’ll have to kill me now, I know about Hamza. I yank on my slippers and pick up my sopping robe. Maybe I can push Hamza further out, so no one will know I’ve seen him.

  Immediately I am ashamed. I remember him holding my arm in the square, supporting me when I would have fallen, guiding me home after the beheading. He was unpleasant, but he was always concerned about our safety. I can’t just leave his body lying in the water. I crouch at the edge of the land. There’s my stick, bumping against the rock I slipped on. I grab it, and manage to snag a corner of Hamza’s robe, and gently pull him toward me. Holding my breath, I grab one of his legs and pull him up onto the land.

  Now what? I can’t bury him and he’s too heavy for me to carry, I’d never make it. I drag him behind a tree and pile leaves on top of him, hoping he’ll still be here when I get back with someone I can trust. I bow my head and try to think of something to say.

  “You were honest and loyal to your Order. You did your best to protect us. I should have thanked you,” I say, through chattering teeth.

  There’s no time for more. I hurry across the clump of land and step onto the pathway, heading toward the island to the left. Then four to the right. Or is it five? I can’t think...

  Four! Yes, four. Concentrate on the pattern. Only on the pattern.

  ***

  Naevah and Jumal answer the door together on my third knock. They stare at me a moment, shivering and wet and stinking of the swamp, then Jumal pulls me quickly inside.

  As soon as I’ve delivered Prad Gaelig’s terse message, barely comprehensible through my chattering teeth, Naevah hands me a clean robe and underclothes and sends me to shower. Nothing has ever felt as good as that hot water washing the mud from my hair, easing the shivers from my body.

  Jumal is waiting when I emerge wearing Naevah’s robe, carrying my own robe and jumpsuit under my arm. He makes a face. I rinsed out as much of the swamp mud as I could, but they’re still pretty rank. I shrug. I have to take them with me. It isn’t safe for Naevah to be found with my jumpsuit, and I can’t leave my robe behind. My father’s diamond lies in its hem like a secret vice. How will I ever find its owner and return it, without admitting my father’s crime?

  I’m gulping down a plate of food Naevah prepared for me when a loud knock shakes the door. We all freeze.

  “Take her to my room,” Jumal whispers.

  I pick up my bundled clothes and the plate of food and follow Naevah down the hall.

  A bed, a table, a chair. Not even a closet to hide in if they search, and I don’t doubt they will search the apartment. I hear Jumal speaking in the front room and tiptoe to the door to listen.

  “It smells like swamp in here.”

  “My aunt has been spending her days outside the fever hut,” I hear Jumal say, “giving moral support to the woman who saved my cousin’s life. You have an objection to that?”

  “No, no,” the voice says quickly, at the same time as a second voice says something I can’t make out.

  “Yes, I know her. Why?” Jumal’s voice is cool, almost disinterested.

  “She’s missing,” a man’s voice says. Incredibly, he sounds hesitant, almost stuttering.

  “Yes, I heard. The Queen’s guards have been searching for her for several days. You think I wouldn’t know that?”

  “No... I mean yes, of course...”

  “What’s interesting is that you are the High Priest’s men. So now he is searching for her, too, when he wasn’t before. What should I think of that?”

  The guard mutters something too low for me to catch, but I’m not really listening, I’m too horrified at Jumal’s tone. He’s taking his act too far. How can he think he’ll get away with it?

  “You want to search my home?” Something in the way he emphasizes ‘my’ conflicts with the tone of amusement in his voice. It gives me goosebumps, like the sound of a fork scratching a metal plate. It is followed by silence. I can almost feel the guards’ discomfort, perplexing as it is.

  “Alright,” Jumal says, “But tell the High Priest that I may choose to remember this.”

  Alright? Alright they can search the apartment?

  There’s a shuffling of feet from the uncomfortable guards, then the unmistakable sound of their footsteps following Jumal across the living room. I close the bedroom door quickly and whirl around. A bed, a table a chair. A window, but the apartment’s too high up for that to be any use. I stand, frozen for a second, hearing the footsteps coming closer...

  “The last room is mine,” Jumal’s voice says. I hear the door open. Heavy footsteps enter the room. I hold my breath.

  “May I?” the guard asks. A corner of the bedcover trembles. I close my eyes.

  The blanket is pulled aside, revealing Jumal’s pajamas bunched up in the middle of the bed. I know because I put them there.

  “Satisfied?” Jumal asks. I wish I could hear a quiver of relief in his voice, but he’s as cool as ever. It ticks me because I myself am sweating and limp with relief as I listen to the guards’ receding footsteps. When I hear the front door shut with unnecessary loudness, I heave the mattress up and climb out from my hiding space between it and the bedboard. Jumal comes into the room, grinning.

  “Your mattress is going to smell of swamp,” I say, pulling my robe and jumpsuit out with me. I fail to wipe the smile off his face, so I cave and grin back at him, acknowledging the little thrill of success at having outsmarted them together.

  “You took a huge risk,” I say, laughing, “with that arrogant, outraged act. And they fell for it!”

  “No risk at all,” Naevah says grimly, coming into the room. “You were the only one at risk, Kia. Tell her, Jumal.”

&n
bsp; Jumal looks abashed. “I knew she’d pull it off,” he says. “She’s quick on the uptake.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “It really isn’t important.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Okay, okay.” He frowns at Naevah. “I’m just a commoner—”

  Naevah gives a soft snort.

  “—but my brother is the King.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It hits me in the gut. All this time I thought I knew him, or at least, was getting to know him. It was all a lie?

  “You’re the heir to the throne?” I stammer, and for a moment I hope he’s going to laugh and call me “duckling” or something equally stupid for falling for it.

  Instead, he shrugs. “I’m hoping my brother and his wife will take care of that.”

  I stare at him, unwilling to believe it. But a lot of things make sense now, like the way he spoke to the High Priest and the guards, and the fact that they all listened to him.

  I was going to confide in him, tell him about my father’s diamond, and finding Hamza’s body. And now I find out he’s practically one of the Triumvirate? The Queen is his sister-in-law; they’re family. How can I trust him now?

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he says, and I think he’s reading my thoughts until he adds, “Don’t look at me like that. You’re the only one who looked at me and saw me, not my brother’s crown. And now you don’t.”

  How did I look at him? I glance up into his eyes above that crooked grin and I flush and look away. I looked at him like my heart was in my throat, choking me, whenever he looked at me. Like we might get to be, I don’t know, something more than friends. Like I hoped we would. I’m such an idiot. Did everyone see it? How could they help seeing it? And all along they knew he was the king’s brother, the heir to the throne, and no way was he ever going to look back at a dumb off-worlder making eyes at him. And now he’s sorry because I won’t make a fool of myself anymore? He was laughing at me from the start, with his “quack” and his “duckling”.