Another gavver thrown across the room by a ferocious Kirch Tellon.
Marlo on his feet, blood streaming from his head, blocking the stairs supported by a squad of his own people.
Beside him Mrs Pepper swinging a wooden bat at anyone foolish enough to come within her reach. Mrs Pepper a Desecrator!
Carver shrieking at his own men as they spread out in a line in front of the doorway.
And then Finn looked up at her.
‘Letta!’ he shouted.
She was about to rush to the stairs when she noticed the canvas pipes. Maybe she could use these to create a distraction.
Pulling out her knife she began to hack at the pipe nearest to her. But the thick fabric resisted the blade.
‘Letta!’ she heard Finn’s voice again, more urgent now.
She raised her arm and stabbed the fabric with all her might and was rewarded with a spray of water that hit her in the eyes, blinding her for a second.
Disappointment surged through her as she realised it was nothing like she’d hoped for. In her imagination a huge wave of water would burst from the pipe, creating enough of a distraction to give her friends a chance to escape, but now she saw that her gesture was pointless.
‘Letta!’ Finn’s voice rent the air. ‘Now! Jump!’
She stumbled towards the stairs. Beneath her, the hall was still thronged with people, grappling, stabbing, falling. She stopped and looked down the length of the stairs. The Creators were losing ground, being pushed back up the stairs by a pack of resolute gavvers, led by Carver. There was no way she could force her way through. She looked down and to her right. The grey wolf had closed the tunnel but if she could get to it …
Bang! A hook narrowly missed her head and caught in the banisters. Beneath it like a long tail a rope fell into the hall.
‘Come on, Letta!’ Finn shouted at her. ‘Grab the rope!’
She looked down. She couldn’t do it. But even as the words formed in her head she was swinging her leg over the banister. Her hands felt the coarse rope. She jumped. All the air was sucked from the room. She wrapped her legs around the rope. Her body swung out over the void, momentarily becalmed above a boiling vat of fury.
Marlo! Where is he? Her eyes scanned the room. There he was! At the bottom of the stairs still pushing back the bank of gavvers who assailed it. Beside him, Mrs Pepper battled furiously. And then she saw it. Carver! He was standing, gun in hand, aiming it at Marlo.
‘Marlo!’ Letta screamed but her warning was drowned in the waves of noise coming from the battle. Then she reached out, and kicked the wall behind her with all of her force, propelling herself forward. With both feet she struck Carver’s head with as much power as she could muster, and felt the satisfying heft of his body being pitched forward. He staggered. The gun went off.
‘Marlo!’ Letta screamed just as Mrs Pepper stumbled and fell from the stairs, her head smashing on to the stone floor. Marlo looked up at Letta, his face white and drawn, eyes wide and staring. What had she done? Had she killed Mrs Pepper?
‘Letta!’ Finn’s voice called urgently from the hall.
Letta slid down the rope, white-hot pain searing her hands as the rope burned her palms. She had to get to the canister.
She stumbled across the hall, dodging bodies as she went, Finn doing his best to shepherd her. She pulled away from him, dropped to the floor and crawled, the prize only strides from her, sparkling in the sunlight. With one huge effort she pushed her way through and grabbed it, its metal casing cold in her hands. And then pain exploded in her lower back as a boot crashed into her. She looked up in time to see Carver staring down at her.
‘Give it to me!’
He drew back his boot to kick her again when two men locked in combat fell across his path. Letta looked around desperately, trying to see a way through, but her path was blocked by a phalanx of gavvers, truncheons in their hands, coming straight for her.
It’s hopeless, she thought when suddenly, above it all, she heard a loud rip, a groan from the top of the tower, as the canvas pipe burst. Then, the gushing fall of water, inflated by enforced containment, swallowed all other sounds, drowning them in the noise of its own rage. Whoosh! The torrent hit the stone floor, scattering bodies as it fell on the battle, in one giant exclamation. Letta gasped as she was thrown back.
Clutching the canister to her chest, she hesitated for only a second and then, her clothes heavy with water, her feet slipping and sliding, she dashed for the grey wolf stone. She placed her hand on the wolf’s head and pushed. The stone moved to reveal the gaping mouth below.
It was too dark to see much, but the air that rushed back at her was fusty and dank. There was a ladder attached to the wall of the tunnel. With her free hand, Letta grabbed it and started to descend. Just as her foot hit the third rung a hand clamped down on her arm, the fingers digging into her painfully. No! she thought. I can’t fail now. She looked up fully expecting Carver’s small eyes to look back at her. But it wasn’t Carver. Her throat constricted, she could barely force the word out.
‘Werber!’
His grip tightened.
‘Please, Werber,’ she said, staring into his eyes. Deep pools of brown like she had seen in the fields on harsh winter days. Letta held her breath. He looked back over his shoulder, a quick, furtive glance, then turned and faced her again. His mouth opened.
‘Go!’ he said in a jagged whisper. ‘Go!’
Above her head, the stone slid back into place, blocking out the light, enveloping her in darkness.
CHAPTER 25
Non-List
Future
The time that is yet to come
OUT on the ocean, the night had started to give way to the day. Standing at the edge of the sea, Letta listened to the beat of the waves as they hit the shore and wondered what the future would bring. It had scarcely been a week since the confrontation in the water tower. The canister with its lethal contents was in safe hands. They still had to find a way to destroy it, a way to make sure it could never threaten them again.
She had escaped the clutches of the gavvers, crawled through the secret passage Noa had built from the water tower to the basement of his house. She had survived, but many of the Creators had not. Some had died in the battle at the tower. Others had been arrested later and executed. Amelia had taken power. Her aunt Amelia. Even now she struggled with that reality.
Letta herself was on the wanted list, and she knew that if caught, she would be shown no mercy. In the seven days that had passed, Amelia had already proven herself a ruthless enemy. Tonight, Letta would slip into the forest and start again. She was a wordsmith, a colour-catcher, just like Benjamin and Leyla and her parents had been. That knowledge was what she would take with her.
She looked at the parcel in her hands. As Benjamin had promised, Finn had found it in the bottom drawer of the old man’s desk. Brown paper tied with hemp string. She pulled at the knots and they fell away before her awkward fingers. She smoothed back the wrapping. Inside she could see folded sheets, which smelt of beetroot. She tore more of the wrapping until she was able to lift the contents clear.
She opened the first document. It was a map. Hand drawn and a little faded but totally legible. She frowned. What did it mean? The other documents were also maps and charts. Finally she saw the note.
These are the maps and charts your parents took with them. I copied them so that one day you might have them. Go safely, little one.
She almost stopped breathing. Nothing moved. She could hear her own heart, feel the blood rushing through her veins. She steadied herself and wrapped the papers up carefully.
She was the wordsmith. That would have to come first: people needed her and she would not let them down. But somewhere, in her future, she knew that the boat with the silver sail had come just a little closer.
‘Letta!’
The voice made her jump.
Marlo.
She watched him as he walked towards her, her heart quickening. I
n her mind, she could see the blue-grey eyes and smell the faint hint of sage. With a light heart, she turned and walked towards him.
Behind her, the sea lapped gently onto the sand, and over her head a chattering of starlings wheeled in the air and headed south.
Letta turned and, raising one finger, she saluted the horizon, as she always did, just in case they were out there and could see her and would know that she had not forgotten them. Out on that far horizon, where they now lingered, if not in body, then at least in spirit.
FIN
The Wordsmith Page 24
