by Lian Tanner
The man turned back to Goldie. ‘The bird has an instinct for thievery. She can sense it at a thousand paces, or through heavy fog. She’s never wrong. I ask you again, what have you stolen?’
Goldie’s face grew hot. ‘The cakes,’ she mumbled. ‘I was hungry.’
The man raised an eyebrow as if the cakes didn’t matter in the slightest, and he was surprised that she had mentioned them. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing else!’
The man’s eyes were merciless. ‘Turn out your pockets.’
The skin on Goldie’s face felt like glass. Slowly, she put her hand in the wrong pocket and pulled out first her kerchief, then her compass, and finally the bird brooch.
‘Your other pocket,’ said the man.
Goldie stared at the floor. She put her hand in her other pocket – and pulled out the coins.
The man’s tongue clicked in satisfaction. ‘Those,’ he said, ‘are five-hundred-year-old gold sovereigns.’
Goldie gasped again. The man folded his awkward arms across his chest. ‘Well, now—’
There were footsteps in the corridor outside. A loud voice cried, ‘Hello? Hello?’ A second, deeper voice shouted, ‘Is there anyone in this forsaken place?’
It was Guardian Hope and Guardian Comfort! Goldie shrank back into the corner. There would be no mercy now. This strange man would hand her over to the Blessed Guardians and tell them about the coins. She trembled at the thought of how they would punish her.
But to her astonishment, the man put his finger to his lips. ‘Sshh!’ he breathed, and pointed to the narrow space under the desk. It was only when she was safely hidden that he called out, ‘In here!’
Goldie held her breath. All she could see were the man’s long trousers and scuffed brown boots. The footsteps came to the door and stopped.
‘Welcome to the Museum of Dunt!’ cried the man. His voice was completely different now. All the severity was gone, and he sounded slightly foolish. ‘My name is Sinew! Are you after a guided tour? You’ve come to the right place! Here you can trawl to your heart’s content through the city’s long and glorious history.’ He coughed in an embarrassed sort of way. ‘Well, most of it. We are missing a few years here and there, and the labels seem to have gone astray – we have a veritable plague of silverfish! But our keepers are always happy to—’
Guardian Hope interrupted him. ‘Who’s in charge here? I wish to see your Resident Guardian.’
‘Alas, we don’t have one.’
‘All public buildings have a Resident Guardian, by order of the Fugleman. As from last night.’
‘Oh, the fortunate creatures,’ burbled Sinew, sounding sillier than ever. ‘If only we could be so privileged! Alas again, we are not. By order of the Protector. Perhaps we’re simply too small and unimportant to bother with such things.’
There was a moment’s silence. Then Guardian Hope said, ‘We’re searching for a runaway child. A criminal child. A girl.’
Goldie pressed herself against the cool wood of the desk. Above her head Sinew said, ‘Great whistling pigs! A criminal? In our glorious city? Who’d have thought it? A murderer perhaps? An arsonist? A . . . thief?’
‘Being a runaway,’ said Guardian Comfort in his most mournful voice, ‘is a criminal act in itself. Her parents will go before the Court of the Seven Blessings this morning. They’ll be tried and sentenced for bringing up such a child. There’s no question of their guilt. Their possessions will be confiscated and they’ll be sent to the House of Repentance.’
Underneath the desk, Goldie nearly cried out in horror. Ma and Pa on trial? Ma and Pa going to prison? Because of her?
The floor of the office seemed to fall away beneath her. What had she done? She must go to them! She must go now and tell the court that it wasn’t their fault at all, it was hers, and hers alone!
But before she could scramble to her feet, one of Sinew’s boots came down firmly on her leg. She put her hand over her mouth and swallowed her cry.
‘You’re not interested in thieves, then?’ said Sinew. ‘Not interested in a smash-and-grab raid on almond cakes?’
‘Have you seen this girl?’ said Guardian Hope impatiently. ‘You must inform us immediately if you do.’
‘What’ll you do if you catch her?’ said Sinew. ‘Flog her? Cut off her fingers? Brand her on the forehead? That’s what they would’ve done once. Ah, the old days, the good days!’
Goldie’s eyes widened. Cut off my FINGERS?
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Guardian Hope. ‘We won’t harm her. We’ll simply . . . re-educate her.’
‘Aha! Brainwashing! Glad to hear the city is in such kind hands.’ Sinew’s big feet moved away from the desk. Goldie heard him say, ‘Well now, plenty of places on Old Arsenal Hill where a runaway might be hiding. Some of the nearby mansions—’
‘Oh, we’re not finished here,’ interrupted Guardian Comfort. ‘The Fugleman has instructed us to search all public buildings thoroughly.’
‘Then we are honoured indeed!’ said Sinew. He sounded as if he was bowing. ‘Allow me to escort you in your search.’
‘We don’t need an escort,’ said Guardian Hope.
‘Are you sure? Well, you know best. Call for help if you need it. I’ll show you where to start. Here we go, turn left, then right, and you’re in the first display room.’
His voice faded as he ushered the two Blessed Guardians out of the office.
Beneath the desk, Goldie stared at the remains of the silk ribbon on her wrist. How could she have been so stupid? Of course the Blessed Guardians would blame Ma and Pa for what she had done! Of course they would punish them! She should have realised. She should have thought!
In a fit of revulsion she tore the scrap of ribbon from her wrist. The Fugleman was right. She was foolish and wicked. She deserved to be in punishment chains.
‘Ssst!’ It was Sinew, back already. He bent down so that his long nose was just in front of hers. ‘The museum will keep them busy for a while,’ he whispered. ‘Come with me!’
Goldie dragged herself out from under the desk and followed him from the office. Halfway down a dim corridor, he stopped and called softly, ‘Herro Dan? We have her.’ Then he strode back the way he had come.
‘So we found you, lass,’ said a voice in Goldie’s ear. She spun around. An old man with a broad nose and skin the colour of nutmeg was standing behind her. He wore a tattered blue coat with brass buttons down the front, and he was smiling.
‘Come along and I’ll show you a place to sleep,’ he said. ‘Come on now, stay close!’
Goldie was too tired and heartsick to wonder why these people were willing to take the risk of hiding her. She followed the old man through the museum in a daze.
There was no sign of the glorious history that Sinew had promised the Blessed Guardians. Instead, the rooms seemed to be full of nothing but rubbish. There were torn paintings and cracked chairs. There were clocks with their pendulums missing and their hands stuck in some far distant past. There were broken bottles and rocks and empty jars.
It was the most uninteresting place that Goldie had ever seen, which was good. She didn’t want to be interested. She wanted to worry about Ma and Pa, and blame herself for what had happened to them. She wanted to feel unhappy and worthless.
And yet . . .
The old man stopped outside a water closet and waited while she had a pee and splashed cold water on her face. It was as she was coming out again that the strange thing happened. Suddenly the whole building seemed to . . . shift. As if a huge sleeping beast had woken up, turned around and gone back to sleep again.
Goldie stopped in her tracks. There was a wooden cabinet full of glass jars in front of her. A moment ago the jars had been empty. But now each one held the fat, scaly coils of a dead snake. She blinked at them in astonishment.
Behind the glass, one of the snakes raised a narrow eyelid and blinked back.
‘Shivers!’ Goldie squeaked with fright.
Herro Dan patted her arm reassuringly. Then he laid his hand on the nearest wall and began to sing. His voice rumbled up and down in odd sliding notes that made the hair on the back of Goldie’s neck stand up.
‘Ho oh oh-oh,’ sang the old man. ‘Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh.’
Curious, Goldie laid her own hand on the wall . . .
The moment she did so, she heard – no, she felt – music. Deep, wild music. It seemed to rage up from the centre of the earth and pour into her like boiling water. She snatched her hand away, feeling as if she had been scalded.
In their jars, the snakes floated in a sea of yellow liquid. Their eyes were closed and their scales were peeling. They had obviously been dead for a long, long time.
I must’ve imagined it, thought Goldie. But it looked so real . . .
The old man stopped singing and took his hand off the wall. His cheerful face was serious. ‘Trouble’s taken a step closer,’ he murmured. ‘Can you feel it, lass?’
Without waiting for an answer, he led the way through another couple of rooms to a closed door with ‘staff only’ written on it in faded letters. He took a key from his pocket, unlocked the door and ushered Goldie through it.
Behind the door there was a mattress and a pile of quilts. ‘You’ll be safe here in the back rooms,’ said the old man. ‘This door’s always locked. Guardians won’t catch you here.’
Goldie wasn’t at all sure that a locked door would be enough to keep Guardian Hope out. But she was too tired to argue. With a sigh she sank down onto the mattress. Then she crawled under the thinnest quilt and fell instantly asleep.
.
uardian Hope did not know why the Fugleman wanted them to search this ugly little building. ‘Tell them you’re looking for the missing girl,’ he had said when he called them to his office earlier that morning. ‘But keep your eyes open for anything suspicious. Anything out of place, or strange.’
No offence to His Honour, but the only out-of-place thing that Hope was interested in was the runaway girl, and she was probably holed up somewhere in the Old Quarter of the city, near where she lived. Which meant that one of Hope’s colleagues would have the pleasure of catching her when it should have been Hope herself.
But when Sinew confessed that the museum didn’t have a Resident Guardian, a worm of curiosity uncoiled inside Hope. She didn’t let her interest show on her face. She was too cunning for that, oh my word yes. Instead, she kept questioning Sinew about the girl, as if that was the true reason for their being here and not just a pretence.
And now she was on a mission from His Honour! She could hardly wait to carry out his instructions. She stalked through the drab rooms, peering into every corner, poking behind the broken display cases, looking for things that were out of place, or strange.
At the same time, she allowed a corner of her mind to slip into her favourite daydream, the one where she was part of the Fugleman’s inner circle, where she had power and importance and influence. If she did this job properly, that dream might well come true . . .
‘Haven’t we been through this room already?’ said Comfort.
‘What?’ said Hope, jolted out of her fantasy.
‘Look at that cupboard with the smashed doors. We were here just a few minutes ago.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hope, glad of the excuse to needle him. ‘We haven’t retraced our steps, have we, colleague? We haven’t turned aside at any point? We haven’t been spirited away by demons?’
She laughed briefly at her own wit, then settled back into seriousness. ‘I think you’ll find I have an excellent sense of direction. Keep your mind on the job.’
Comfort’s face closed in a barely concealed sulk, and he strode through the nearest doorway without waiting to see if Hope was following.
Twenty minutes later, Hope found herself standing in front of the broken cupboard once again.
‘There,’ said Comfort smugly. ‘I told you so.’
‘Self-righteousness,’ said Hope, ‘is a sin. I’d hate to have to report you, colleague.’
‘I wasn’t being self-righteous, colleague,’ smirked Comfort. ‘I was merely pointing out that we’re going in circles. That’s a fact, is it not? It’s clear enough to me.’
‘What’s clear to me, colleague, is that you have brought us astray. It was you who led the way out of this room, was it not? You must’ve taken a wrong turn. Perhaps you weren’t concentrating.’
Comfort’s sallow face reddened. ‘I’d like to see you do better, colleague.’
‘And so you shall, colleague. So you shall.’
Hope fully intended to take them back to the office. Despite what she had said to Comfort, she found the rooms confusing. If she could get hold of a floor plan, it would help them to be more efficient in their search.
She didn’t realise straight away that they were lost. She led the way through room after room, retracing the way they had come. But somehow, instead of reaching the office, they ended up back at the broken cupboard.
Hope snorted in surprise and annoyance. She set off again, back through the gloomy rooms with Comfort hurrying along behind her. Around the glass cases. Through this doorway. Through that doorway. Turn right here. Turn left there . . .
And there was the broken cupboard again! Hope glared at it, suspecting that it was mocking her in some way.
Comfort cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps it’s time to summon help—’
‘Ridiculous,’ said Hope. ‘Ridiculous!’ And she set off once more. Back through the gloomy rooms. Around the glass cases. Through this doorway. Through that doorway. Turn right here. Turn left there . . .
In the end, she let Comfort shout for help. She wouldn’t normally have given up like that, but they were wasting time, and so she was not displeased to see Sinew hurrying towards them.
‘These rooms!’ he cried out as he approached. ‘They all look the same! Don’t feel bad, Guardians. Even the keepers get lost almost daily. Sometimes I think we should paint little tracklets on the floors, all in different colours, and then we could follow them to wherever we were going. But what if we got lost while we painted the tracklets, and they went around in circles? Ha ha ha!’
The man was even more of a fool than Comfort, but at least he managed to get them back to the office. Hope commandeered the chair behind the desk and, with Comfort at her shoulder, began to ask questions.
At first she tried to make them sound casual. How old was the museum? Who started it? Where did the exhibits come from?
But Sinew’s answers were so vague that she quickly lost patience with him and began to snap out questions one after the other, as if she was conducting an examination.
Exactly how many rooms were there? What was in them? How many of them were locked? Who had the keys? Where did this door lead to? Where did that door lead to? How many employees did the museum have? How long had they been here? Where did they sleep? Where did they eat?
At last, irritated beyond measure by Sinew’s useless answers, she said, ‘I wish to inspect your records.’
‘Our what?’ said Sinew.
‘In the last couple of hours,’ said Hope, ‘I’ve seen broken glass. I’ve seen loose rocks that any passer-by could pick up and throw. I’ve seen chairs that would collapse under the first person who sat on them. This building is a death-trap, and there may well be an unSeparated child loose on the premises. If I’m to find her, I’ll need your records. Your pay sheets. Your floor plans.’
Sinew nodded uncertainly. ‘Will the records for the last five years be enough?’
‘That’ll do for a start. Go and fetch them. Quickly now.’
Sinew wandered out of the office, looking as if he had already forgotten what he was about. Comfort leaned down and murmured in Hope’s ear. ‘Under the desk.’
Hope slid her chair out a little way and peered beneath the desk. And there, tucked into a corner, so grubby that it was almost (but not quite) beyond recognition, was a scrap of white silk Separation ribbon.
‘Ah
!’ said Hope. And she pressed her lips together so that Comfort wouldn’t see how pleased she was.
.
hy are they asking all those questions? What do they want? Here, wake up, I’m talking to you! What do they want?’
Goldie yawned and mumbled, ‘Go away, Jube! What are you doing in my bedroom, anyway?’
She stretched, expecting to feel the tug of the guardchain. It didn’t come. Her eyes flew open . . .
Kneeling beside her was a boy. His face was dirty. His black hair stood up in spikes. And on his shoulder – so close that Goldie could see its wrinkled eyelid, could smell the musty stink of its feathers – sat the slaughterbird!
She tried to scramble off the other side of the mattress, but the boy grabbed her arm. ‘Why do your Guardians want to see our records?’
‘Let go of me!’
The boy shrugged and let go. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. But the slaughterbird on his shoulder blinked its wicked eyes at Goldie as if she had no right to suit herself. No right at all.
Goldie stumbled to her feet. ‘Well?’ said the boy. ‘Why are they so interested in our records?’
‘Reco-o-o-ords,’ croaked the slaughterbird. Its great beak was only inches from the boy’s face, but he hardly seemed to notice.
Goldie tried to gather her scattered wits together. ‘I-I don’t know!’
The boy shook his head in disgust. ‘They’ve never taken any notice of us before. But they’re here now and it’s all your fault.’
When she heard those words, the last scraps of sleep fell away, and Goldie remembered what she had done . . .
For a moment, she couldn’t move with the awfulness of it. Ma and Pa were to be tried and sent to the House of Repentance. And it was all her fault.
She swallowed. ‘I’ll have to go back,’ she whispered, feeling sick at the thought.
‘Back where?’ said the boy.
‘Whe-e-e-e-e-ere,’ croaked the slaughterbird.
‘To— To the Guardians. I— I’ll tell them that it was just me.’ Goldie bit her lip. ‘They should imprison me and let Ma and Pa go.’
