Museum of Thieves

by Lian Tanner

  The Dirty Gate was so heavy that the two children could hardly move it. They dragged it open just far enough and squeezed through the gap.

  ‘Come on, Broo,’ said Toadspit. ‘We mustn’t leave the gate open for long.’

  Broo didn’t move. He stood on the other side of the gate, every hair on his little white back bristling.

  ‘We’ll go without you,’ said Toadspit.

  Still the little dog did not move.

  ‘Stay here then,’ said Toadspit. ‘See if I care.’

  The children dragged the gate shut, and dropped onto their bellies in the long grass. Goldie’s heart was thumping in her chest. How could a place like this be a room? How could it be inside the museum? She felt as if she had stepped into a completely different country. There was no ceiling that she could see, and the sky was pale and distant. High above her head, a dozen ominous black shapes floated in the air like specks of ash.

  ‘Look!’ whispered Toadspit, pointing. ‘Slaughterbirds!’

  Goldie heard a soft whine, and turned her head. The Dirty Gate was little more than a shimmer in the grass behind her. She could just make out one of the honeycomb holes, and Broo wriggling through it. She hoped that he had decided to follow them after all, but instead he lay down just inside the gate and put his head on his paws.

  ‘He won’t come any further,’ whispered Toadspit. ‘There’s no point waiting for him.’

  He picked up a handful of dirt and smeared it over his face and arms. With shaking hands, Goldie copied him.

  Then the two children began to crawl towards the distant army camp.

  Before they were even close to the tents, Goldie could smell smoke and sewage and beer and blood and dung, and a score of other things that she couldn’t name. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Toadspit do the same. She felt a bubble of silent laughter well up inside her. That made her feel braver, and when at last they came to the edge of the camp she peered through the long grass with almost as much curiosity as dread.

  Directly in front of her, the ground was trampled and muddy, as if some huge hungry beast had crossed it in the night. There were rough tents and old-fashioned wagons that looked like something from a history book. There were ugly black cannon slung on enormous wheels, and oxen and hens and goats and pigs snuffling across the mud between them.

  Next to the tents were fireplaces made out of rocks. Above each fireplace, a cauldron hung from an iron hook. But there was no sign of any soldiers. Except for the slow movement of the animals, and the peck peck pecking of the hens, a stillness hung over the camp.

  Toadspit put his finger to his lips and wriggled back a little way. Goldie followed him, thinking about the animals and birds, and the bare ground and how they would have to cross it.

  ‘There are no horses,’ whispered Toadspit. ‘They must be off fighting or something. If we’re lucky we’ll be able to search the whole camp before they come back.’

  ‘We’ll have to be careful,’ whispered Goldie. ‘They might have left a few—’

  She broke off. There were footsteps marching towards them.

  ‘—sentries!’ she hissed.

  She threw herself flat in the long grass. Toadspit did the same. The footsteps slammed towards them, hard and brutal on the bare ground. Left right left right left right. Two men. Both of them extremely dangerous. Goldie pressed her face into the earth and tried to control her trembling.

  Left right left right left right. The feet marched towards their hiding place. The grass quivered. Goldie’s heart raced.

  LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT LEFT RIGHT. For a moment, it seemed as if the sentries would march right over the top of them. But instead they went straight past, following the grass edge that marked the boundary of the camp.

  Goldie lay still for a long time after they had gone. She had cramp in one leg and she didn’t think she would ever move again. But when Toadspit stood up in a low crouch and ran across the open ground to the shelter of the first wagon, she was beside him.

  It was the strangest thing, slipping through that almost-deserted camp. Wisps of smoke rose from the fires, as if they had only just been put out. Flies buzzed around the cauldrons. Oxen stamped and shook their heads as Goldie and Toadspit passed.

  As they crept from wagon to wagon, Goldie’s skin itched with the knowledge that the sentries might return at any moment. She tried to tell herself that this was a war from hundreds of years ago, that it was over and done with, that surely it could not hurt her. But the camp around her was as real as anything she had ever seen. Flies settled on her face and arms. Her feet kicked up little clumps of mud. High above her, the slaughterbirds wove a dance of death.

  Many of the tents had their flaps pulled back, and the children could see straight away that there was no one in them. But as they got closer to the centre of the camp, more and more of the flaps were shut. They dared not open them in case there was someone inside, so instead they put their heads close to the canvas and listened. They heard nothing.

  Silently they stole onwards. The sun beat down on their heads. Mosquitoes hovered around them and they brushed them away and kept going.

  Once they heard the tramp tramp tramp of the sentries in the distance. They dived behind the nearest wagon until the sound faded. Then they crawled out again and dusted themselves off – and kept going.

  Goldie was pressing her ear against yet another tent when she heard it. On the other side of the canvas, a man was singing quietly. ‘Ho oh oh-oh. Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh.’

  ‘Herro Dan?’ she hissed.

  The singing stopped. ‘Goldie? Is that you?’

  ‘Me and Toadspit.’

  ‘What are you doin’ here?’

  ‘We’ve come to rescue you!’ whispered Goldie.

  She waved frantically at Toadspit and he came hurrying back. When he heard Herro Dan’s voice he closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, as if there was something stuck in his throat.

  ‘I’ve busted my leg,’ whispered Herro Dan. ‘They didn’t even bother puttin’ a guard on me. They know I’m not goin’ anywhere.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You gotta go back. It’s too dangerous for you here.’

  ‘We’ll go back,’ said Toadspit. ‘And we’ll take you with us.’ He took out his knife and began to saw at the straps that held the tent door shut.

  ‘Now you listen to me, boy,’ said Herro Dan fiercely. ‘You go back and tell Olga Ciavolga that the war rooms are on the move.’

  ‘We know. We heard the guns,’ said Goldie.

  ‘That trouble, I reckon it’s stopped waitin’,’ said Herro Dan. ‘Now it’s gallopin’ towards us, full tilt. You gotta find out why. What’s changed? What’s different? What’s stirrin’ the museum up like this?’

  ‘It could be the Blessed Guardians,’ said Goldie.

  ‘What about them?’ The old man’s voice was sharp.

  ‘They’re trying to make a floor plan.’

  There was a hiss of anger from the other side of the canvas. ‘No! The museum won’t tolerate that! No wonder the war rooms are movin’! The Guardians have gotta be stopped! Tell Sinew to go to the Protector—’

  He broke off. Goldie heard the tramp of heavy shoes.

  ‘Go!’ hissed Herro Dan. ‘Go now!’

  This time, the children obeyed him. Toadspit snapped his knife shut, and he and Goldie leaped to their feet and ran. They ran silently, heads down, slipping in and out of the tents and wagons, trying to keep something between themselves and the tramping feet.

  There was a shout off to one side. Without turning around, they ran faster, no longer worrying about the noise. Goldie’s feet pounded in the mud; her heart hiccuped with fear. They were nearly at the edge of the camp. If they could just reach the long grass, they could disappear into it—

  ‘Hey! Where yoo tink yoo goink?’

  Goldie stopped so abruptly that she almost fell over. A soldier had stepped out from behind one of the wagons, directly in
their path. He was dressed like someone from the depths of history, with baggy knee-breeches and stockings, and a long-sleeved coat of such a deep grey that it seemed to suck all the light out of the air. His old-fashioned musket was pointed at Toadspit’s head.

  A second soldier came jogging up behind them. He stared at the children, his eyes blue and hard. ‘Leedle spice, hey?’ he said.

  His accent was so heavy that it took Goldie a moment to work out what he had said. When she realised that he thought they were spies, her heart seemed to shrivel within her.

  ‘Who senchoo?’ said the first soldier, poking Toadspit with the end of his musket. ‘You wit de odder spy? De old man?’

  Toadspit flinched but said nothing. The soldier leaned towards them and winked, as if he was going to tell them a wonderful secret. His face was filthy and his skin was red and peeling. He stank of tobacco and stale sweat.

  ‘We gonna shoot dat old man soon,’ he said. ‘But I don’t tink we wait for dat. I tink we shoochoo now.’

  He wasn’t lying. Goldie could hear it in his voice. Could see it in his face. He cared nothing for human life, this man. He was going to shoot them, right now. Unless she could find some way of stopping him . . .

  He turned the barrel of his musket towards her. ‘Who’s gonna go ferst?’ he said. ‘De leedle gel—’ The barrel shifted back to Toadspit. ‘Or de leedle boy?’

  Goldie was trembling so hard that she thought she might shake to pieces. But at the same time, her mind was racing. These soldiers looked as if they had spent their whole lives fighting. What did they know about children? Not much, probably. So if she acted younger than she was, and a bit stupid . . .

  The soldier sighted down the barrel.

  Goldie giggled.

  It was such an odd sound in the circumstances that both the soldiers and Toadspit stared at her in astonishment. She giggled again, trying to sound as brainless as possible.

  ‘Ooh, you gave me a fright,’ she said. ‘Look at those big guns! They’re so scary! You must be so brave, being soldiers. I wish I was a soldier. Don’t you wish you were a soldier, Toadspit? Aren’t they wonderful? Aren’t they scary?’

  She grabbed Toadspit’s hand in both of hers, as if she was clinging to him in a girly sort of way. Her fingers flicked against his skin. ‘Concealment by Sham.’

  Toadspit’s eyes widened the tiniest amount. Then his face split in a foolish grin. ‘If I was a soldier,’ he said loudly, ‘I’d be scary too. I’d march!’ He swung his arms and thumped his feet up and down. ‘I’d fight!’ He aimed an imaginary gun at Goldie. ‘Boom!’ he shouted. ‘You’re dead!’

  One of the soldiers lowered his musket slightly and laughed. ‘Goot boy. Yoo shoot yore sister. Yoo proper solja!’

  The second man was still watching them suspiciously. ‘Whachoo doink here?’ he growled. ‘Dis is army camp, not skool ground.’

  ‘We lost our dog and we’re looking for him,’ said Goldie. She blinked up at the man. ‘Have you seen him? He’s small and white. And he’s very fat. Isn’t he, Toadspit?’

  ‘He’s a roly-poly,’ said Toadspit.

  ‘Our pa says he’d make a good roast dinner,’ said Goldie. ‘But he’s only joking. No one would hurt Broo. He’s so little and sweet. And harmless.’

  The soldiers looked at each other. Goldie could almost see the thought passing between them. Little fat dog. Little fat ROAST dog. Hmm.

  They only hesitated for a moment. ‘We help yoo find him,’ said the first man. ‘We like dogs.’

  ‘We like dogs very much,’ said the second man. He licked his lips and they both laughed.

  ‘Ooh, thank you!’ said Goldie. ‘I don’t think he’s far away. We could call him and see if he comes.’

  ‘Yoo do dat,’ said the second soldier. ‘And when he comes, we welcome him goot.’ He loosened the knife in his belt.

  Goldie took a deep breath. ‘Broo-oo!’ she called. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Broo, you naughty boy!’ shouted Toadspit. ‘Come here at once!’

  ‘Come and save us from the scary soldiers!’ giggled Goldie.

  The soldiers laughed their ugly laugh. The first man slipped his knife out of its sheath and ran his thumb along the edge. ‘Leedle do-og,’ he shouted. ‘Kom here quick! We got a treat for yoo!’

  Goldie saw a flicker of movement in the long grass. Her arm felt as heavy as lead, but with a huge effort she raised it and pointed in the wrong direction.

  ‘Oh, look!’ she said. ‘There he is.’

  Both soldiers turned, laughing—

  There was a roar of fury, and out of the grass behind them charged Broo. He was as black as night and as big as a lion. His eyes were red and his great teeth gnashed the air.

  The soldiers swung around and saw him. The first one shouted and tried to aim his musket, but Broo was already upon him, bearing him to the ground, his teeth at the soldier’s throat.

  The second man’s face was white under the dirt. He backed away, his hands shaking, his fingers tightening on the trigger . . .

  There was a rattle of wings, and the air around him was suddenly alive with black feathers and a cruel, curved beak. The soldier screamed and dropped his musket.

  Broo raised his head. There was blood on his muzzle. ‘RRR-U-UN!’ he growled.

  Goldie and Toadspit ran.

  .

  ou should not have gone through the Dirty Gate!’

  Sinew had been pacing up and down the office. Now he stopped and glared at Goldie and Toadspit. ‘You could’ve been killed! And not just you, but Broo and Morg as well. They’re not bulletproof, you know. You shouldn’t have gone!’

  ‘Of course they should not,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘They were brave, and very clever at the end. But at the beginning they did not show a scrap of wisdom between them.’

  Goldie blushed. It was true. She and Toadspit were lucky to have escaped with their lives. She half-wished that Olga Ciavolga would scold her, but the old woman merely said, ‘It is done now. And so we must decide. What next to do?’

  ‘Herro D-Dan said Sinew has to g-go to the Pro- tector,’ said Goldie. She hadn’t stopped shivering since she and Toadspit had dragged the Dirty Gate shut behind them.

  ‘And the Protector has to stop G-Guardian Hope and Guardian C-Comfort making their floor p-plan,’ said Toadspit, who was shivering just as hard.

  Sinew nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, we should’ve taken the Blessed Guardians more seriously right from the beginning. They’re not here at the moment but I’m sure they’ll be back before long. I’ll go to the Protector. But what do we do about Dan?’

  ‘And Broo,’ said Goldie. ‘And Morg. Do you think they’ll be all right?’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ said Sinew. His expression softened. ‘They can look after themselves in most circumstances. I expect we’ll see them back here soon enough. As for Dan . . .’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘Perhaps I should try and get him out.’

  ‘After what has happened,’ said Olga Ciavolga, ‘the soldiers will be even more on their guard. And Dan’s leg is broken. You would have little hope of stealing him without being caught.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of stealing him,’ said Sinew. ‘I was thinking of buying him.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin. ‘Blood and gold, that’s what those soldiers love more than anything. We won’t give them blood if we can help it, but we have gold sovereigns enough to turn their heads. I could have Dan safely back with us by nightfall.’

  ‘I think not,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘You would only stir things up further.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No!’ The old woman’s face was pale with worry, but she held up her hand. ‘We shall do what Dan tells us. You go to the Protector and ask her to stop the Guardians and get them out of the museum. I think if she can do this, then the war rooms will calm down a little and Dan will be safe.’

  ‘What if the Protector can’t stop them?’ asked Goldie.

  ‘Then,’ said Olga C
iavolga, ‘we must do it ourselves.’

  Sinew pulled on his coatee and left for the Protectorate. Toadspit returned to the back rooms to wait for Broo and Morg.

  Goldie didn’t want to go with him. ‘Can I stay here with you?’ she said to Olga Ciavolga.

  ‘Very well,’ said the old woman. ‘But you must remain close. And if the Guardians come back, you must hide immediately.’

  She sat down at the desk and began to write in a large book. The midday sun shone through the office window. Goldie leaned against one of the bookcases and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her smock until she found her compass.

  She took it out and ran her fingers over the metal casing. It was hard to believe how much her life had changed since she had come to the museum. She had longed to be free and now she was. And although the museum contained many terrors, she would rather face them all, one after the other, than go back to the way things used to be.

  There were different sorts of fear, she realised that now. There was the awful fear of having a musket held to your head, or having black oily water try to snatch you into its depths. There was nothing easy about that fear. It made your heart nearly tear itself out of your chest, and weakened the long bones in your legs so that you could barely stand. It made you want to vomit with fright.

  But there was another sort of fear, the fear that you would never be allowed to be who you really were. The fear that your true self would have to stay squashed up, like a caged bird, for the rest of your life. That fear was worse than any soldier.

  She put the compass back in her pocket and took out the blue enamel brooch. She stroked the little bird’s wings. I’m not really free, she thought, not while Ma and Pa are locked up in the House of Repentance . . .

  Somewhere nearby, heavy feet trod across wooden floors. Olga Ciavolga threw down her pen. ‘Quickly, child! Hide!’

  Goldie scrambled into the space under the desk and pressed herself against the wood. Outside the office the feet stamped to a halt.

  ‘The Guardians have returned,’ murmured Olga Ciavolga out of the corner of her mouth. ‘And they have brought many others with them.’