Museum of Thieves

by Lian Tanner

  The mob of men was heaving backwards and forwards. The shouting was so loud that she was almost deafened. The soldier, her soldier, strode away around the outside of the circle, and she thought she had lost him. But no, there he was again, standing with his hands on his hips and shaking his head as if he was disappointed in the way the fight was going.

  She was so close now. Just a little further. Slowly. Slowly. Ahhhh.

  As the men fought and shouted, the shadow that was Goldie reached out its hand. Slipped it into a pocket. Closed its fingers over the kerchief—

  There was a sudden yell, and the crowd surged sideways. The man in front of Goldie cannoned backwards, straight into her. Her fingers lost their grip on the kerchief and her hand flew out of the soldier’s pocket. She stumbled and fell.

  She was on her feet again almost immediately. I am nothing! I am a shadow!

  But it was too late. They had seen her.

  Before she knew what was happening, she was surrounded by a crowd of huge, bellowing men. She shrank back from them, her legs shaking so that she could hardly stand. One of the men grabbed her hair in his big fist and hauled her up until she was on tiptoe. He peered in her face, then turned around and shouted to his fellows, ‘Is a leedle gel!’

  The men argued briefly over what to do with her. Then two of them herded her away from the others, past the grindstone and between the wagons. ‘Dis way!’ they shouted, and they pushed Goldie towards a fire where a dozen men shovelled food from a cauldron.

  ‘What is dis?’ growled the man tending the cauldron. ‘Haf you brought us our sopper?’ He grabbed Goldie’s arm and pinched it hard. ‘Ha! Not enough meat on dis one. Haf to mek her into soop!’

  The soldiers guffawed loudly and urged Goldie onwards. Past a row of horses, past a huddle of tents and wagons and a patch of bloodied earth where two men were butchering a goat. Goldie felt as if she was going to be sick. Her heart was a small hard lump inside her. She had failed. Soon Broo would make his run for the Fugleman, and be killed in the attempt. Ma and Pa would be lost. The city would be lost. Everything would be lost.

  Look! whispered the little voice in the back of her mind. There, near the wagon.

  What? thought Goldie despairingly. What is there to look at? Everything’s gone wrong! But she looked all the same, and saw a patch of shadow that her eyes seemed to slide across . . .

  Her heart leaped. Toadspit! He must have been just a few minutes behind her! And now he was here! Maybe, just maybe, everything wasn’t lost after all!

  The soldiers herded her past more wagons, past another huddle of tents. And suddenly there was the Fugleman, in a circle of flaming torches, with Guardian Hope at his side. He was deep in conversation with another man, who looked like an officer.

  One of the soldiers shouted. Three heads spun around. Goldie saw the surprised snarl on the Fugleman’s face. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  The soldiers shoved Goldie into the circle of torches. ‘Stand dere!’ they shouted. ‘Donchoo move or we shoochoo!’

  The officer, who wore a velvet coat with silver frogging, stared curiously at Goldie. His eyes were blue and cold. Goldie saw Guardian Hope whisper in the Fugleman’s ear. The Fugleman raised an eyebrow and turned back to the officer.

  ‘I apologise for this interruption,’ he said. ‘This girl is from my city. Please accept her as a gift. My assistant assures me that she will make an excellent slave.’

  Goldie’s eyes widened in horror. A slave? The officer murmured something. One of the soldiers grabbed Goldie by the scruff of the neck and prised her mouth open as if he wanted to check her teeth. Goldie bit him. He yelled in surprise and whacked her across the ear.

  ‘Ow!’ she cried.

  ‘She can be a little troublesome,’ said the Fugleman hastily, ‘but I’m sure you will soon beat that out of her. Now, let’s get back to business. We are agreed, are we not, that after the invasion I will be Grand Protector over the whole peninsula.’

  The officer nodded. ‘We are agreed on dis.’ His voice was deep and slow, as if he measured each word before he let it escape from his mouth.

  ‘Of course, the new Protectorate will not be like the present one,’ said the Fugleman. ‘I think a dictatorship would suit me best.’

  Goldie’s head was still ringing from the blow, but she stared at the leader of the Blessed Guardians in disbelief.

  ‘As soon as I am established in that supreme position,’ continued the Fugleman, ‘I will allow you and your men to sack the cities of Spoke and Lawe, further down the peninsula. They are quite as rich as Jewel, so you’ll be well rewarded for your trouble. And if you want to take slaves, that can be arranged. I know of . . . ah . . . several children who would be particularly suitable.’

  The officer was nodding again, as if the whole idea was entirely reasonable.

  He was a terrifying man, this officer. He was shorter than the Fugleman, and not as handsome, but Goldie had the feeling that once he and his men were loose, they would be unstoppable.

  She looked back at the Fugleman. Compared with the soldiers, all his sleek importance suddenly seemed a sham. He was like a clockwork dog thinking he could control a pack of brizzlehounds.

  With that thought, the anger rose up fierce and wild inside Goldie. The Fugleman – the man who was supposed to protect the city’s children – was willing to sell them into slavery, just so that he could be dictator! And Hope, a sworn Blessed Guardian, was helping him!

  She looked at the soldier on her right. He was the man with the kerchief, but there was no way she could steal it, not while he held her arm so firmly. She stared past the firelight into the shadows, trying to find Toadspit.

  ‘So, it is settled!’ said the Fugleman briskly. ‘How long will it take to get your men ready? A week?’

  ‘For war, dey are always ready,’ said the officer. ‘We will go now.’

  ‘Now?’ said the Fugleman. He seemed taken aback, as if he had not expected things to fall into place quite so easily.

  ‘Now is goot,’ said the officer. ‘We will surprise de city while it sleeps. Surprise is goot.’ He raised his hand. Behind him, a bugle sounded.

  If the camp was like a beehive, the four notes of the bugle were like a stick poked into the middle of it. It seemed to Goldie that, for just a moment, everyone stopped what they were doing and fell silent. Then the buzz rose again, louder than ever. Soldiers kicked their fires to ashes, and pulled on helmets or broad-brimmed hats. Orders rang out in harsh voices. Squads of men formed themselves into columns with their muskets slung on their shoulders. Others carried swords, and some had great long pikes with wicked points.

  Goldie looked around frantically for Toadspit. And there, just outside the circle of light, was a patch of deep shadow. She looked harder, and saw pale fingers twitch frantically. ‘Must stop them! NOW!’

  The bugle sounded again. A score of drums began to beat. The soldiers began to march.

  It was like watching a giant machine grind into action. Legs and arms swung in unison. Grim faces stared to the front as if they were carved out of bluestone. A-rat-tat-tat a-rat-tat-tat, snapped the drums. Left right left right, tramped the soldiers, heading towards the Dirty Gate.

  The whole thing was so huge and noisy and terrifying that Goldie found herself gasping for air. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Her mind raced. She stared desperately at the soldiers and the drums and the pikes and the mud—

  The mud! shouted the little voice in the back of her mind. The MUD!

  And suddenly Goldie knew exactly what she must do. With her free hand, she signalled towards the shadows. ‘Mud!’ She pointed at the officer.

  There was a long moment when nothing happened. Goldie stopped breathing altogether. Then the shadows shifted and Toadspit stepped forward into the light. His arm swung. A huge ball of mud flew out of his hand and spattered across the front of the officer’s velvet coat.

  The officer shouted in surprise and fury. The man on Goldie’s left sprang towards Toa
dspit, but the boy was already running back through the tents and wagons. The army of soldiers kept marching past, left right left right, as if nothing had happened.

  The officer looked down at his ruined coat and snapped out an order. The man on Goldie’s right let go of her arm, reached into his pocket – and pulled out Olga Ciavolga’s kerchief.

  Goldie snatched it out of his hand and ran.

  .

  oldie raced between the tents with the heavy footsteps pounding after her. Her fingers fumbled at the biggest knot in Olga Ciavolga’s kerchief. HRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM, it thrummed. HRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMM.

  Behind her, the footsteps were gaining. The bugle sounded again. This time the notes seemed to form words. ‘Show no mercy! Show no mercy! SHOW NO MERCY!’

  HRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM, thrummed the knot in the kerchief. Left right left right, went the soldiers towards the Dirty Gate.

  There was a shout right behind Goldie, and a hand grabbed her arm. She ducked and twisted away from it, and tore at the knot again, but it wouldn’t come loose.

  Another shout. The hand gripped her arm more firmly this time. She tried to wriggle free, but the soldier had too good a hold on her. He lifted her right off the ground so that her legs kicked helplessly in the air. He reached for the kerchief.

  And suddenly there was Toadspit, leaping out from behind a wagon. He ran straight towards the soldier and kicked him hard in the shins. The soldier dropped Goldie and grabbed Toadspit. He shook the boy furiously, shouting at him all the while. Another soldier came running up, his face murderous, his sword drawn. Firelight glinted off the sharp blade. He drew it back and aimed it at Toadspit’s stomach—

  Goldie tore frantically at the knot. Her hands felt huge and clumsy. Her heart was leaping out of her chest. She saw Toadspit’s face, white with terror. She saw the sword, swooping towards him . . .

  And, just in time, her fingers found the secret of the knot. It flew apart. The thrumming stopped. The soldier with the sword hesitated.

  There was an instant of silence – and the thrumming started again. But it was no longer imprisoned in the kerchief. Now it was all around them.

  From that moment everything changed very quickly. The tents, which had been sitting so quietly, began to crack and flap. One of them tore loose and flew away like a huge white bird. At the same time, the bugle and drums fell silent. The sound of tramping feet stopped. The soldier who was holding Toadspit let him go. The man with the sword turned away as if he had never had a murderous thought in his life.

  Goldie grabbed Toadspit’s arm and dragged him behind the nearest wagon. He was shaking from head to toe. All around them, the flapping was growing wilder. The soldiers hurried through the camp, tying down tents and settling the horses. They took no notice of the two children, and seemed to have forgotten about the invasion of Jewel.

  It worked, thought Goldie. The pressure has dropped. The war rooms are calming down.

  But the Great Wind was not calming down. It poured through the camp like a river in flood. It left the soldiers alone, as if it knew that they belonged here, deep inside the museum, and must not be loosed on the world outside. But it wrapped itself around Goldie and Toadspit like a giant hand and began to blow them towards the Dirty Gate.

  It was impossible to stand against it. The children half-ran, half-staggered through the camp, past the wagons, past Broo, who was surging in the opposite direction as if the Great Wind was nothing more than a breeze.

  ‘Broo!’ cried Goldie. ‘What are you doing? Come with us!’

  ‘I am going to find Herro Dan and Olga Ciavolga!’ rumbled Broo. He raised his head. His nostrils flared. ‘Ah, I have their scent!’ And then he too was gone.

  Goldie and Toadspit stumbled across the grassland and through the Dirty Gate. Ahead of them, Goldie could see the Fugleman and Guardian Hope. The wind had hold of them, too, and they were trying in vain to turn back.

  The wind slammed the Dirty Gate shut, and pushed the children towards Harry Mount. All around them, nails were popping out of planks with a noise like gunfire. Rooms shifted as they ran into them and shifted again as they ran out, as if the museum was shaking itself with relief. Ahead of them, Guardian Hope and the Fugleman shouted in protest as the wind drove them on, snapping at their heels.

  The children ran across the Vacant Block. The water in the ditch had gone, leaving a morass of stinking mud behind it. Goldie and Toadspit slid down one side and up the other. They ran through the wide corridors, past the shattered glass cases, past the broken Staff Only door. Through the front rooms and under the stone arch into the entrance hall.

  And there were Guardian Hope and the Fugleman, still just ahead of them, clinging to the open doorway while the wind tried to blow them out of the museum forever.

  ‘In the name of the Seven, I order you to stop!’ cried the Fugleman.

  But Goldie and Toadspit didn’t even slow down. They raced out the door and down the cul de sac with the wind howling after them. Then they stumbled out into the open – and stopped in their tracks.

  The city was almost unrecognisable. Black clouds scudded overhead like an endless flock of slaughterbirds, blotting out the moon. Rain pelted down in a torrent. Trees and bushes and watergas lamps thrashed about as if they were trying to uproot themselves.

  ‘Grab them!’ shouted the Fugleman, close behind. ‘Don’t let them get away!’

  The children took off down the street with their heads bent against the fury of the storm. They dodged around one corner and then another, until they had lost their pursuers. They climbed a fence and stumbled across a private garden. The rain lashed at their faces. Somewhere nearby, roof tiles smashed to the ground.

  If a Great Wind is unleashed, it will destroy everything in its path.

  Goldie grabbed Toadspit’s arm and pulled him into the shelter of a wall. ‘This is going to get worse!’ The wind was so loud that she had to shout. ‘We must warn people!’

  Toadspit’s eyes were dark with horror, as if the shadow of the sword still hung over him. Goldie wasn’t sure if he had heard her. She tried again.

  ‘We’d better find Sinew!’ she shouted. ‘He’s locked up in the House of Repentance. So are Ma and Pa. So are your parents.’ She forced herself to grin. ‘Oh, dear me, whatever will we do?’

  Something flickered deep in Toadspit’s eyes. The shadow faded a little. His face was still desperately pale, but he managed to grin back at her. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to break them out . . .’

  The Fugleman staggered down the hill after Hope, cursing loudly. His wonderful plans were in tatters. And now even the weather had turned against him! He had never experienced a storm like this one, and it seemed to be worsening.

  He stumbled over a branch, and cursed again. The city’s lights had gone out, and everything was in darkness, except for one bright patch down in the Old Quarter, where the Great Hall shone like a faraway sun.

  He heard a new sound, a distant groaning. Hope clutched at his arm. ‘Your Honour! It’s the levees!’

  The Fugleman listened. So it was! He stared into the darkness, thinking hard. If the levees broke, the Old Quarter would be flooded, with hundreds of deaths. (Such a pity, especially if his sister was among those who died!) The survivors would welcome a strong hand, someone who would take control, bring order back to their lives.

  And for all he knew, this storm could be raging over the whole peninsula! In which case, Spoke and Lawe would also be ripe for a takeover.

  A wave of excitement swept through him. Things were not as bad as he had thought. He didn’t need those barbarians from beyond the Dirty Gate! All he had to do was make sure he survived the storm!

  He wiped the rain from his eyes. Should he try and reach his temporary office? No, the roof might not hold, and he had no intention of crouching in the darkness like an animal while chaos howled around him.

  But the Great Hall had its own watergas supply. Look at it, shining like a beacon! If the levees collapsed, the lower part
s of the hall would flood, but upstairs beneath the dome would be perfectly safe.

  He grabbed Hope’s sleeve and pointed. ‘See that?’ he shouted. ‘That’s where we’re going!’

  ‘But what about the children? What if they escape and tell people what happened?’

  ‘They’ll be heading for their homes. Where do they live?’

  ‘In the Old Quarter.’

  ‘In that case,’ shouted the Fugleman, ‘we needn’t worry about them. If they’re not dead already, they soon will be!’

  The House of Repentance was a squat bunker of a building with tiny windows. It appeared to be a single storey, but everyone in Jewel knew that there were at least three levels of cells, all of them deep underground.

  There were usually several Blessed Guardians patrolling out the front, watching passers-by for any sign of Abominations. But when Goldie and Toadspit fought their way through the wind and the rain to the front steps, there was no sign of the familiar black robes.

  The children staggered up the steps and through the door. It was a relief to be out of the storm, although everything around them was as black as pitch and the noise was still tremendous. Windows rattled in their frames. The iron roof screeched and banged as if it was about to peel off and fly away. Somewhere in the distance there was a groaning sound that set Goldie’s teeth on edge.

  She and Toadspit stumbled hand in hand through the dark hallways, searching for a staircase that might lead down to the cells. They found it by accident. They were groping their way along a wall when Toadspit’s legs suddenly went out from underneath him, and he fell down the first few steps, dragging Goldie after him.

  They caught their balance and crept on downwards. Down one long flight they went, then another, until the air grew cool and the sound of the storm was left behind. After so much noise, Goldie could hardly bear the silence.