The king and his company ruled their kingdom, the Usklers, from four main towns. All Kings’ Hill, in the east, was the king’s primary residence. But there was also Rupimoon Rock in the north, Stavey Bay in the south, and Wikric Town. If these pickers were using the tunnels under Wikric, did that mean that the king knew what was happening?
Ottilie didn’t know much about the king. To her, he was no more than a fairytale character – albeit one she knew to exist. Any rumours about the king were no more real to her than whispers of witches or legends of Laklander mischief.
‘Who took him, Bill? Who are the pickers?’ She didn’t understand. What was it all for?
Bill shook his head. ‘I don’t know … I only know they take boys from everywhere, all across the Usklers, and they all come through Wikric. I think they must take them further west.’
‘But we are west. The only thing more west than Longwood is –’ Ottilie gulped. She knew what lay beyond the western border. ‘The Laklands.’
A fresh wave of unease washed over her. Could this have something to do with the Laklanders? But there couldn’t be many of them left. The Laklands had been destroyed over a century ago. The Usklers had flattened them and left their home uninhabitable. At least, that’s what she’d been told.
‘But why go there?’
Bill shrugged. ‘I don’t know why. I do know your Swamp Hollows keeper gives the pickers lists of boys to take.’
Ottilie felt ill. She didn’t know the keeper very well and had never much liked him, but for whatever reason, he had always looked out for Freddie, letting her skip payments and giving her food whenever things got desperate. Tears gathered in Ottilie’s eyes.
‘But they’re usually older than your brother,’ Bill added.
‘Gully just looks young,’ said Ottilie, sniffing forcefully. ‘He turned eleven at the beginning of spring.’
Bill shook his head. ‘I think they’re usually about thirteen.’ He pointed a webbed finger towards Longwood. ‘We have to get off the road now.’
‘We’re not going in the forest?’ said Ottilie, her voice a little higher than she expected.
‘N– uh – no …’ Bill shuddered, ‘not – never go in there. Just that way until we meet the river again. Then under – there’s a tunnel. You’ll get there by first light, just before, if you’re quick.’
‘First light!’ Ottilie gawked up at the sky; daybreak was hours away. ‘But what if we miss them?’
‘They’ll hold them in cells under Wikric until the pickings from the north arrive. I heard them talking.’
Ottilie narrowed her eyes. ‘I thought you couldn’t remember.’ Bill was an odd creature. She didn’t know if she could trust him.
‘I did hear. I just thought I might have heard a long time ago, but now I know it was now and not another time, because you lost your brother now.’
‘I don’t think that makes sense,’ she said.
‘It probably does.’
Bill took hold of her sleeve and pulled her off the road, onto a stretch of moss and smooth stone by the river. Longwood lay just beyond, but the barrier of flowing water kept Ottilie’s nerves at bay. She looked down, away from the trees, and for the first time she noticed Bill’s bare feet.
‘Bill!’
He stopped abruptly and Ottilie walked straight into him. ‘What?’ said Bill, steadying her.
‘Don’t your feet hurt, on the road? And aren’t they cold?’
Bill looked perplexed. ‘Yes. But I don’t have any shoes, don’t need them in the caves.’
‘You don’t have any … but here, let me see …’ Ottilie squatted down and inspected Bill’s feet, holding the glow sticks close. His furry skin was strangely dull in the moonlight. He almost seemed to blend with his surroundings. ‘Bill, this one’s all cut up!’ she said, taking his ankle in her hands and forcing his webbed foot off the moss. His anklebone seemed oddly soft, not like bone at all – more like a bendy green twig, or whatever human ears were made of.
Bill wobbled and had to hop to regain his balance. ‘It’s just from the rocks on the road. It’s all right, the moss is nice.’
‘No, here – wear mine for a bit!’ said Ottilie, pulling at her left boot.
‘They won’t fit. It’s fine.’ Bill took her sleeve again and they moved on.
Ottilie couldn’t stop thinking about his poor battered feet. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for telling me about Gully, and showing me the way.’
He nodded.
‘Bill.’
‘Mm?’
‘I’m quite scared.’
Bill looked at her for a moment. His kind eyes crinkled and Ottilie had the sudden feeling that he was much older than he looked.
‘I’m always scared,’ he said.
She didn’t find his words particularly comforting.
The stretch of green came to an end and they reached a series of wide, smooth rocks a yard or so from the river’s edge. Bill stopped, turned on the spot, and bent down to run his long fingers over a stone.
Ottilie hurried over to see.
‘Is that a –’
‘Hatch,’ said Bill.
The hatch was made of a circular slab of stone, with thick rusty hinges at the edge. There were strange markings outside the circle, but an ordinary duck was carved into the centre.
‘A duck?’
Bill ran his fingers around the edge of the circle. ‘There,’ he said, his fingers slipping into a subtle groove between the rock and the hatch. His arms strained as he eased it open.
Ottilie stared at him. ‘How do we get down?’
‘I – we?’ he croaked.
‘You’re not coming?’
‘Well … was … I thought – home …’ He pointed east.
‘Home is that way,’ said Ottilie, pointing north. ‘Please, Bill. Show me the tunnels. Just a bit further?’
Bill’s arm twitched as he gazed about, clearly a little lost. ‘I – yes, a bit further.’
Ottilie peered into the tunnel. She couldn’t see anything except for an old ladder leading down into the depths. Bill went in first. When she had lost sight of his head, Ottilie pocketed the glow sticks and placed one boot on the first step. It seemed sturdy enough, though her legs were wobbly with nerves. She descended carefully, and then eased the hatch over her head with an unpleasant scrape.
5
The Swamp Picker
One foot after the other, the hours dragged on. The air in the tunnel was thick, and Ottilie couldn’t shake the thought that this was how the inside of a coffin would smell – like rotting leather, bone dust, and hundred-year-old dirt. She shook her head, trying to clear all thoughts of death and small spaces. Aside from the ladder and the hatch, there was nothing man-made about the tunnel. Here and there it forked, or a shadowed opening would appear on one side. It was like a passage in a rabbit warren, only much bigger, as if the earth had been forced apart by a wandering hippopotamus.
Bill led the way. He was beginning to breathe harder and harder, wet breath catching in his throat, but still he pushed on. Ottilie had a sneaking suspicion he was only sticking with her because he couldn’t remember he had wanted to go home in the first place.
‘So you’ve come all this way before?’ said Ottilie. Her voice sounded oddly muffled, as if the heavy air was smothering her words.
‘Once,’ said Bill. ‘I saw them take a boy from the squatters’ cavern, and followed.’
Ottilie was horrified. Another Swamp Hollows boy. She racked her brains for anyone she knew who had disappeared. People came and went from the Hollows all the time. ‘Who did they take?’
‘He was just passing through. Staying in the Swamp Hollows for a few nights by himself. I followed, saw the swamp picker take another boy around Balding Village. I followed them all the way to Wikric, where other pickers brought more boys from far away.’
Ottilie frowned. ‘But you didn’t tell anyone?’
‘I listened, I heard a lot … it’s a dangerous business
. Once you get your brother, I don’t think you can stay near the Brakkerswamp. They won’t leave you be, not now that you know.’
Her stomach performed a somersault. ‘But I don’t know anything.’
‘As much as you do know is too much already.’
She felt herself begin to panic. ‘First we have to get Gully,’ she said, her voice weak. ‘How much further?’
‘Not far. We need to start being quiet, I think.’ Bill’s voice was very unsteady.
She buried the glow sticks in her pack. ‘How are your feet?’ she whispered.
‘They’re fine,’ muttered Bill.
They rounded a corner and lantern light spilled into the curving passage ahead. Bill gasped at the sight of it, making Ottilie jump. ‘Don’t do that!’ she hissed.
‘Sorry.’ He pressed all ten fingers over his mouth, then through his hands he mumbled, ‘The cells are around that bend.’
‘I’ll go and see if Gully’s there,’ said Ottilie. ‘Then we’ll figure out how to sneak him out.’
‘Nuh – n– no. Stay back,’ he said, pulling her away. ‘I can – I’m better at looking.’
‘You’re better at looking?’ She raised her eyebrows.
Bill took a long, furtive step forwards. Ottilie grabbed his arm. Shaking her head vigorously, she pointed at her chest. ‘I’ll go.’ She wanted to see Gully, just to catch a glimpse of him and see that he was all right.
‘You’re easier to see,’ Bill whispered. ‘They’ll catch us if they see you. I’m good at it.’
‘Stop saying you’re good at it!’
Bill pressed himself against the tunnel wall. He was right; with his grey clothes and strange fur he was almost impossible to see in the darkness. Ottilie stood still and focused on breathing quietly as Bill slipped around the corner.
It felt like an age had passed when a clammy hand wrapped around Ottilie’s in the dark. She nearly yelped in surprise. Silently, Bill led her backwards, away from the light.
‘They’re in a sort of cage. There’s no guards, but something’s wrong …’
‘What do you mean? Did you see Gully?’
‘No, and there’s hardly any boys, less than twenty. I think that’s about half as many as there should be.’
Ottilie’s throat constricted and she felt her blood drain all the way to her toes. She grabbed his sloping shoulders.
‘Where is he?!’ she hissed.
‘That’s what I’m saying,’ said Bill, carefully prying her fingers off his shoulders. ‘Something’s wrong. I think some of them have already moved on.’
She finally understood. ‘You mean we’re too late? We missed him?’
‘I think so.’
Ottilie couldn’t breathe. She began pacing back and forth. ‘What am I going to do? I don’t know where he’s gone! How am I supposed to find him now?’ Tears flooded her eyes.
‘But these ones will move on too,’ said Bill. ‘You could follow them.’
At that, a horrible thought struck Ottilie. What if it was all a trick? What if Bill had led her there to get caught? He had said Gully would be there – and he wasn’t. What if there was no such thing as the pickings and Bill was leading her into a trap?
Eyes narrowed, Ottilie took a step towards him.
‘Argh!’ Bill hopped on the spot. She had accidently stepped on his foot.
Ottilie looked down. She couldn’t see them in the dark, but she remembered very clearly his torn and battered feet. Of course it wasn’t a trick. No kidnapper would walk barefoot across a rocky road to deliver his pickings. That would be ludicrous. A kidnapper would wear shoes.
‘Sorry,’ said Ottilie. ‘I couldn’t see you properly.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Bill.
‘I need to see for myself if Gully’s there.’
Slowly she slid along to the corner and peered towards the light. She could see shadows ahead. It took her a moment to move again.
Ottilie growled quietly to herself. She would have control of her feet. She would move closer. She inched nearer.
The tunnel widened and forked at the end with an enormous ironbark door blocking one of the passageways. Ottilie could see a cell with figures inside. It stretched out from the wall just yards from where she stood. The thick bars reached high, not quite touching the ceiling. It stretched longways, long enough to fit at least thirty people. Another cell ran along the opposite wall. It was empty. There was no sign of the so-called swamp picker, or anyone guarding the cell at all.
Ottilie crept closer. Two flaming lanterns hung low from chains along the wall on either side of the cell. She could make out the figures within, a group of boys, all bigger than Gully.
She froze. One of the boys was looking right at her. Cool bubbles of sweat rose to the surface of her skin. The boy scanned her slowly with glassy eyes. Holding her breath, she placed her finger to her lips.
He didn’t react.
Exhaling in relief, Ottilie crept closer. There was something odd about him – and the others, too. They all seemed half-asleep. Some of them actually were asleep.
Scanning at top speed, she took them all in. Gully wasn’t there. She was sure of it.
Voices sounded from beyond the door. Ottilie slid back into the shadows just as somebody pushed it open. She felt her spine crunch into the wall with each silent, heaving breath. For a moment she thought she might actually be sick.
‘I was rightly on schedule, as you can see.’
A thin figure stepped through the doorway. His scraggy auburn hair was flecked with grey and a reddish goatee curled just below his chin. Ottilie knew that man. She had seen him around the Swamp Hollows. He had stayed in the squatters’ cavern many times.
‘My job’s done,’ he was grumbling. ‘Should’ve been off home yesterday.’
‘What’s the problem?’ This second man Ottilie did not recognise. He was dressed in a uniform, with thick plates of shiny armour over his shoulders and chest. The swamp picker looked very raggedy in comparison, with his brown moth-eaten trousers and discoloured coat.
The uniformed man seemed an official sort, a Wikric guard perhaps. But if a Wikric guard was meeting with a picker, what did that mean? Maybe this really was Uskler business. Or maybe not. Could the guard be a traitor?
‘The problem is, we got word the northers are a day behind schedule,’ said the swamp picker. ‘And it’s their turn to take them on to the border gate.’
Ottilie held her breath. The border gate … that confirmed it. They were taking them further west. But why?
‘I sent some of the troublemakers off with the group last night. Good sign that – I’m told they need a good bit of fight in them where they’re going,’ he said. ‘But this lot here, and the pickings from the north, won’t be able leave till tomorrow morning. Like I said, day behind schedule – they won’t like that.’
Ottilie screwed her eyes shut. Troublemakers. That had to be why Gully wasn’t there – because they had sent him away early.
She was too late.
‘So I’ll be wanting some food, if you please,’ added the swamp picker. ‘Didn’t bring provisions for an extra day of waiting.’
The uniformed man nodded. ‘I’ll have something sent down.’ He headed for the door. ‘Do not send for me again.’
Careful to make no sound, Ottilie slipped back to Bill. ‘Did you hear?’ she whispered.
‘Your brother’s already gone,’ said Bill. ‘What are you going to do?’
Ottilie scrunched her eyes closed, thinking hard. ‘You were right. They’re crossing west, over to the Laklands. I don’t think I can risk it.’
‘Risk what?’
‘Getting caught, before I can get to Gully. Even if I managed to sneak in, I don’t know what the Laklands are like ...’ Ottilie couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. What was she talking about? Crossing borders? Leaving the Usklers? This couldn’t be real.
‘So what can you do?’ said Bill, wrapping his fingers around one of h
is horns.
Ottilie stared at her feet. She knew the answer. She could say it. The words were easy. ‘I have to go with them.’
Bill looked at her as if she were mad.
‘I can pretend to be a captive and they’ll take me right to Gully.’
Would she actually be able to do this? There was no way she would be able to do this.
‘B-but, no. Ottilie, it’s too dangerous –’ Bill wound his webbed fingers together, twisting them as if moulding clay between his palms.
‘I have to.’
It was as if she, Bill and Gully were playing a game. It was one big game of make-believe and Ottilie was make-believing that she was brave enough to do this.
‘But Ottilie,’ said Bill, ‘the other captives are all boys.’
6
A Gift from Gurt
Bill didn’t approve, but he didn’t leave her, either. He and Ottilie took turns spying on the swamp picker. The way she figured it, the best time to sneak into the cell would be after the handover, when the northers arrived and the swamp picker was gone. They didn’t want to risk him recognising Ottilie from the Hollows.
She had a plan, or at least the makings of a plan. ‘I’m going to have to climb over the top to get in there with them. I just have to wait until they’re all asleep and then –’ ‘Then hope you don’t break your head.’
‘– hope no-one hears me jump in. And that none of the boys give me up. I don’t think they will. One of them saw me before and didn’t say anything.’
‘One saw you already? But then he’ll have seen your hair’s long already.’ Bill held out a strand of his own hair. ‘You can’t go.’
‘I don’t suppose it matters if they know I’m a girl.’
‘I think it’s better if everyone thinks you’re a boy,’ said Bill. ‘You don’t know where you’re going, or what will happen.’
Ottilie knew he was right. She would have to keep her true identity a secret. Luckily she was wearing trousers, not a skirt, but her hair was a problem. ‘We should get it over with.’ She gripped the small knife she had brought as a weapon, the one she and Gully used to cut lengths of krippygrass to sell in Market Town. ‘Have you ever cut hair before?’
Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt Page 3
