Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt

by Rhiannon Williams

  Leo chuckled, and Wrangler Voilies smirked. Ottilie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Beside her, Gully looked confused, and a little angry.

  ‘Let’s have a demonstration,’ said Wrangler Morse. ‘Boys?’

  ‘Ned,’ said Leo, with disinterest. ‘It’s no fun if the target’s not moving.’

  ‘All right, Eddy, you’re up,’ said Wrangler Morse.

  Ned moved forwards. ‘Can I borrow that for a minute?’ he asked Gully.

  Gully passed him the bow.

  Ned smiled and in about ten seconds flat, he hit three separate targets almost square in the centre.

  Ottilie’s jaw dropped. She wondered if, with two years’ training, she could be as good as Ned. But she shrugged off the thought. It didn’t matter.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Skovey, that’s what we like to see,’ said Wrangler Voilies. ‘Let’s give it another go, shall we, fledglings?’

  ‘Don’t worry, on my first try I broke the arrow in half,’ said Ned, passing the bow back to Gully with a wink. ‘Don’t ask me how.’

  Leo snorted. ‘I remember that!’

  ‘And what happened to yours, Leonard? Up over the wall, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Raw power,’ said Leo.

  ‘Elbows out, shoulders down. Square your feet, Mr Scoot,’ called Wrangler Voilies. ‘Aaand loose!’

  Ottilie’s arrow went up over the wall.

  ‘Well, there’s hope for this one,’ said Leo, clapping her hard on the shoulder. ‘Raw power,’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

  Ottilie nearly flinched at his touch. She didn’t like the others getting too close. It was probably irrational, but she had a strange fear that one of them would smell it on her, as if they might sniff out the difference and realise she didn’t belong.

  13

  Skip the Secret Keeper

  That night, their bedchamber was buzzing.

  ‘How about when Leo Darby shot that ball they threw over the fence?’ said a boy perched on a bed by the door.

  ‘I could’ve done that, if they’d given me a go,’ said his neighbour.

  ‘You didn’t even hit your target once!’ said another boy from across the room.

  ‘Still did better than you. You shoot like a girl!’

  Ottilie cringed. There had been lots of that kind of talk. Wrangler Voilies was the worst. He mentioned the sculkies almost every time he was displeased with their form. It seemed absurd to Ottilie. So far, she was performing at the same level as the boys around her. She couldn’t see a difference.

  She lay on her bed, listening to them argue. The day had been long and hard, but there was no denying they’d had fun, and most of them were looking forward to tomorrow.

  Ottilie wondered if she was looking forward to tomorrow. She couldn’t be sure. The thing was, she didn’t think it was possible for her to really have fun, not with Gully there. She felt responsible for him, and was quite sure he felt the same for her.

  The babble and banter lasted well into the night. It wasn’t until the muted night bells tolled twelve that Ottilie could be sure they were all asleep. She coughed quietly to check. Not a single boy stirred. Careful not to make another sound, she pulled on her slippers and crept from the room.

  Ottilie liked bathing late at night. It was a peaceful in-between time. Nothing and no-one held claim over her at midnight and the moon was so much better at keeping secrets than the sun.

  She slipped into the water. The pools were perennially warm, fed by hot springs below. It was wonderfully relaxing after such an exhausting day, and before long Ottilie began to drift off to sleep. Had she managed to keep her eyes open just a moment or two longer she would have heard footsteps in the corridor. Even catching the sound of the door opening might have given her enough time to scurry into the shadows. But Ottilie’s eyes were closed and her mind had sailed away. She didn’t hear a thing, not even the surprised squeak that rang crisp and clear in the empty chamber.

  What she did hear, however, was the cacophonous clatter of a metal bucket hitting the marble floor. Ottilie’s eyes flew open. Every muscle hardened to stone, and her stomach lurched up into her ribcage.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ It was a sculkie. She was standing dangerously close, only a few feet away. ‘I didn’t see you there!’ The sculkie stooped to pick up the bucket. ‘We clean late at night when it’s empty. I thought you were all in bed.’

  Ottilie froze. She didn’t know what to do. After several terrible moments of silence she said, ‘That’s all right. Sorry. I couldn’t sleep, so I …’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said the girl. Around her middle, she wore a belt with different cleaning utensils dangling from rings. ‘I’ll leave you to hop out. I do need to get started as soon as possible if I want to get some sleep tonight.’ But she didn’t turn away. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and took a step towards the bath. ‘I – sorry,’ she began, her voice confident and clear. ‘It’s just … you’re not a boy.’

  Ottilie felt her face drain of all colour. Why hadn’t she covered herself up? What was wrong with her? She was caught – it was over! She couldn’t think straight. All she could hear was her own heart pounding in her ears. ‘No,’ she said finally.

  The girl took another step forwards. Her hair was dark blonde and there was something rabbit-like about her face. Quite out of the blue, she cracked a wide, crooked grin.

  ‘What?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Well that’s just – that’s great,’ the sculkie breathed, her eyes bright.

  Ottilie hardly heard her. ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she begged, tears flooding her eyes. ‘I don’t know what they’ll do to me.’

  ‘Of course I won’t tell anyone!’ the girl half-yelled, before smacking a hand over her own mouth and flicking her eyes towards the door. ‘How did you get here?’ she whispered. ‘They can’t have picked you. You cut all your hair off to look like a boy, so … what? You snuck in?’ She spoke almost indecipherably fast.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Ottilie, her heart still thumping.

  ‘You have to tell it.’

  ‘All right, but I might put some clothes on first if that’s all right with you.’ Ottilie dried herself off and forced her jittery limbs back into her nightclothes, trying very hard not to panic.

  ‘I’m Isla Skipper, but everyone calls me Skip,’ said the sculkie. She held out a hand for Ottilie to shake.

  ‘Ott Colter,’ said Ottilie, taking her curiously small, very calloused hand.

  ‘Ott?’ Skip grinned.

  ‘Ottilie.’ It felt strange to say.

  ‘That’s more like it.’

  Skip flipped her bucket upside down and plonked herself down upon it, gazing up at Ottilie expectantly.

  Ottilie perched on the edge of the bath and laid out the bare bones of the story.

  Skip’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘I never would have guessed – that you’re a girl. But, well, of course you are! I can’t un-see it now.’

  ‘As long as no-one else can,’ said Ottilie, frowning. How could she have let herself be caught so soon!

  ‘So which one is your brother? Where does he sleep?’

  ‘Um, Gulliver – Gully, next to me, second from the window.’

  ‘With the dark curly hair?’ Skip looked her up and down. ‘I like him,’ she said. ‘He’s always very polite when we bring the trays. Always says thank you. I can usually count the thank yous on one hand – once they start feeling important they tend to get rude.’

  ‘How long have you been here?’ said Ottilie.

  Skip screwed up her face, thinking. ‘Four years?’

  ‘Four years!’ Ottilie couldn’t believe it. ‘How did you get here? Do they snatch girls too?’ Was snatching girls to be servants worse than snatching boys to hunt monsters? Ottilie wasn’t sure.

  Skip scowled.

  ‘Nah. I applied for the job. Speaking of, I’ll have to get started.’ She dipped her bucket in the bath to fill it, and began scrubbing at the tiles using so
ap that smelled like bramblywine and cloves.

  But Ottilie wasn’t ready to leave. She wanted to know more. ‘Let me help,’ she said.

  Skip unhooked a narrow scrubbing brush from her belt and tossed it to Ottilie.

  ‘Why did you want this job? Where are you from?’ said Ottilie, working away on the mould between the tiles – not for the first time, she found herself marvelling at proper soap.

  ‘Wikric,’ said Skip. ‘I was in a children’s home, but I ran away when I was six or seven.’

  ‘But … where did you go?’

  ‘Where does anyone go? The slum tunnels, of course. I used to steal quite a bit. Got into some trouble and needed to get away, then I heard about this job where they take you far off and give you food and a safe place to sleep for as long as you want. They like taking kids off the streets – no-one to miss them.’

  Of course poorer boys were easier to take. Ottilie found herself wondering why they had taken someone like Preddy.

  Her elbow was cramping up. Sitting back on her feet, she gave it a rub. ‘So you know all about this place then?’ she said, her mind humming. ‘Is it all true? Everything they tell us, about the dredretches?’

  Skip’s face clouded over. ‘We’re not allowed outside the boundary walls, but I’ve seen enough. It’s definitely true.’

  Ottilie’s heart sank. She had maintained a scrap of hope that things were not quite as grim as Captain Lyre had made them seem.

  Skip pulled a mop from a peg on the wall. ‘There’s no denying the work needs to be done,’ she said. ‘Only I don’t see why it’s only boys who get to do it. The only girls here are us custodians and some bone singers. I’ve seen enough to want a crack at a dredretch myself!’

  ‘What’s a bone singer?’ It didn’t sound like a good thing.

  ‘There’s a whole bunch of them. A woman called Whistler’s in charge but we hardly see her. They deal with the dead dredretches. They’re always talking about fighting for glory and honour in service of the Usklers –’

  ‘The bone singers are?’ said Ottilie, trying to keep up.

  ‘No, the huntsmen, the wranglers, everyone …’ Skip filled the mop pail and plonked it down with some force. Water slopped out onto the floor, and Ottilie skipped sideways to avoid the splash. ‘It’s as if they think girls can’t have honour,’ Skip continued. ‘The boys fight for honour and we creep around cleaning up after them. Give me a dredretch over a bucket and scrubber any day.’

  ‘I don’t know. I might choose the bucket,’ Ottilie muttered. ‘Why is it only boys?’

  Skip laughed. ‘I don’t know how things are in the Swamp Hollows, but I doubt it’s a whole lot different. Of course it’s only boys. That’s the way things go, isn’t it? Girls aren’t allowed to do anything. Rich girls sit, poor girls clean, and girls with nothing at all hide in the dark.’

  It still didn’t make sense to her. ‘But why?’

  ‘If I could have my way, things would be a whole lot different!’ said Skip, swinging the mop into her right hand and holding it aloft like a spear. ‘Maybe now you’re here, it can be! You could change things, Ottilie.’

  Ottilie cast her eyes down, veiling the guilt. She wouldn’t be changing anything. She was leaving. ‘What happens when they turn eighteen?’ she said. ‘They say you can only kill a dredretch while you’re still an innocent.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about all that. But the boys stay till they’re eighteen, then they get sent off into the world. They’re loaded up with gold, given important roles in the King’s Company and sworn to eternal secrecy.’

  ‘But why all the secrets?’

  Skip tilted her head. ‘I don’t have a clue. From what I’ve gathered, and I do a fair bit of eavesdropping,’ she grinned, ‘no-one knows. Just the king and a very select few. It’s all managed out of Wikric, by the Wikric lord. He barely even communicates with the king, because the king wants to stay away from it.’

  Ottilie scrubbed the edge of the bath, thinking hard. ‘Maybe they just don’t want to cause a panic, so they have to snatch people in secret.’

  Skip shrugged. ‘So, what are you going to do? You know they’re going to figure out you’re a girl eventually.’

  Ottilie felt the panic creeping back in. ‘You promise you won’t tell anyone?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘I don’t plan on staying here long enough for them to find out, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Me and Gully, and maybe some others, are getting out of here.’

  Skip stopped mopping. ‘Ottilie, that’s insane. I don’t think you understand what’s out there. They have guards with you when they bring you through the Narroway for a reason, and it’s not to keep you from escaping – it’s to protect you from the dredretches.’

  ‘But …’ How many dredretches could there really be? ‘I didn’t see anything out there.’

  ‘That’s because they brought your mob in during the rain. I don’t know why, but the way I hear it, monsters don’t like to go out in the rain. And they had a lot of huntsmen out the day they brought you in, to make sure none of those things came near you,’ said Skip.

  ‘I just want to get Gully home.’ Ottilie found it was easier to think of it that way. She felt braver because she was looking after him.

  ‘Does he actually want to go?’ Skip raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s just, funnily enough, most of them don’t actually want to leave, not after a while.’

  ‘People keep saying that,’ Ottilie snapped.

  Skip sat beside her on the edge of the bath. ‘Think about it. He probably wants to get you home before they find out you’re a girl. And you want to get him home because he’s your little brother and you don’t want him fighting monsters.

  ‘But everyone else, well, they choose the boys carefully. They pick lonely, hungry boys, the really reckless ones. They bring them here, tell them they were selected specially for the job. They offer them a family, food, three stations full of brothers, and girls to wait on them.

  ‘They say their king needs them, and then, and this is the genius part, they make it fun. They teach them to hunt monsters, and they make it a game. The boys aren’t just serving the kingdom and saving lives, they get to be winners – champions even.

  ‘You can scrap the hungry and lonely part. Take any twelve-year-old, tell them that instead of growing up in the real world they can go to a mysterious forest and have adventures for the rest of their young lives. Well … what would you have said?’

  Ottilie stared down at her knees. ‘I don’t know. I was never very brave.’

  ‘Ha!’ Skip covered her toothy mouth and glanced at the door again.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look at you with your hacked-off hair, having a bath at midnight. You’re great. You and I are going to be friends.’ She snorted. ‘Not very brave – you’re obviously the best kind of brave!’

  Ottilie had never thought of herself as any kind of brave.

  ‘What do you think Gully would have said, if they’d asked him to come?’

  Ottilie thought she knew the answer, but she didn’t want to say it out loud. ‘It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t make it right, what they did – kidnapping Gully, taking him away from his home.’

  ‘No. It’s not right. But it’s complicated. You can’t just reset things back to the way they were meant to be. You have to adapt.’

  Ottilie frowned at her feet. ‘And what they do here, it’s really important?’

  ‘That’s what they say,’ said Skip.

  Ottilie didn’t look up. Important. She didn’t think well enough of these people – these kidnappers – to trust their idea of what was important.

  14

  Caution and Counsel

  Ottilie thought long and hard about her first conversation with Skip. They’d had more since, of course. Skip volunteered to take the springs shift a few nights that week so she and Ottilie could continue their midnight friendship. It was such a comfort to have s
omeone to talk to who knew her secret. She could never seem to get Gully completely alone, so talking to Skip was her only chance to speak without watching every word she said.

  Ottilie found deception unexpectedly taxing. It was such a relief to let it all go and just be herself for an hour. She realised she had taken honesty for granted before. Why did anyone ever bother lying, or pretend to be someone they weren’t? It was draining and unpleasant. Ottilie wanted to never have to tell lies again.

  Keeping Skip’s words in mind, she had been watching Gully. Skip was right. He was enjoying himself. And despite all the tiresome lying, Ottilie was beginning to enjoy herself as well – but that was precisely why they had to go.

  ‘Shh, I can hear someone coming,’ said Gully, shoving the lantern behind him to mask the light.

  They froze, tilting their ears towards the approaching clicks and clacks of a sculkie ’s boots in the corridor beyond the springs. It was past midnight and they were supposed to be in bed. Preddy had dark rings like bruises beneath his eyeglasses. Scoot’s olive skin looked almost green. Gully’s limbs hung loose and heavy, and Ottilie, who was getting far less sleep than the rest of them, could barely keep her eyes open.

  The wranglers had been working them to the bone in preparation for the fledgling trials, which were now only two weeks away. They spent their days running around Fiory’s perimeter, flinging stones from slingshots, slicing the air with cutlasses and landing arrows ever closer to their targets.

  Preddy’s soft sneeze broke the silence. Ottilie’s gaze was fixed on the door. The footsteps dulled as the sculkie moved further off.

  Scoot let his shoulders drop from where they had scrunched up to his earlobes. ‘Good thing Preddy sneezes like a girl,’ he said.

  Ottilie’s mind raced. What did it mean to sneeze like a girl? Softly? Had she been sneezing like a girl? She looked to Gully for reassurance, but he was busy rolling his eyes.

  ‘You say the stupidest stuff sometimes, Scoot,’ he said.

  They had gathered in the springs to avoid being overheard. It was Ottilie’s idea. She knew the cleaning schedule so well, she was positive they would not be disturbed. Ottilie had chosen a night Skip wasn’t rostered on. Skip didn’t approve of her plans and Ottilie didn’t want her attitude to influence the others, not before they were properly on board.