Skyborn
Page 22
“Leave me,” he panted. “I’ll follow ye.”
“We can’t leave you, Crake,” Bastjan said, bracing himself against his friend’s bulk and trying to push him up.
“Quicker without me,” the strongman mumbled. “I’m awful dizzy.” He slumped again, seemingly unable to keep his eyes open for long.
“Crake,” Bastjan said, pulling at the strongman’s arm. “C’mon. Please! We need you!”
Crake looked up at the boy, blinking as he tried to focus. “I’ll be behind you, son,” he said. “I’s promisin’ you that.”
“Listen, maybe he’s right,” Alice said, casting a glance out of the pod door. “We will be quicker, just the two of us.”
“But I can’t go without ’im,” Bastjan said miserably.
Alice took him by the shoulders. “We’ll come back,” she said. “I promise. Let’s just get him out of this pod and leave him somewhere safe. Once everything’s done, we’ll come and find him. Right?”
As she spoke, a bellow sounded from somewhere inside the ship – a deep, guttural noise of rage and pain. Alice looked away from Bastjan, her face paling.
“That’s ’er,” Bastjan said, once the noise had faded. “The Slipskin. They speared ’er in the leg, down in the City.”
“Brutes,” Alice whispered. “Monsters! They can’t be allowed to do this.”
“She’s just a kid,” he replied. “She’s no bigger’n you, anyways. She don’t deserve to be caged up. We’ve got to get ’er off this ship.”
The agonized roaring sounded again, coming from beneath their feet, several floors below. Bastjan crouched in front of Crake. “We’ll be back fer you,” he told him. “I promise.”
“I’ll be waitin’,” Crake said.
Alice bent to give Crake a kiss on the top of his head and he smiled at her briefly. Then they helped him out of the pod and down the corridor a little way, settling him against the wall as comfortably as they could.
“Now go on,” Crake said, waving the children away. “I’ll be grand.”
Bastjan threw himself at Crake, giving the strongman one final hug, and then the children got to their feet and ran.
Wares scuttled in front of them, looking back every few feet to check they were following. With every step, the noise of the trapped Slipskin girl grew louder and louder. Bastjan’s head began to fill with thoughts about what might be happening to her and how on earth they were going to help… He stumbled, falling hard on one knee.
“Whoop,” he said, digging his fingernails into the carpet. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and settle his breathing.
Alice stopped and turned. “Are you all right?”
Bastjan scrambled to his feet. “We jus’ need to hurry,” he said.
They raced on down the corridor, listening at every turn for the Slipskin’s cries. Before long they arrived in the airship’s lobby, their feet squeaking on the marble tiles as they dashed across its expanse. To their left the staircase wound up into the trunk, and through its glass they could see the sky outside the ship. It boiled purple, the clouds rolling against the panes, and every few seconds the air was lit with the jagged brightness of a lightning bolt.
“The storm,” Bastjan said. He swallowed hard, hoping the windows were sturdier than they looked. “Atwood said it was comin’.”
“At least it’ll keep everyone busy,” Alice said, looking up. At the top of the trunk she could make out the curve of the balloon, its chains rattling, and the propellers struggling against the wind.
Bastjan glanced around. The lobby was deserted, but somewhere, not far away, they heard the sound of adult voices raised in argument. “C’mon,” he said.
They hurried past the base of the glass trunk towards the back of the lobby, where the next set of descending stairs led into shadow. On the wall above them was a brass plaque.
“Crew only,” Alice read. “The hold has to be this way.”
As they reached the stairs, a sudden tilting of the ship threw them off balance. Alice and Bastjan found themselves being thrown against the wall, clutching at one another as they struggled upright. They carried on as quickly as they could, keeping a tight hold on the banister.
Another staircase down, and then another, and finally Bastjan was sure the corridor they were running down – and the double doors just ahead – looked familiar. Beyond the doors, Bastjan could hear the shriek of the Slipskin. Without a second’s delay he burst through them, Alice and Wares at his heels.
In the centre of the huge room was the lashed-down cage, but it was no longer empty. It now contained a tiny, ragged, wild-eyed girl who bared her sharp teeth and screamed one more time, the noise bursting from her throat seeming far too big to fit inside her. Bastjan’s steps faltered as the girl roared at him, her dark eyes filled with fury and hatred.
He glanced at Alice, whose terror was plain. Staring at the Slipskin, she took a step closer until she was right at Bastjan’s side. He turned back to the child in the cage. This was the first time they’d seen one another properly and yet Bastjan felt as though he knew her. He’d seen her face in his mother’s memories. The bracelet connected them to one another – Ester, the Slipskin and him.
“’Sall right,” Bastjan said, forcing himself forwards. Despite the iron bars that stood between them, the Slipskin was more frightening than anything he’d ever seen. She was no bigger than him, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter.
“Maybe I look like ’er, eh? Maybe I do. An’ maybe you’re thinkin’ of ’er right now, lookin’ at me. So I don’t blame you fer bein’ mad.” Bastjan licked his lips nervously and took another step. “I don’t know fer sure what happened the day my mum met you, but I do know this. She din’t mean to steal nothin’ from you. It was an accident – it had to be. An’ she tried to get it back to you, all those years ago. She just din’t make it.”
The Slipskin was staring at him now with fixed intensity, her teeth bared and her chest rising and falling, rising and falling with her deep, rattling breaths. “She died, y’see. My mum. It was an accident.” Bastjan sucked his lips in, so hard that it stung, and then he continued. “I miss ’er. Even though I don’t really remember ’er, not clearly. In’t that odd?”
Bastjan could tell she was listening. He met her strange eyes, dark black and too large in her long, narrow face, and he remembered the pain he’d felt the last time he’d held her bracelet, the searing loss. “I know you’ve lost someone too. You’re all alone, ain’t ya? You know how it feels. So let’s work together, me an’ you, to get you out of that cage. Right? And then we’ll work on gettin’ your bracelet back. It’s what my mum would’ve wanted.” He paused to catch a breath. “An’ it’s what I want too.”
The Slipskin was quiet. Her breathing had calmed. She dropped her hands from the bars of the cage and moved back, flopping on the floor of her prison with her long legs tucked beneath her. Even though her wary eyes never left him, Bastjan took this as a sign that he could approach. He walked slowly to the cage and wrapped his fingers round the same bars the Slipskin had just released, rattling the door as hard as he could – but it was securely locked. He looked around, desperately hoping to see something he could use to break open the door.
“Bastjan!” Alice called, and at the fear in her voice the boy turned. Two silhouetted figures emerged through a doorway at the far end of the hold. If there had been any doubt about the taller of the two figures, it was quickly put to rest by the familiar sound of a throat being cleared.
“Ahyuk,” said Hubert, stepping into the light, and behind him came Cyrus Quinn.
Hubert’s arms were laden with a harness, its leather straps hanging loose beneath it like trailing tentacles. His eyes were clouded with concern – or perhaps shame.
“And here you are again, like a stubborn stain,” the ringmaster said, striding past the animal handler. He looked down at Bastjan with a curl to his lip that made the boy’s blood rise.
“Let ’er out,” Bastjan sai
d, his voice low. “Let ’er out now.”
“You must be joking,” the ringmaster replied. He snapped his fingers at Hubert. “You! Get in there and get that harness on her.”
Hubert fumbled at his waist for some keys and Bastjan’s heart gave a pang – but before he could make his move, Wares flung himself from Alice’s arms and shot towards Hubert, leaping up to knock the keys right out of his uncharacteristically careless fingers. The dog caught them before they had a chance to hit the floor.
“Ouch! Ahyuk!” Hubert shouted, nursing his hand.
Wares dropped the keys at Bastjan’s feet and the boy crouched to pick them up. The ringmaster surged forwards, his teeth bared in a rictus of fury. But before he could get anywhere close to the boy, a familiar voice rang through the room.
“Come one inch closer to him, Cyrus, and you’ll be lookin’ for yer teeth,” said Crake. Bastjan whipped his head round, his mouth falling open in amazement. Crake, pale but determined, stood in the doorway, and in each huge hand he held a fire-axe, sharp and deadly. Crake flicked his gaze towards Bastjan and the boy could see how hard he was fighting to stay upright.
The ringmaster froze, his fury replaced by a sneer. “You wouldn’t dare, Cornelius.”
Crake made no reply. He simply hefted one huge axe, tossing it into the air. It spun, slowly, before falling again. He caught it, his eyes never leaving Quinn’s.
“Crake, we got to get ’er out,” Bastjan said.
Quinn darted forwards, his hand raised to strike Bastjan, but Hubert was right behind him. Taking hold of either end of the harness, Hubert threw it over the ringmaster’s head. Using the harness as a restraint, Hubert compressed Quinn’s arms tightly against his sides. With one quick move, he passed a thick leather strap across the ringmaster’s face, where it made a very effective gag.
“Ahyuk,” the animal handler said into his former boss’s ear. “That’s enough now, Mr Quinn. The boy’s right. I ain’t havin’ nothin’ more to do with harmin’ kids.” Bastjan saw him glance at the girl in the cage. “An’ that includes the one we stole.”
Quinn’s eyes filled with fury, but he said nothing.
Hubert looked at Bastjan, his eyes urgent. “The box is in his right breast pocket. Ahyuk!” he called, and the boy pushed himself up off the floor. The ringmaster aimed a kick as Bastjan drew near, but Bastjan dodged it.
Just as Bastjan felt his fingers close around his mother’s box, Quinn made a desperate grab for him, freeing one hand from the harness and wrapping it around the boy’s forearm. Bastjan dug his fingernails into the back of Quinn’s hand, scratching hard enough to draw beads of blood. Quinn released him with a hiss.
Bastjan turned away and opened the lid. His fingers brushed against his mother’s treasures – the notebook, the key, the feather – and finally they rested on the bracelet. Placing the box on the floor, he held up the bracelet and walked towards the cage. Inside, the Slipskin was breathing fast, her skinny chest going up and down like a pair of bellows as she watched Bastjan.
“I’m sorry,” Bastjan said, blinking hard. “An’ my mum would ’ave been too.” The Slipskin’s eyes were wide, her gaze flickering between Bastjan’s face and the bracelet in his hand. Slowly, with his other hand, Bastjan held up the key to her cage and the Slipskin reared back, chirping out something that sounded like a warning.
“It’s all right!” Alice said, appearing at Bastjan’s side. Slowly, his eyes on the Slipskin, Bastjan slid the key into the lock. With a squeal, the cage door opened outwards. Together, the children stepped inside.
The Slipskin stood, trembling, at the far side of the cage. Emotions flicked across her face – fear and want, trust and terror and rage – as she looked between Bastjan and Alice.
Bastjan slid the key back into his pocket and held out the bracelet, taking a couple of slow steps towards the Slipskin. He extended his arm as far as he could, the strap quivering in mid-air as it dangled from his fingers. He closed his mind to the screams of agony and grief – and then he glanced at the Slipskin’s face. Her features were contorted and he knew he wasn’t the only one who could hear the cries. His eyes slid closed and for a moment it felt like he and the Slipskin were together, hiding in the dark, while somewhere nearby her mother screamed her last…
“Go on,” Alice said to the caged girl, her voice calm. Her words pulled Bastjan out of his thoughts and he opened his eyes. “You can take it now. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”
The Slipskin crept forwards slowly, dropping to all fours. Her wounded leg was bandaged, a pinkish stain marring the bright white cloth, and she dragged it stiffly behind her. As she neared them, Bastjan and Alice inched towards her, crouching down as they got close.
For a few long heartbeats, the Slipskin’s eyes searched their faces. Then the girl reached out – but not for Bastjan. She brushed her fingers against Alice’s face instead, her touch on the firemark as gentle as a butterfly’s wing.
Alice gasped, a jolt of some strange power passing through her body. Her skin hummed where the Slipskin’s fingers had been and she gazed into the Slipskin’s eyes. They were so large, and so dark, that Alice could see herself reflected in them. Her firemark was there, of course, bright and bold and part of her. Instead of closing her eyes or looking away, she smiled to see it – to see herself – and the Slipskin let out a throaty chuckle in response. Slowly, the humming feeling in her skin drained away.
“I think,” Alice whispered, blinking, “if I were you, and had your power, and I could look like anything I wanted…” Her smile grew wider and a tear rolled down over her firemarked cheek. “I think I’d choose to look exactly like myself.”
Alice turned to Bastjan. He gave her a companionable nudge and she nodded at him, wiping her cheeks dry. Then they looked back at the Slipskin.
Bastjan held the bracelet out once more, his hand trembling a little less this time. “Here,” he said.
The Slipskin reached out and Bastjan laid the strap of woven hair on her palm. The pain in his head lessened a little as the Slipskin held up the bracelet, crowing proudly. Bastjan couldn’t help but smile and Alice did too, hiccupping away the last of her tears. The Slipskin wrapped the bracelet around her arm and fastened the clasp, and the noises in Bastjan’s head finally hushed.
Then the Slipskin glanced back at Bastjan and his smile faded. As she got to her feet, standing awkwardly on her wounded leg, she looked just like the drawing in his mother’s book. Strong and powerful, otherworldly, her eyes began to change from black to glowing gold, alight with knowledge beyond anything humans could imagine. From outside the cage, Bastjan heard Quinn spluttering with rage as he fought to free himself from Hubert’s gag, but he ignored him.
“We got to get ’er out of ’ere. Off the ship, I mean,” Bastjan muttered.
“Is … is she going to change?” Alice said.
“I ain’t one for gamblin’,” Bastjan replied, “but if I was, my money’d be on it.”
He scrambled for the cage door, pulling Alice with him, and together they ran straight for Crake. The cage door clicked shut behind them.
The strongman wobbled on his feet, his face greyer than it should be. “We’ve got to get the ship on the ground,” he said, staring at the Slipskin. She throbbed with power now, like a snake about to strike, and her eyes, fully golden, were glowing.
“Prob’ly should’ve done that bit first, really,” Bastjan said, and Crake cracked a grin.
Behind them Hubert released the ringmaster’s gag and Quinn slumped forwards in his restraints. His face was red and slick with sweat, and his eyes were narrowed but still sharp. Bastjan looked away.
As he did so, his gaze fell on something attached to the wall by a shining metal bracket, something with a brass horn and a long, flexible hose. Something he’d seen before, elsewhere on board the ship.
“The speakin’ tubes! Crake, there’s a speakin’ tube up in the control room – I saw it! We can shout up an’ tell Atwood to get this thing down!”
For several long moments, nothing happened. Then, finally, there was an answering whistle and a tiny voice, so low they could barely hear, replied. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Crake! We’re in the hold. You’ve got to get the ship down!”
Frustrating seconds passed before the reply was heard. “Not without Mr Quinn’s say-so.”
“But the storm!” Bastjan shouted into the mouthpiece. “The storm’ll wreck us, even if the Slipskin don’t.”
“The Slipskin?” Atwood sounded cautious and afraid.
“She’s loose!” Crake roared. “Get us down, quick as you can, or none of us will survive what might happen if she changes while she’s still on board.”
The speaking tube in Crake’s hand whistled again and nothing more was said. The strongman hung it back in its wall bracket and they braced themselves. Crake and Bastjan exchanged a worried glance.
Then, without warning, everything began to tilt.
The Slipskin stumbled, grabbing the bars of her cage for support. From behind, Bastjan heard Hubert shouting. The next thing he knew, Crake’s arms were round him, pulling him and Alice back into a corner of the hold. Unsecured cargo began to tumble all around, boxes and crates smashing as they fell, and somewhere there was a crash as glass toppled over, shards scattering all over the floor.
Bastjan could see the huge loading doors, held shut by a large metal bolt, rattling on their hinges as the ship came down. He glanced at the Slipskin. The door to her cage wasn’t swinging with the movement of the ship; it seemed to have locked itself, and he recalled the click it had made as he and Alice had made their escape. The Slipskin glowed from within with a golden light, which looked like it could spill over at any moment. Her gaze was fixed on the doors. Beyond them lay her freedom and she didn’t look like she was willing to wait for it much longer.