Secret Guardians

by Lian Tanner

  The other children covered for them, working as hard as they could to fill those extra buckets with salt, so no one would miss out on their supper.

  But now at last they had nearly reached their goal.

  We are close enough for me to use the raashk, thought Sooli. Close enough to leave the mine forever.

  The raashk was still cold in her hand, but she was sure it would warm up soon; she was Bayam, and it knew her. It belonged to her. It would warm up, and they would escape.

  The narrow tunnel was packed with exhausted children. But when they saw Sooli, they gathered around her, their voices high with hope and fear.

  ‘Are we really going today?’

  ‘Are we truly leaving?’

  ‘The guards won’t catch us, will they?’

  ‘Per said you’re going to take us through the rock. Is it true? How can you do that?’

  ‘What about the guards? Won’t they come after us?’

  ‘What about Boz? He won’t let us go.’

  ‘What about Rusty with his whip?’

  Sooli had been dreaming of this moment for weeks. In her dreams, she was triumphant. She was as wise and cunning and clever and subtle and fierce as a Bayam should be. She knew exactly what she was doing, and she did it without hesitation.

  But now the moment had come, and it was not like that at all. She felt sick and stupid, and instead of triumph, she was filled with doubts.

  It was partly because of the ghosts. Something had terrified them, and their fear was catching, although Sooli did not know what had caused it.

  What could frighten a ghost? What could terrify someone who was already dead? She had no answers, and so she told no one what she could see.

  It was also partly because of the Wind’s Blessing. She was leaving without it, which felt like a betrayal.

  But it was not just the ghosts and the Wind’s Blessing. All the way to the secret tunnel, Sooli had been trying not to think about Pummel and Duckling. She was trying not to think about them now. Trying not to think about the flames that had come so close to burning her hand.

  Tinderbox, she told herself. It was a tinderbox.

  The trouble was, a Bayam was not just supposed to be wise and cunning and clever and subtle and fierce. She was also supposed to be honest.

  With herself.

  Completely honest with herself.

  In her deepest heart, Sooli knew that Duckling had not used a tinderbox to make those flames. It had been a Fire Wind.

  She still did not understand how it was possible. But she had seen it. And if the Fire Wind came to Duckling when she called, then she was no thief. She was no murderer. Sooli’s great-grandmother must have given her the Wind’s Blessing.

  I did not want to believe her, thought Sooli, and she felt hot with shame. I did not want to believe either of them. I am supposed to be Bayam, but I am not acting like one.

  She looked at the expectant children. ‘Duckling and Pummel are not here yet,’ she said quietly. ‘I had better go and fetch them; we must not leave anyone behind. No, we are not shunning Duckling anymore. I was – I was mistaken about her. I was wrong. Keep digging while I am gone. I will not be long.’

  And she turned around and stepped back through the hidden entrance.

  Duckling couldn’t find a soul. Except for the cat and the chicken, she seemed to be the only person left in the tunnels.

  A shiver ran down her spine, and she clutched the lantern and the windmill with shaky fingers. Just last night there had been children everywhere, turning their backs on her. Now there was no one.

  ‘Where are they?’ she whispered.

  ‘Gonnnne,’ said Frow Cat, sounding pleased rather than bothered.

  ‘Do you think they’re at the secret tunnel? Has Sooli taken everyone?’ Duckling’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘Even – even Pummel? He’s gone without me?’

  She hadn’t expected it. No matter how bad things were between them, she’d never thought that Pummel would leave her here.

  Alone.

  She leaned against the nearest prop, dizzy with fear and horror. Her breath stuck in her throat, as sharp as a fish hook. Her legs felt too wobbly to carry her.

  The chicken flapped her wings. The cat said, ‘We will seeeee.’ And they both disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Duckling. But her voice was stuck along with her breath, and all that came out was another squeak.

  She stared at the lantern. The blackness of the mine seemed to close around that tiny circle of light as if it might snuff it out in an instant. Was the flame shrinking? Was it dying?

  She felt a dreadful urge to run; to run blindly until she was too exhausted to think. She could barely hold herself from doing it – the aloneness was too dreadful.

  But if she started to run she might never stop, and then she would be truly lost.

  ‘According to G-Grandpa,’ she whispered, ‘there’s always a bit of c-courage left somewhere. Even in the d-direst of situations. You just have to find it.’

  Grandpa might be a rogue and a villain, but he knew a lot about human nature. And he was as brave as anyone Duckling had ever known.

  It was true that he would escape from danger if he possibly could. One of his favourite sayings was, ‘Only a fool stands and fights when he does not have to.’ And he had no qualms about leaving other people behind, not even when he was the one who had got them into trouble in the first place.

  But when the worst came to the worst and he could not escape, he was as steady and ferocious as anyone could hope for.

  Just thinking about Grandpa made Duckling feel a tiny bit better. She peered around at the smothering darkness, and shivered again. ‘This is awfully d-dire. But I’m not alone. I’ve still got Frow Cat and Dora, even if they’re not here just now. And I know where the escape tunnel is. I just have to find a way into it.’

  She blew on the windmill and hummed the shiny little tune. The familiar warmth of her breeze wafted past her.

  ‘Stay with me,’ she whispered. ‘Tell me if I go wrong.’

  And she set off to find the escape tunnel.

  But she’d barely gone ten paces when she saw the light of another lantern coming towards her.

  ‘Duckling, is that you?’ asked a quiet voice.

  It was Pummel.

  Duckling hadn’t cried when she was shunned. She hadn’t cried when she thought she’d been left behind. But she felt like crying now. Tears welled up inside her, and her heart felt as if it might burst.

  But she wasn’t going to show that bursting heart to Pummel, not when she had tried so hard to be trustworthy, and he hadn’t believed her.

  So she marched right past him, saying, ‘Who else would it be? I’m going to the secret tunnel, the one with the witchery on it. You’d better come too; everyone else has gone and there’s just us left.’

  Pummel nodded. ‘I know. Sooli said—’

  ‘I don’t care what Sooli said. I’m going after them. Don’t try and stop me; the Margravine’s dead and Old Lady Skint’s taking Otte away to her ship.’

  ‘The Margravine’s dead?’ said Pummel.

  ‘Assassinated. Otte sent a note.’ Duckling blew on her windmill again and added, ‘And yes, I’ve got my witchery back, but it’s only just happened and I wasn’t lying to you before. I don’t expect you to believe me.’

  ‘Duckling, I—’

  ‘And I suppose I can’t blame you for it, not after the way Grandpa and I treated you. Besides, there’s no time for blame. All that matters is rescuing Otte.’

  Pummel said, ‘I saw Sooli—’

  ‘Don’t tell me she was going off to bury someone, because I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to—’

  ‘I know you think she’s wonderful, but—’

  ‘Will you let me get a word in edgeways?’ demanded Pummel. ‘I’m trying to tell you something and you won’t listen!’

  Duckling stopped walking and glared at him. ‘What are you tryi
ng to tell me? That you don’t trust me? I already know that; why would I want to hear it again?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you that Sooli’s got the raashk,’ said Pummel. ‘She stole it from me. I’m trying to apologise.’

  Duckling’s mouth fell open, and for the briefest of moments she forgot all about Otte and the secret tunnel. A warm feeling spread through her. The tip of her nose tingled. Her face felt as if it was trying to break into a smile.

  Pummel believed her.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and started walking again. Her breeze swept past her in an agitated fashion, but she was so relieved that she didn’t take any notice of it.

  Ever since she and Otte and Pummel had been captured and brought to the mine, Duckling had been on high alert, watching everyone and everything. She’d watched Perkin to see if he could be bribed or persuaded. She’d watched Rusty and Boz for any sign that they were about to lash out with whip and cudgel.

  She’d watched Sooli and the other children, and the lanterns and the falling-down props, and the dust and pebbles that sometimes rained from the roofs of the tunnels, and anything else that might herald escape or danger.

  Now, for a few heartbeats, she let herself relax.

  Which turned out to be a mistake. Her breeze dashed past her again – and Rusty and Boz leaped out of a side tunnel.

  There was no time to run or fight. No time to call up fire, or to issue instructions to her breeze. A beefy hand wrapped itself over Duckling’s mouth and hauled her backwards.

  ‘I told ya we’d catch someone if we waited,’ said Boz. He shook Duckling until her teeth rattled. ‘Now speak up. Where’s all the snotties? We come down to top up the tallow and there’s no one ’ere. So where are they? Tell us nice and clear, or we’ll take yez both ’alfway up the shaft and chuck yez over the side.’

  Sooli had heard the younger children talking about a ghost cat, and had assumed it was just another story, like the monsters that were supposed to lurk in the far reaches of the mine.

  She had never expected to see it for herself. Especially since it was not a ghost at all, but a real cat with spotted fur and enormous paws.

  It was accompanied by the chicken that Sooli had tried to kill.

  ‘Follooow,’ said the cat, and it stalked back the way it had come, with the chicken scurrying at its side.

  Sooli did not move. ‘It talks!’ she whispered. And for a moment she wondered if she had fallen asleep and was dreaming of the Long Ago, when idle-cats roamed the land of Saaf and sometimes spoke to the Bayam.

  The cat looked over its shoulder. ‘Follooow!’ it commanded, with much less patience.

  So Sooli followed.

  They had not gone far when both cat and chicken stopped and crouched low, as if they had heard something.

  The cat slunk back to Sooli’s side and murmured, ‘Shadooow,’ in that same commanding tone.

  Sooli wrapped the shadows around herself, hoping that all the practice she had done was enough, and that she would not be spotted. Then she crept forward.

  She could no longer see the cat or the chicken – they must have gone to the shadows too. But she could see, coming from somewhere not too far ahead, the faint yellow glow of a lantern. No, two lanterns. And she could hear someone talking.

  She crept closer. The speaker was Boz, the most brutal of the guards, and Rusty was with him. So were Duckling and Pummel.

  ‘Tell us where all the snotties’ve gone,’ growled Boz, ‘or yez’re dead meat. Both of yez.’

  He took his hand away from Duckling’s mouth and she said, in a high, panicky voice, ‘Don’t hurt us! I’ll tell you where they’ve gone. Just don’t hurt us!’

  A chill ran through Sooli. Duckling is going to give us away. The guards should not be able to get past the do-not-see, but if they know there is an escape, they will wait outside and catch us. And bring us back!

  It was such a sickening thought that if Sooli had known how to kill Duckling from a distance, she might have done it. One life against so many? It would not have been such a hard decision to make.

  But she did not know how to kill from a distance. She did not even know how to lay a curse that would shut Duckling’s mouth before she uttered another word. All she could do was stand there, listening bitterly, while Duckling betrayed everyone Sooli had striven to save.

  Except Duckling didn’t betray anyone. In that same high, frightened voice, she said, ‘They’re hiding in the tunnels, Herro Boz. They’ve got cudgels made out of old props, and when you come looking for them they’re going to bash you over the head until you’re dead.’ She gulped. ‘Don’t tell them I gave them away or they’ll bash me too.’

  Sooli blinked. It wasn’t a betrayal, but it sounded like one. Every word rang true, as if Duckling was too frightened to lie. As for Pummel, he was staring at the ground, shaking his head.

  The other guard, Rusty, laughed. ‘Think they can kill us, do they? Well they’ve got another think comin’. Takes more than a few snotties to get rid of me. D’you know exactly where they are?’

  Duckling didn’t answer, so Boz lifted her up and shook her. ‘No,’ she wailed.

  He shook her again, and her wail changed to, ‘No … maybe. Yes, yes, I do!’

  ‘Show us,’ said Boz.

  Rusty chuckled and took his whip from his boot. ‘This should be fun.’

  As they moved away, Sooli stood frozen with horror. What would the guards do to Duckling and Pummel when they could not find the missing children?

  Kill them?

  A moment ago, she had wanted to kill Duckling, but not anymore.

  We shunned her, she thought. We would not even let her into the night cave. And she still did not betray us.

  She felt that flush of shame again. What sort of Bayam was she to have misjudged these two so badly?

  She had to save them.

  Duckling was trying to breathe, but Boz’s hand kept tightening on the neck of her jacket, then loosening again. Every time it tightened, she began to choke, and every time it loosened, she gasped for breath and tried to think.

  What could she do? (Gasp, breathe, choke.)

  How could she and Pummel get away? (Choke, gasp, breathe.)

  Her lies had bought them a few extra minutes of life, but they weren’t going to help for long. Already, Boz was saying, ‘Well? Where are they?’ (Gasp, breathe, choke.) ‘Yez’re not tryin’ to fool us, are yez? Yez’ll regret it if yez do. Where are they?’

  Somewhere behind Duckling, a voice replied, ‘We are here.’

  Duckling thought the voice was just part of the choking, like the lights that kept flashing in front of her eyes. But Boz spun around, dragging her with him. (Choke, gasp, breathe.)

  There was no one there, just shadows that swayed back and forth with the flickering of the lanterns.

  Boz and Rusty peered suspiciously into the darkness. ‘Show yerselves,’ snarled Boz. ‘Now!’

  ‘We are here,’ said the same voice, from a different direction.

  The two men spun around again, so quickly that both Duckling and Pummel were lifted off the ground. Duckling’s feet scrabbled in midair. Her hands waved helplessly. Her lungs felt as if they would burst.

  ‘And here,’ said the voice, from somewhere else again.

  This time, Boz loped forward, dragging Duckling with him. His cudgel was raised like a hammer … but there was nothing to hit. The tunnels seemed empty of everything but shadows.

  Witchery, thought Duckling.

  Boz was breathing heavily, and his eyes were harder than ever. ‘You know we’ll catch yez in the end,’ he shouted. ‘There’s nowhere to go down ’ere but dead ends. Better make things easy for yerselves. Yez think yez’ve got it bad now, but we could make it a lot worse. And we will if you don’t give yerselves up.’

  The answer came in the form of a stone that flew out of nowhere and hit him on the forehead.

  Boz roared with fury, threw Duckling to the ground and launched himself at those flickering shadow
s. But his hands grasped only the cool dry air of the salt mine.

  Meanwhile, Rusty had backed himself up against the tunnel wall, using Pummel as a shield. His eyes were white around the edges and he was breathing too quickly, and suddenly Duckling realised (in a dazed sort of way) that the guards didn’t like the black tunnels any more than the prisoners did.

  ‘We should get out of ’ere,’ muttered Rusty. ‘Come back with the others. Teach the snotties a lesson.’

  But Boz wasn’t going anywhere. He was braced for fighting, and pity help any slave child he got his hands on.

  Including Duckling.

  ‘Someone’s playin’ tricks on us,’ he growled, advancing on her slowly.

  Duckling scuttled backwards, knowing that she mustn’t let him get hold of her again.

  ‘I don’t like tricks,’ said Boz. ‘I don’t appreciate ’em. I like things nice and clear.’ He held up his hand, fingers spread. ‘One live snotty.’ His fingers closed, as if he was crushing a mouse. ‘One dead snotty. Nice and clear, see? Nice and simple. Now you tell yer friend, wherever she is—’

  ‘Here,’ whispered the shadows.

  Boz’s eyes shifted to one side, but he didn’t turn. Rusty’s jowls trembled, as if he was grinding his teeth.

  ‘You tell yer friend—’ said Boz again.

  ‘Here,’ came the whisper.

  And right on its heels, in a feline wail that rose and fell like a siren, ‘Heeeeeeere!’

  A shiver of pebbles broke from the roof and pattered down around Duckling. Rusty stamped his feet in fright. ‘That weren’t no snotty,’ he hissed. ‘That was somethin’ else. A ghast. A spook!’

  A cat spook, thought Duckling. And she tried to edge closer to Pummel.

  But Rusty was still hanging onto him. And Boz was still advancing on Duckling, as if he knew how scared she was, and wanted her to be more scared before he grabbed her.

  Because he would grab her. She was right up against the wall of the tunnel now, with nowhere else to go.