‘What?’ Chester followed his gaze, confused, until he spotted the threat. The darkness had reached the broken window and was seeping through the cracks. It drizzled through chinks of shattered glass, which lay glinting on the floor.
‘The water!’ the boy said, pointing. ‘Don’t let it touch your skin.’ He paused, looking Chester up and down. ‘Well, I suppose you could if you really wanted to, but it would be a shame to waste those charmingly rustic cufflinks.’
Chester jumped back: now the swirling water had come in, it was flowing even faster. ‘Can’t we just reverse its tune or something? Like when I fought the Echo?’
‘Oh, are you volunteering to throw yourself in?’ said the blonde girl.
‘What? No, I –’
‘You’d have to touch the water first, to hear its melody,’ she said, apparently thinking aloud. ‘Then you could play it backwards on your flute. But of course, it would start dragging you down as soon as you touched it …’ She brightened a little. ‘You know, I think it might work! It would be a horrible death, of course, but you might temporarily disrupt the river’s Music while it consumed you.’
At this, Chester decided not to offer any more suggestions.
Sam stomped back and forth between wheels and levers, swearing occasionally under his breath in his attempt to gain some lift. There was a ravenous growl from the bowels of the echoship, more ursine than mechanical, and the cabin began to shake.
‘Sam, head west,’ Susannah ordered. ‘Last we saw of the Songshaper, she was on the eastern shore. Her echoboat’s tiny – she’ll sink if she tries to follow us across the river here and it’ll take her at least a day to reach the next decent bridge.’
‘You know,’ said the blonde girl, who was still considering the river, ‘another option might be throwing in a Musical creature, like an Echo. It wouldn’t be a perfect tune reversal, but the combination of its dying life-force and its own inherent Music should theoretically –’
‘Dot?’ Susannah said, through clenched teeth.
‘Yes, Captain?’
‘Have you got a pet Echo to throw into the river?’
‘No, Captain.’
‘Then shut up, would you? Sam needs to concentrate. And the rest of you, find something to hold onto.’
Chester grabbed the wall, barely suppressing a shout of pain as his wounded arm jolted.
‘Hold on tight!’ Sam said. ‘This river ain’t keen to let us go.’
The Cavatina creaked and moaned as they ascended, fighting against the water that clutched at them: desperate fingers, refusing to release. Sam steered sideways, struggling away from the river’s line of reflection …
And suddenly, the shadows retracted.
The whole world jerked; the Cavatina righted itself against the tilt and they slid backwards in a clatter of limbs as the ship arced up onto the western shore. Chester glanced out the window just in time to see the river disappear behind them. Tendrils of black slowly drained from the cabin, seeping back down through the broken window.
‘Gosh,’ said the blonde girl, looking excited. ‘That was rather an adventure, wasn’t it? You know, I’ve always wondered what a reflection trap might feel like. I have a theory that –’
‘Right,’ Susannah interrupted. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, visibly fighting a surge of pain. ‘Time for chatting later, gang. Sam, I need you to get us the hell out of here.’
‘On it already, Captain.’
‘I want a decoy, too. Launch the Musical automation in one of the echoboats and send it north, with just enough sparkage to leave a trail.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t like to waste an echoboat, but it’s better than being chased by a bunch of Shapers.’
Sam wrenched down a fistful of levers then flicked a series of knobs and dials. A shudder ran down through the ship, as though something heavy had been dislodged from the upper deck.
‘Good,’ said Susannah. ‘Dot, help me and the new boy into the medical room.’
The blonde girl glanced across at Chester, startled, as though she had forgotten his existence. Then she spotted the roughly bandaged wound on his arm and saluted. ‘Yes, Captain!’
Susannah turned to the boy in spectacles. ‘Travis, you’ve got a pair of invalids to deal with.’
Travis looked down at his clothing. He wore a pair of sleek plum trousers, a white cotton shirt and an expensive-looking waistcoat. A silk cravat adorned his neck, gleaming crimson under the sorcery lamps, and a gold watch dangled from his pocket.
Despite all this splendour, the outfit was a little scuffed and smoke-stained. Travis gave a melodramatic sigh, running his hands and eyes across the fabric’s injuries.
‘Travis!’ Susannah said. ‘You have your orders. I need you to dress our wounds. I hired you on the basis of you being a doctor, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Are you afraid of getting blood on your clothes?’
Travis shook his head. ‘Oh no, certainly not. I just …’ He waved a hand, clearly struggling for an excuse. He clicked his fingers. ‘Ah! It’s unhygienic, you see.’
‘It’s what?’
‘Oh,’ Travis said, ‘it’s a new concept in medical training. I really ought to change into a clean shirt first.’ He paused. ‘Sam, may I borrow one of your shirts? Mine are all so unsanitary – all those decorative elements are simply hives of disease …’
‘Is this to protect your patients, or your clothes?’ Susannah said.
Travis gave her his brightest smile. ‘I’ll meet you in the medical room, shall I?’
He sauntered out of the room, boots clacking until they were silenced by the carpet of the corridor.
‘Oh, don’t worry about Travis,’ Dot said, turning to Chester. ‘He’s just a vain little peacock. Spends half his time chasing pretty girls and the other half ironing his shirt sleeves.’ She paused. ‘You know, I’ve always had a few quibbles with the use of the peacock as a symbol for human vanity. If you ask me, a better analogy would be the –’
‘Yes, yes,’ Susannah said. ‘Just get us to the medical room.’
Dot saluted again. ‘Yes, Captain!’
She helped Susannah to her feet. Chester couldn’t help but be a little impressed as he watched the captain stand. She held the syringe in place herself, even as colour drained from her face. She swayed a little but Dot steadied her.
‘That’s it, Captain. Just down the corridor …’
‘I know where the medical room is,’ Susannah snapped.
‘Just trying to be reassuring, Captain.’
The medical room was small and cramped. Chester stepped aside to allow Susannah to take the bed and stood back in the corridor to await his own treatment.
Travis appeared in an oversized flannel shirt, which swam across his skinny torso like a bedsheet. He tied the loose folds of fabric into a knot and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows.
‘I see you’ve bravely sacrificed Sam’s shirt to the cause instead of your own,’ Susannah said.
‘What, this thing?’ Travis looked down at the shirt distastefully. ‘Oh, it’s chequered crimson already. The big lout will hardly notice a few little blood spatters.’
Travis pushed Susannah back to make her lie down on the bed, whipped open a cupboard of medical supplies, and set to work. Chester watched through the doorway, a little queasy.
Queasy? That was odd. He’d never had a problem with the sight of blood, or even death. Once, he’d shared a cargo carriage with an old man who had died of fever in the middle of the night. When the train had stopped, Chester had carried the body down off the train and buried him in a copse of thistle trees near the railway track. Sickness and death were just a fact of life.
But still, Chester felt sick. Clammy. And it grew worse by the minute. His breaths felt shallow and he clenched his fingers to steady himself.
‘What’s your name?’
He blinked, startled by the sudden voice. ‘Chester Hays.’
The blonde girl nodded. ‘I’m Dorothy P
ickett, but everyone calls me Dot. In there, that’s the captain, Susannah Kemp, and Travis Dalton.’ She eyed him, clearly curious. ‘You all right? You look a little …’
‘I’m fine.’ Chester took a deep breath, and then fought the urge to vomit it back up again. ‘It’s just … I think I might be coming down with something.’
‘Ah.’ Dot’s expression cleared. She tapped him on the chest with a smile. ‘It’s withdrawal, isn’t it? From the recital?’
Chester started. In the chaos of the morning so far, he had almost forgotten about skipping the recital last night. No wonder he felt sick.
‘Not to worry,’ Dot said. ‘We all went through it. So long as you can get through tonight, you’ll be right.’ She laughed. ‘I bet Sam was a right grump about it though, wasn’t he? He gets like that sometimes, when …’
‘When what?’
Dot hesitated. ‘Not my place to say.’
There was an awkward silence. Then, from inside the room, Susannah – who must have been listening – said, ‘Let’s just say that Sam’s emotions are … unpredictable. If you’re going to join our gang, I suppose you’ve got a right to know what you’re signing up for.’
As she spoke, Travis poured a vial of greenish liquid onto her wound. It sizzled and Susannah flinched, hissing the last few words through clenched teeth.
‘I know what I’m signing up for,’ Chester said. ‘You’re a thieving gang.’
‘No, we’re not.’
‘Then what are you?’
‘Well …’ Dot waved a hand. ‘We’re what you might call specialists. We’ve got a reputation, you see. In the industry.’
‘The thieving industry?’
‘We prefer to see it as a wealth redistribution program.’
Chester snorted. He’d heard that one a lot recently. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. Ever since the Nightfall Gang had become famous, it seemed that every thief in Meloral had used that line to justify their actions. Unlike the infamous Nightfall Gang, however, most criminals didn’t genuinely give their earnings to the poor – unless by ‘the poor’, they meant themselves.
‘We give half our loot to those who need it,’ Dot said, ‘and we only steal from people who deserve it.’
‘Such as …?’
‘Aristocrats in Weser City. Songshapers in little towns who lord it over the common folk and take half their earnings to line their own pockets.’
‘Of course,’ Chester said sarcastically. ‘I’m sure you’re a bunch of real heroes – just like the Nightfall Gang.’
‘Oh good,’ Dot said, ‘you’ve heard of us.’
‘What?’
‘I said, “you’ve heard of us”,’ Dot said brightly. ‘The Nightfall Gang. I was the one who came up with the name – you know, since we boycott the Sundown Recital and all. It’s got a nice flair, don’t you think?’
Chester stared at them. Were they joking? The Nightfall Gang was the most notorious crew in Meloral. They had broken into Songshapers’ mansions. They had scattered sacks of gold to the needy in Jubaldon and given new boots to the beggars in Linus. Some people were convinced that the Nightfall Gang used griffins to pull their getaway coaches, others that they were ghosts who only appeared by night to wage war on behalf of the downtrodden.
They were heroes. They were legends.
They weren’t a bunch of bickering teenagers who crashed their echoships into rivers.
‘No,’ Chester said, ‘you can’t be the Nightfall Gang. I’ve heard stories about the gang; you’re just a bunch of kids pretending to be –’
Susannah sighed. ‘The stories are exaggerated, Chester. That’s what happens with stories – they get retold and they shift a little. Change their clothes, you might say. Haven’t you ever heard a rumour spread through a town?’
‘There is no way in hell,’ Chester said, ‘that you broke into a rancher’s stable and released his fleet of forty pegasi. I don’t believe it.’
‘Only four pegasi, actually,’ Susannah said, ‘and we only stole them on principle. The rancher was using them to spy on his workers. If he caught anyone resting, even for a moment, he’d whip them bloody.’
‘Poor things,’ Dot said.
‘So you just broke in and released the horses?’ Chester said sceptically. ‘How? I’ve seen the security that folks put on their pegasi stables …’
‘We went in through the Hush,’ Susannah said, ‘and we rode out on the pegasi.’
Chester stared at her.
The Hush.
And suddenly, he wasn’t so sure she was lying.
The Hush explained everything. It made sense, didn’t it? It explained how the Nightfall Gang could infiltrate the most tightly guarded buildings, how they could sneak into banks and mansions without anybody noticing, how they escaped with the loot, unseen and unheard, like ghosts in the night …
Chester stared at them. Could it really be true? For almost a year now, he had heard tales of the Nightfall Gang. They’d even had a song renamed in their honour – ‘The Nightfall Duet’. All across the country, he’d seen the growing panic as aristocrats installed bars on their windows and increased the security of important buildings. If this really was the Nightfall Gang, he was in the presence of legends.
And they wanted him to join them.
‘What …?’ Chester wet his lips. ‘What do you want me for?’
Susannah gave a slow smile. It wasn’t a happy smile. It was a hungry smile. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘we’re planning a rather special heist. And for this heist, we need an unlicensed Songshaper.’ She raised her head a little, and looked right into Chester’s eyes. ‘One who’s never been to the Conservatorium in Weser City.’
‘I’m not trained.’
‘Good,’ Susannah said. ‘That’s the point. We have a very special target in mind and we need someone who won’t be recognised there. Someone to go in undercover.’
Chester stared at her, his stomach tightening. Surely, she couldn’t mean …
‘We’re going to rob the Conservatorium,’ Susannah said. ‘We’re going to fleece those scoundrels for all they’re worth.’ She gave him a long, hard look. ‘But for our plan to work, we need a man on the inside.’
‘Me?’ Chester said, mouth as dry as newspaper. ‘You want me to sneak into the Conservatorium?’
‘Oh no,’ Susannah said. ‘We don’t want you to sneak in.’
There was a pause.
‘We want you to audition.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Chester laughed. He couldn’t help it. The sound bubbled up inside him, panicky and shocked. Him? Audition for the Conservatorium?
The room was quiet. Chester stared between the gang members, waiting for someone to admit to the joke. Dot looked away and Travis made no attempt to meet his gaze.
‘You’re joking, right?’ Chester said.
Silence.
Susannah gave him a serious look. ‘We need someone inside the Conservatorium, Chester. We only get one shot at this. They only hold auditions once a year and they’re just under three weeks away. Do you think you’re up to it?’
Chester stared back at her, stunned. He didn’t know what to think. Hell, he didn’t know what to feel. Six months ago his answer would have been Yes, yes, yes! He’d always dreamed of attending the Conservatorium. Of learning to craft true music and turning it into Music. Of playing sorcery into lamps, and songs into the night …
Of becoming a Songshaper.
But now? Now, he didn’t have time for selfish whims. His father was still missing and Chester had to find him. Even if the auditions were only weeks away, the job itself might take longer. For all he knew, it might take months. And what if he was caught? It could even cost Chester his life. Then who would look for his father?
Chester took a deep breath. ‘I’ve got another job already.’
‘What?’
‘My father’s missing – his name’s Wyatt Hays. He vanished from his bed and I can’t … I mean …’ He shook
his head. ‘Look, I have to find him.’
The others threw each other startled glances. Chester looked between them and a chill passed across his skin. They knew something. They knew something about the vanishings.
‘You know what happened to my father?’
‘A lot of things might’ve happened to your father,’ Susannah said carefully. ‘He might have abandoned you. He might’ve interrupted a burglary and been dragged off. Or maybe –’
‘He used to be a soldier,’ Chester said. ‘A conscript, in the War of the Prairie. And when my mother died, he raised me on his own. He worked whatever jobs he could get, just to keep a roof over our heads. More than anything, he believed in family.’ Chester hesitated. ‘He would never just abandon me. And I … I can’t abandon him.’
‘Perhaps he –’
‘He was having nightmares,’ Chester said. ‘Fevers and bad dreams, for days before it happened. And in his sleep, he kept talking about the Hush.’
Susannah blinked, but didn’t move. No one spoke.
‘I didn’t know what the word meant,’ Chester said. ‘Not until I met Sam and he dragged me into this place.’
Silence.
Unexpectedly, it was Dot who finally spoke. Her voice still sounded light and lilting, but with a more cautious edge to it now. ‘What happens to the vanished ones is officially a mystery,’ she said. ‘Originally, I was working on a theory that it was an imbalance in the sorcery levels in the atmosphere, which interfered with the natural Musical tuning of human flesh, but –’
‘You were working on a theory?’ Chester said. ‘So you’re not working on it anymore.’
Dot opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally, she shook her head. ‘No, not anymore.’
‘Because you found out what’s really going on?’
‘That’s enough,’ Susannah said sharply. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and her shirt slipped back down to cover her wound. ‘You haven’t earned our trust yet, Chester Hays.’
‘You know what happened to my father.’
‘Maybe.’ Susannah met his glare with a cool expression. ‘Maybe not. But I don’t see why we should share our most valuable information with a boy who refuses to help with our plan.’
The Hush Page 12
