The Hush

by Skye Melki-Wegner

  ‘What I would tell you,’ Dot said quietly, ‘is that it was a moonless night, and I was young and stupid, and I was betrayed. I got caught. I got expelled.’ She took a sharp breath. ‘And I learnt to put my trust in things like moons and doorknobs, and not in people.’

  She turned to leave.

  ‘Wait!’

  Dot turned back, raising an eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I …’ Chester hesitated. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.’

  Dot stared at him for a long moment. Then she nodded. ‘You’re allowed to be curious, Chester Hays. I’m curious about things, too. That’s why I study. That’s why I develop theories.’

  ‘Do you have a theory about me?’

  ‘All of us have theories about you,’ Dot said. ‘Sam doesn’t trust you. Susannah thinks you’ll be a handy little stooge in this job.’ A flicker of her smile returned. ‘Travis thinks you have appalling taste in shirts.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘I think,’ Dot said, ‘that I can’t judge what a thief will be like until I’ve seen him on a job. I like evidence, you see. Data, statistics, observable results. And as luck would have it, we’re due for a job in Linus. Should be a simple little burglary – nothing too dangerous.’

  Dot turned away, tossing the last few words over her shoulder. ‘And a good trial run for our newest recruit.’

  That night, Chester sat alone in his cabin. He knew the others were in the kitchen, chattering about the Linus job and readying pots and pans for dinner. But a quiet nausea churned his stomach.

  The recital.

  In the real world, it was likely approaching sundown. During the day, in the rush of action and exploration, Chester had almost forgotten about his withdrawal symptoms. But now his body cried out for relief. He doubled over, clutching his stomach. The jabs inside were hot and hard. It was like a knife being turned around through the slit of his belly button, carving a circle of pain. He half-expected to see blood when he pulled away his fingers, but there was nothing. Just the pain and the silence.

  Chester curled his knees up to his chest so that he lay in a foetal position. There was a faint sound of music in his head now, a forgotten tune. A drumbeat and a set of fingers on banjo strings, a sting with every twang. Pluck, pluck, pluck … The tune flicked pain into his belly and music into his skull.

  There was a knock at his door.

  ‘Yes?’ he managed.

  The door swung open and a head of bright red curls slipped inside. Susannah. Chester stared up at her, blinking at the influx of colour in his cabin. He hadn’t expected the captain herself. He’d thought maybe Dot or Sam or Travis …

  ‘Are you all right?’ Susannah said.

  Another wave of pain hit and Chester curled up tighter. His pain vied with embarrassment, as he suddenly realised he was curled up like a baby in front of the captain. He tried to straighten his limbs but they refused to extend. It was like trying to bend a rifle with his fingers.

  Susannah didn’t look scornful, though. She dropped onto the bed beside him and placed a hand on his forehead. ‘No fever,’ she said, after a moment. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Recital,’ Chester managed.

  ‘I know,’ Susannah said. ‘You should’ve seen me when I went through withdrawal. Cried for five hours straight.’ She bent down to look at him, her eyes intense. ‘You’ll get through this. It only lasts a few hours, as long as you don’t fall into a fever. If you can beat it tonight it should be over for good.’

  ‘I heard of an old woman …’ Chester faltered, curling beneath the weight of his pain, which pulsed through his body in waves. ‘I heard of a woman who suffered for days. Lost her mind …’

  Susannah shook her head. ‘Just stories to keep you compliant. So long as your temperature stays stable it’s just a few hours of pain. We’ve all been through it.’

  ‘Why?’ Chester whispered, his voice hoarse. ‘Why can’t we keep doing the recital? Why bother with this …’

  ‘This pain?’ Susannah looked down at her fingers, steepled in her lap. ‘Because the Songshapers teach us the recital is necessary. They teach us it’s what keeps us alive, what keeps us healthy. They tell us we’ll go mad without it.’ She looked up, expression set. ‘And they’re lying.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So they’re lying for a reason.’ She shook her head again. ‘I don’t know what the recital is for – to control people, to track people, or to keep us compliant. I know it hurts like hell to withdraw. But I also know life goes on afterwards. Everyone on this ship has withdrawn from the recital, just in case. And if you want to be a part of this gang – if you want our help finding your father – you’ve got to pull yourself through this.’

  Chester fought back another ripple of nausea. ‘Why … why are you here, Captain?’

  ‘Here in the gang? Or here in this room?’

  Chester nodded. He didn’t care which question she answered, he just needed the distraction of talking. Of listening. Of filling his head with something that wasn’t agony.

  ‘I’m here in this room,’ Susannah said slowly, ‘because you’re in my gang now. This pain is because of my orders. I wouldn’t be much of a captain if I didn’t try to help you through it.’

  As she spoke, the pain hit again. Chester let out a staggered breath. He wanted to say, It hurts, or, Make it stop, but he couldn’t afford to look even weaker in front of the captain. He could see that as a Songshaper he was valuable to them, but their information was just as valuable – if not more – to him. If they decided he was too weak for the job, he might never learn the secret of the vanishings …

  ‘I know,’ Susannah said. ‘I know it hurts.’

  Chester cracked a weak smile. ‘You a mind reader, Captain?’

  ‘Just someone who’s been there.’ Her teeth were very white, Chester noticed. A gleam of white beneath a sea of red.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said. ‘After the bullet, I mean? You’re … healing?’

  Susannah nodded. ‘It’s amazing what Travis can do.’

  ‘Travis knows medicine,’ Chester said, ‘and he’s good at acting. Dot knows Music and mechanics. Sam’s big and tough, and he seems to be the best at flying the –’

  His sentence broke midway as he was hit by a clench of agony in his chest. Chester curled into himself, scrunched his eyes shut and breathed through the pain. Convince the world you’re strong …

  As the pain faded, he forced his eyes open and continued through gritted teeth. ‘Sam’s the best at flying the echoship. And you’re the leader.’

  Susannah nodded. ‘And I do the climbing and burgling places.’

  ‘What about me?’ Chester said. ‘Where do I fit in?’

  ‘You’re our Songshaper.’

  ‘But Dot –’

  ‘Dot’s on the Conservatorium records, so she can’t do the job. Not this time.’ Susannah waved a hand, as though casting around for a change in subject. ‘Anyway, you’re a natural. You connected to the Song without any training. That’s not normal, Chester. That’s … valuable.’ She gave him a careful look, assessing his reaction – as though still not entirely sure whether she believed him. ‘If you can already hear the Song, I’m sure you can learn to play a bit of Music for us.’

  ‘I’ve been trained in music,’ Chester said. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘There’s a difference between music and Music.’ She put a clear emphasis on the second version of the word.

  ‘Apart from the capital letter, you mean?’

  Susannah smiled and Chester’s stomach twitched. ‘Yes. Apart from that. Anyone can be trained to play a tune on an instrument, but not to create their own sorcery.’ She gave him a curious look. ‘Who taught you to play fiddle, anyway? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look much like a rich man’s heir.’

  ‘I worked in an instrument shop,’ Chester said.

  ‘Ah. That would explain it.’

  Chester let a gasp of pain esca
pe his teeth as another wave of misery shuddered down his spine and into his belly. He curled then uncurled like an indecisive wisp of smoke, before he straightened his legs with a grunt.

  ‘I can leave you if you want.’

  ‘No, don’t. Please. I … the distraction helps.’

  ‘All right.’ Susannah placed a hand on his head to check his temperature again then gave a relieved nod. ‘No sign of fever.’

  Chester twitched again in pain. He realised he’d bitten his tongue in a thrash of agony and blood welled against his teeth with a new-found sting.

  ‘Tell me about this instrument shop,’ Susannah said.

  Chester swallowed hard. ‘Just a little shop in Thrace. Ashworth’s Emporium, it’s called. There aren’t many customers, except for the regulars who know the owner …’

  ‘The owner?’

  ‘Mr Ashworth.’

  Chester had struggled for months not to think about life in Thrace. Part of him was terrified that if he let himself think about it he might just run back and slip into his old life, abandoning his father, leaving him to suffer whatever fate the vanishing had dealt him …

  Now, though, Chester let himself remember. It was better than the pain of withdrawal. He remembered the crooked little alleyway, the weight of shadow and the stink of old rubbish. The wooden sign swinging, welcoming him inside. Ashworth’s Emporium. And inside, the light of sorcery lamps, the warmth of the fireplace and the crackle of flame. The scent of wood and polish, rows of bows and instruments: fiddles, banjos, clarinets …

  And Goldenleaf.

  Goldenleaf was the first instrument he had carved on his own. Chester had stayed awake by lamplight, carving gentle curves into the fiddle and breathing in the sweet scent of mahogany. He remembered stretching the strings into place and coaxing the virgin notes from the instrument …

  It was more than just a fiddle. It was his fiddle.

  Of course, Chester could never afford to buy it. Mr Ashworth had painted gold leaf into swirls on its neck – ostentatious and flashy, but there was no point arguing. Once the old man set his mind to something, he wouldn’t budge.

  ‘A fiddle worthy of a lord,’ Mr Ashworth had said.

  So Chester had watched in silence as the price tag was added – more than a year of his wages – and it was placed into the window display. It was probably still there, with dust on its golden twists and its strings. Chester yearned to place his fingers on the bow and charm a run of fleeting notes to counteract his pain …

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Susannah said.

  Chester blinked and the image shattered. He looked up at her, eyes slightly hazy with pain, and he forced his aching shoulders into a shrug.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just remembering Mr Ashworth, that’s all.’

  ‘Was he a nice man?’

  Chester hesitated. ‘He paid me well.’

  But that wasn’t all of it. Chester had always felt that there was more to Mr Ashworth. Right now, he didn’t have the strength to explain the way that Mr Ashworth had made him feel sometimes. The way the man’s eyes had watched him when he thought Chester wasn’t looking. The way Mr Ashworth had vanished into his back room sometimes and made strange garbled calls on his communication globe. The way the man had spoken so softly, and moved like a coyote on the prowl …

  Another wave of pain washed forwards but this time, even in the heat of the agony, Chester realised that the pain wasn’t so bad as it had been. Was he past the worst of it? Heat rippled through his body and his skin burned. But he could now straighten his limbs and he could breathe more easily. In, out. In, out. His breaths came soft and shallow, washing cool relief through his throbbing lungs.

  ‘Getting better?’ Susannah asked. ‘Or worse?’

  ‘Better, I think.’

  As time wore on, the pain faded. It came in fits and spurts, less frequent and less overwhelming. It came in quiet tugs and squirms of nausea until finally, it was gone.

  Susannah took his temperature again. Chester felt the warmth of her fingertips against his forehead and experienced an irrational stab of shame at the sweat on his skin. He knew she could feel it and he knew she was fighting the urge to wipe her fingers on the bedsheets when she pulled away.

  But when her fingers left his skin, despite his embarrassment, part of him wished she would put them back again. Just for a moment.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘No fever. You just need a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Will it still hurt tomorrow?’

  She shook her head. ‘You got off lightly, all things considered. I’ve seen much worse withdrawal cases than this.’ She smiled at him. ‘Tomorrow, you’ll be good as new. And even better – you’ll be free.’

  ‘Free?’

  ‘Free of the lies. Free of the Songshapers’ influence. Free to do whatever the hell you want with your sunsets instead of bowing down and humming a tune for the sake of someone else’s stories.’

  Chester nodded. He was suddenly exhausted, as though all the strength had been drained from his body. The pillow felt soft as a sonata beneath his cheek. He yearned to slip into sleep and to let the coolness of dreaming wash the aches from his body.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ Susannah said, as she turned to leave the cabin. ‘Tomorrow, we’re going to hit Linus.’

  Chester stiffened. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, of all the ways she could have changed the topic … ‘Isn’t that a little soon?’

  Susannah shrugged. ‘Should be mostly healed by then, so long as we keep using Travis’s injections. Besides, there are things we need there. Linus is a town of sugar barons. There are wealthy families with lots of paperwork. Important documents, important jewels.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we,’ Susannah said with a smile, ‘are important burglars.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The Hush was silent.

  Outside the Cavatina, all was black. The ship had settled on the outskirts of Linus, behind the local Songshaper’s mansion. Not as good as a railway line, but the air nearby was tainted with just enough Music to restart the engine for a quick getaway.

  ‘Everyone all right?’ Susannah said.

  The others nodded. The Hush-rain fell in swirls around them, disintegrating into speckles of unnatural cold. Susannah could just make out a wooden fence topped with a trail of barbed wire, leading into the dark. The earth sloped downwards, descending into the town.

  ‘If a Songshaper lives here … what if he comes into the Hush?’ Chester said. ‘Won’t he see the Cavatina? I mean, I think I’d notice if an enormous ship turned up in my garden …’

  Susannah shook her head. ‘Most small-town Songshapers are only small fry. They’re not senior enough to know about the Hush. Or even if he knows about it, he’ll be too scared to set foot inside.’

  ‘Only high-grade Songshapers know about the Hush?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s a secret,’ Dot piped up. ‘And in Weser City, secrets are a currency. They’re not the sort of thing you give away lightly.’

  ‘Are we here to rob this Songshaper, then?’ Chester said.

  ‘No.’ Susannah glanced up at the mansion then turned her gaze towards the town. ‘I’ve got a different target in mind.’

  At her gesture, the gang members knelt. Susannah placed a hand on Dot’s shoulder and together, with a mixture of whistles and hums, they performed a reversal of the Sundown Recital.

  As they burst into the real world, Susannah let out a sigh of relief. She hated the Hush. She knew it was necessary, of course: travelling in the Hush was the only reason they’d survived so long. But Susannah was a child of the seaside, of ships and waves, of sunlight and open sky. The darkness made her stomach crawl and the fear of Echoes was constant. They couldn’t touch her or Sam, but Dot and Travis were all too vulnerable.

  And Chester, she reminded herself. You’ve got another gang member to care for now.

&n
bsp; Here in the real world, the sky was a bright peacock blue. Susannah breathed in the fresh air, threw out her arms, and bathed in the luxury of a natural breeze. The air was sweet, with the faintest tang of sugarcane.

  She could see the fence more clearly now, marking the back of the Songshaper’s property. The sloping earth melted into a dusty road, leading them down into the main street of the town. Really, Linus was more of a city than a town. Restaurants, hotels, gambling halls … This was a city of sugar barons, and they had cash to splash around.

  Wealthy locals rode in ornate carriages adorned with coloured plumes and pulled by pegasi. It was a criminal waste of enchanted creatures, of course, but the sugar barons used them as a show of wealth. Look at me, they silently proclaimed. I can afford to buy the most expensive beasts – and use them for menial labour. Susannah was disgusted by how the barons had grown so wealthy from the work of their labourers. The whiplashed folk who tended their fields and mucked out their stables. Those who worked without sleep during harvest time and ensured the landowners’ fields produced a bounty of corn and sugarcane.

  She turned to the others. Travis wore his fanciest frock coat, while Sam and Chester were dressed in dusty shirts and trousers. Dot looked quite content in a starched white bonnet with a long dark skirt and blouse. Susannah had been forced to don a heavy calico skirt of her own, complete with flannel drawers and awkward petticoats. A girl in trousers would likely cause a scandal in polite society. On the bright side, if anyone bothered her she could use her parasol to whack them over the head.

  ‘Now listen up,’ she said. ‘Travis, you’re a wheat baron’s son from Thrace, keen to invest in sugar. Chester’s your errand boy, Sam’s your bodyguard, and Dot and I are your maids. Got it?’

  They all nodded. Chester looked a little nervous but there was no helping that. Susannah had always believed that courage wasn’t a lack of fear, it was how you responded when fear took hold. They’d all been nervous before their first job. All things considered, he was coping quite well.