With Blackeye keeping lookout below, he shinned up the drainpipe and swung onto the barrack-house roof. Then he padded across the timbers, counting the skylight windows as he went. He stopped at the fourth, knelt and peered through. There were the girls, waiting for him! He grinned and tapped lightly on the glass. They looked up and waved.
Manu studied the skylight window. Perfect! It opened outwards. He undid the catch and eased it open. Then he took a rope from round his waist—but there was no chimney pot to tie it to.
“Oh, bugs and bones!” He had to think fast. He ran back across the roof and whispered down to Blackeye, “Come round to the window.”
Once Blackeye was there, Manu threw him one end of the rope. Blackeye tied it to the window bars and Manu lowered the other end down into the girls' room.
Tigermane climbed it first, with Snowbone behind her. They followed Manu across the roof, down the drainpipe and into the darkness behind the barracks.
“We have to be fast,” said Manu. “The work lights don't cover all the quarry, but where they do, they're dazzling. Follow me. Keep to the shadows.”
He set off. Snowbone followed, her mind a whirl of emotion. She was overjoyed to be free. Dizzy with excitement. But she couldn't forget the slaves she was leaving behind. It pained her to think they would waken to a day exactly the same as the one before. Bleak and brutal, with only the hope of a serious accident to brighten it.
“Where are we going?” whispered Tigermane.
“We have a wagon,” said Manu. “It's not far.”
They ran on. It was so dark, the girls didn't see the wagon until they were upon it. Figgis jumped down and opened the canvas.
“I am mighty glad to see you,” he said, beaming. “Climb aboard!”
“Where are you planning to go?” said Snowbone. “I want to go to Barrenta Bay.”
“We can talk later,” said Figgis. “Right now we just need to go.”
Snowbone heard the wisdom of his words. She clambered into the wagon and settled herself between Filizar and Black-eye. Figgis clicked the reins and the wagon began to move. The gentle, rhythmic rocking calmed her … the drama of the day faded away … and she slept.
Chapter 60
t dawn, Figgis sighted a wood and turned the wagon toward it. They could rest there for the day, concealed by the trees.
Over lunch, Snowbone told them about Barrenta Bay.
“Do you think That Woman will be there?” said Blackeye.
“I don't know,” said Snowbone. “She could be anywhere. I hate to say this, but I think it's time to forget her. The slave trade isn't one woman; it's a massive operation, and we need to tackle it. Barrenta Bay is the heart of the system. If we hit it— hard—we can really do some damage.”
“If I'm driving, we can travel during the day,” said Manu. “I won't get stopped; I'm human. And if anyone does question me, I'll say you're my slaves.”
“Better get packed up, then,” said Figgis. “Let's find these no-good Barrenta slave dogs and give them what for!”
In a flurry of activity, the pots and plates were washed and stacked. The fire was dampened. The mule was retrieved from the watering hole. The Ashenpeakers clambered into the back of the wagon. The Balaans took the privileged place up front and they were off again, bumping down the road to Bar-renta Bay.
Manu followed the coastal road for one, two, three days, with the traffic growing steadily heavier. Eventually the road reached Barrenta Bay: a great fat belly of water, with a yellow belt of sand and a fine, bright buckle of a town.
Snowbone heard Manu's whistle of surprise and poked her head through the canvas flap behind him. “What is it?”
Manu pointed ahead. “Barrenta Bay. I wasn't expecting anything as grand as that,” he said. “I thought there'd be a bit of harbor and the market. That's all.”
“There's money in misery,” said Snowbone.
“Can you pull over?” said Filizar. “I want to get in the back.”
“Why?” said Manu.
“I don't want people looking at me,” said Filizar.
“They shouldn't be looking!” said Manu angrily. “You have a perfect right to be there. If anyone says anything, they'll have me to deal with.”
“You see?” said Filizar. “This is why I want to go in the back. I don't want trouble. We need to slip into town unnoticed. People will look; they can't help it. I can deal with that, but now is not the time.”
Manu grunted, but he did what his brother asked and they entered the town.
What a fabulous place! Manu drove down the main street, staring at the buildings. To him, slavery was a sordid business, and he'd assumed most people felt the same. That was why the dealing was done in Barrenta Bay, away from Farrago and anyone who might object. How na've he'd been.
Snowbone was right. There was money here. Every day someone made a fortune, and the town made sure it was spent. Every whim, every desire could be satisfied. There were saloon bars, ripe with smoke and clattering with dice. Gun shops with racks of rifles and bright bags of bullets. Dress shops, frilly with lace and feathers and finery. General stores, barbershops, bathhouses. Liveries to care for your horses; undertakers to care for your dead. It was charming and civilized— but it was a facçade. Behind the elegant town lay its real, dirty business.
Manu turned left at the end of the street, following the signs, and there it was—the slave market. It lay at the end of a wide, dusty track, squatting on the landscape like a great brown toad: a mass of storehouses, sheds and pens. In an adjoining field, a dozen or more wagons had pitched camp. Manu joined them, unhitched the mule, fed and watered her—all the while nodding greetings to the traders around him—then climbed into the back of the wagon.
“Right,” he said. “What do we do now?” He slumped back against the canvas and wiped his brow with his sleeve. He felt drained by it all.
“Make plans,” said Snowbone. “When you're ready, I need you to scout around. See the lay of the land. I need to know everything.”
Manu understood. She was really saying, I don't want this attack to be like the last one. He nodded. He couldn't bear to lose anyone either. They all meant too much to him now.
“There's a watchtower, right in the middle of the compound,” he said. “I saw it on the way in. If I can get up there, I'll have a perfect view.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Manu was right. When he climbed it, half an hour later, he could see everything. To the west of the tower stood a huge warehouse, much bigger than all the other buildings on the site. It was full of eggs; he could see the crates being loaded onto wagons. To the east was the marketplace, with a semicircular bidding arena, dozens of outdoor pens and a solid brick building—presumably for holding slaves on market days. To the north was some sort of factory building, with chimneys that poured a steady stream of smoke into the afternoon sky. To the south were log cabins, where the workers lived. Nothing exciting. Manu was just about to turn his attention back to the marketplace when one of the cabin doors opened and someone came out.
Manu gasped. Even at this distance, he could see who it was.
It was a woman. That Woman. Tarn.
Chapter 61
anu sprinted back to the wagon. “I've found her!” he gasped. “That Woman! She's here!”
Snowbone grabbed his arm. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. There are cabins round the back of the marketplace. I saw her come out of one.”
“Can you remember which?”
He nodded.
“Oh, Manu,” said Snowbone. “This is more than I'd hoped for!” She considered the options. “We'll get her tonight. Oooh!” She shook her frustrated fists in the air. “I want to get her now! But it's too risky. We'll have to wait until dark.”
“In the meantime,” said Figgis, “let's get the kettle on. A nice cup of tea will calm us all down. And after that, Manu, perhaps you could do a bit more snooping?”
“Gladly,” said Manu. “There's something I want
to investigate further.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Manu headed straight for the factory building. The smoke was still pouring out, thicker than ever. And there was a strange sound … like a sick sheep, wheezing and coughing, but much, much louder. The building was an immense wooden shed, with sliding doors at the gable end. One was partly open; Manu looked inside.
Oh! He stepped back in surprise. Here, in this hateful place, he hadn't expected to find anything as delightful as this. The shed was packed with machinery, but it wasn't cold and gray and mechanical. It was enchanting. Gleaming copper pipes ran from floor to ceiling, full of knobbly joints that hissed with escaping steam. Connected to the pipes were bulbous brass tanks that jiggled like boiling kettles, and they were so highly polished that the sunlight, peeping in through windows in the roof, was bounced around the room, shimmering and dancing like a host of bright butterflies.
Manu stepped inside. The shed was hot and very noisy. Toward the far end, he could see another set of open doors. There were men there, unloading a coal wagon. They must be feeding a furnace. Yes! There it was! An enormous oven, long and rectangular, with a heavy door. But what could be inside? Bread? Fish? There was no telltale smell. Could it be bricks? Manu couldn't see any lying around. He started to search, and he was so busy looking, he didn't see the grimy hand that reached out to touch his shoulder.
“Argh!” cried Manu, spinning round.
A short, square mechanic was beaming up at him, his overalls damp with sweat. “I'n't it grand?” he said proudly, pointing at the machinery. He pulled a spotted handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped his wet brow. “First time here?”
“Er, yes,” stammered Manu. “It is.”
“Come to buy?”
Manu wondered what on earth the man meant. Suddenly he realized. “Yes,” he said. “My family has a farm. Up north. We need some help on the land.”
“Course you do!” said the damp mechanic. “It's hard work is farming! Will you excuse me just a minute?”
He waddled over to the oven and peered at a temperature gauge on the door. Then he took a few steps back and looked up into the rafters, where a small platform was suspended from the ceiling. He held up his thumb.
“OK, Miggsy!” he shouted. “Let's get her cooled!”
A young lad on the platform waved and pulled a lever, and suddenly Manu was soaked with rain. Water was pouring down from a web of sprinkler pipes set high in the ceiling and, as it hit the hot machinery: ssssssss! The steam rose like an angry rattlesnake.
Then the rain stopped, as swiftly as it had come. Manu could hear nothing but dripping and splashing and a soft, wet sighing.
And cries. Wild, animal cries coming from inside the oven. And thumps. Terrible thumps, as if something were trying to get out.
“Watch yourself!” cried the damp mechanic, dripping like a nose.
Manu heard the rumble behind him and turned. Two men were coming in with a mule wagon. They positioned it in front of the oven and the damp mechanic opened the door.
The heat hit Manu like a fist. He staggered back, blinking. And then, through his watery eyes, he saw what was making all the noise. Babies. Dozens and dozens of newborn wooden babies, right there in the oven. They gurgled and grinned and screamed for food, and looked around and piddled and pooed. And the men loaded them into the wagon and they were driven away, bound for who knows where.
“We offer a full service here,” said the damp mechanic. “You can take them as eggs. Store them at home. Bring them to life when you need them. But if you don't want the hassle of hatching them yourself, we can do that for you.”
“In there,” said Manu, still shaken by what he'd seen.
“Aye, in here!” The damp mechanic stroked the oven lovingly, as if it were a prize-winning cow. “This is a Prestige Patented Birthing Machine. The only one in the country! The eggs are put in here and heated to the optimum temperature for birthing. It's scientific is this!”
“Wow,” said Manu.
“Eh, lad,” said the damp mechanic, positively glowing. “You've got summat special to tell the folks back home, haven't you?”
Manu nodded. He couldn't speak; his voice had deserted him. But it didn't matter. No words could ever describe what he was feeling right now.
Chapter 62
he marketplace, late. No sound except the dripping of a tap. The coughing of a distant mule. The velvet flurry of a bat.
A dry, dusty darkness. Pools of amber beneath random work lights. Black-line buildings. Shadow sheds. And Snow-bone, flitting like a moth between them. Eyes straining in the dark. Ears attuned to the sound of silence. Feet carefully placed.
Behind her somewhere: Blackeye, Tigermane, Figgis, Manu. Like cats, slinking into the night on pouncing paws.
Filizar remains in the wagon, despite his protests.
Five minutes later. The log cabin. A single lamp. Muslin curtains. A shadow play: Tarn pacing up and down, brushing her long, long hair.
The friends watch. Fascinated. Greedy. Tense.
Snowbone prepares to give the signal.
What will they do with Tarn once they have her? The friends haven't been able to agree. Tigermane wants to hold her captive. Tarn has inside information, she reasons. We could use it in the battle against slavery. Filizar and Manu want Tarn imprisoned, with the key thrown away. Blackeye listens but makes no comment. He will accept any decision. Snowbone and Figgis hold their tongues, but their flashing eyes speak for them. Tarn will die for what she's done. Maybe tonight, maybe later, but she will die.
Snowbone looked behind her, into the shadows. She couldn't see the others, but she knew they were there. She raised her hand—
Wait! The door was opening. Tarn was coming out.
Snowbone cursed and lowered her arm. She stood up, beckoned to her friends and started to follow.
Tarn headed for the marketplace. She skirted the bidding arena and passed between the pens, walking confidently through the shadows. But as she neared the main road out of the market, she slowed down, as if she were listening. Then, unexpectedly, she turned right.
Snowbone and the others followed, circling her like a pack of shadow lions.
Tarn stopped at the slaveholding house, opened a door and went in.
The friends gathered uneasily outside.
“We can't all go in the same door,” mouthed Snowbone. “Too risky.” She pointed at her friends in turn and indicated where they should go. “Round the back … this side … far side. Listen. I will hoot like an owl—then we all go in.”
The others nodded and crept away. Snowbone peered through a crack in the door. It was black inside. She waited a minute more. Then she took hold of the door handle, hooted like an owl and stormed in.
She couldn't see a thing. Even with the door left open behind her, her eyes were struggling to make sense of the dark. She could hear the others. She could see their outlines moving in the light spill elsewhere. But no one seemed to have found Tarn.
Snowbone crept forward, aware that the others were doing the same. The warehouse seemed empty. Where had Tarn gone?
And then she heard a rumble and a rattle and a roar and— DOOOlsA!—something immensely heavy guillotined down behind her. She reached out—and felt bars. Thick iron bars. Then someone bumped into her. Tigermane. They grabbed each other and stared wild-eyed into the darkness. Then they saw a light, way up in the rafters. A lantern, handheld. It began to sway, and they heard the footsteps of the carrier as she descended a flight of stairs. And now Tarn was lighting lanterns all around the room, and each new lantern revealed more of the terrible truth. They were caught in a colossal cage. All of them.
“Well, well, well! What have we got here?” said Tarn, sidling up to the bars and lifting her lantern high. “Five little fishes in a net! Quite a haul.”
She looked hard at Manu. “I know you.” The cold malice in her words chilled the air between them. “I was aware you'd followed me out of Ashenpeake, but I didn't think you'd find me
here.”
“We would find you anywhere,” said Snowbone.
“Is that so?” said Tarn. “Then I'll have to put you where you can't follow.” She reached into a pocket and pulled out a box of matches. “Remember your friends?” She rattled the box.
Snowbone hurled herself at the bars, sucked in her cheeks and spat hard: thool A thick gob of spittle flew through the air and landed—splatl—on Tarn's face.
“You evil, ignorant woman,” said Snowbone. “Do you think by killing us you've won the war? This is just the beginning. More will follow.”
Tarn wiped the mess away. “Let them come,” she said. “I have plenty of matches.” Suddenly the sneer fell from her face. She drew back. Tilted her head. Listened. Ran swiftly to one of the side doors—and dragged Filizar in. “Well, look at this!” she said. “A little crab, come to find the fishies!”
The friends gasped as one. Filizar, their only hope—gone!
Tarn threw Filizar down in the middle of the room. Then she moved from door to door, closing and bolting them fast. Filizar looked despairingly at the others and mouthed a single word: sorry.
Tarn returned and stood with her hands on her hips, studying Filizar.
“Nice coat,” she said at last. “Give it to me.”
“What?” said Filizar.
“Your coat,” said Tarn. “Give it to me.”
Filizar unbuttoned his coat, shrugged it off and handed it over.
“You are a low-down, bottom-of-the-barrel, snake-belly thief,” snarled Snowbone. “You'd steal teeth from your grandmother's mouth.”
Tarn wasn't listening. She was feeling the quality of the cloth. It was exquisite. The softest silk. It was like stroking a breeze. She put the coat on. It fit, though on her it was more like a jacket. She looked at herself admiringly and slid her hand into one of the pockets. She found something and pulled it out: a handful of nuts in a twist of cloth. She smiled and ate them, then fished in the pocket again.
The friends watched her in silence. There was something strangely compelling about her actions. It was like watching a magician pulling tricks from his cloak.
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