The Flame in the Mist

by Kit Grindstaff

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A Dark Place

  Saturday

  Jemma slumped against the greenhouse door, its handle rattling in her trembling hand. What punishment would Lok dream up for Digby? Possibilities swarmed her head—Fang, dungeons, torture.… She must find him, and quickly, before those men could hurt him.

  She grabbed her cloak and raced outside, Noodle and Pie skittering behind her. Pepper, still tethered to the bush where Digby had left her, tossed her head and pawed the ground as they approached.

  “Pepper, thank goodness they didn’t find you! Sorry, girl … Can’t rest … Those men took Digby …” Jemma whipped the reins free and pulled Pepper toward a nearby tree stump. “Quick, Rattusses, into the saddlebags— Oh, no!”

  The saddlebags had gone. Of course—Digby was going to bring them into the greenhouse; that must have been what Lok was throwing over his shoulder. Which meant that he also had the precious items stowed inside them: her book and crystals, as well as her knife. Seething, she scooped Noodle and Pie into her pockets, then gathered Pepper’s reins.

  “Go easy on me, girl, all right? I’ve never ridden on my own.” She clambered onto the stump, jumped into the saddle, and shoved her feet into the stirrups. Now what? Stomach churning, she took a deep breath and kicked, the way Digby had earlier.

  Pepper took off. Jemma clung to her mane, frantically trying to think of how Digby had used the reins to steer, but Pepper needed no guidance, and sped along the track the men had taken. Noodle and Pie’s claws dug into Jemma’s legs. They were managing to hold on—but she was losing her foothold. The stirrup slipped from her left boot and flapped against Pepper’s flank, making the mare veer off track. Seconds later, Jemma’s right stirrup came loose. Now both were flying into Pepper’s sides, driving her faster, hooves snapping through heather, mane whipping into Jemma’s face.

  “Easy, girl—easy!” Terrified, Jemma gripped with her legs as she lay over Pepper’s withers, her arms wrapped around the mare’s outstretched neck. The ground rushed by. She could feel her cloak streaming behind her like wings. Wings that had saved her, breaking her fall from Mordwin’s Crag.… She began to feel as though she was flying, and melted into Pepper’s thundering gallop, remembering the thrill of speed she’d felt earlier with Digby’s arm around her. All fear vanished. Her mind merged with the mare’s, envisioning where to go: Over there, to the right— Yes! That’s it.…

  Pepper galloped back onto the track. Moments later, they came to a fork in the road, and Jemma pulled to a halt. Which way had Lok taken?

  The crystals. They were in the saddlebags he’d stolen.… Jemma grabbed her Stone and thought of the triangle of power she’d felt between it and the crystals, back in Bryn’s cave. Show me where you are, she muttered. Please! Show me.

  The Stone warmed. An odd sensation welled up inside her, as though air was expanding her from within and ballooning out to the right, pulling her in that direction.

  “This way, girl!” Jemma tugged the right rein, and Pepper took off again. This time, riding fast felt as easy as it had ever been in her imagination.

  Clusters of shacks appeared by the roadside. Ahead, dots of light hazed through the Mist, seeming to dip and sway. As Pepper galloped closer, Jemma could see that the dots were lamps held by people—men, women, and children, in groups of eight or ten, some on horseback, a few in carts, but mostly on foot, straggling in the direction she was headed. She eased back on the reins; flying by at arrow-speed might attract unwanted attention. Pepper slowed to a walk, her flanks heaving after her sprint, breath snorting from her nostrils.

  “Good girl,” Jemma said. “Now, let’s find Digby. He can’t be far ahead now.” She pulled up her hood and trotted past each group as fast as she dared. Was this the rabble Lok had referred to? Why were they going to Blackwater, tonight of all nights? She huddled into her cloak, glancing cautiously at a few of them as she passed by. They looked hardened and more fierce than any of the villagers she’d seen earlier that day, though better fed and dressed less raggedly. But these people, she remembered with a shudder, were on the Agromonds’ side. She wondered whether they too liked the Mist, and hoped none of them would notice the clear air around her hands. At least at night it was less obvious.

  Snatches of their murmurs caught her ears: “A big ’un, this time … Mus’ be important. Mord be praised!” A sense of doom crept into her belly, and Noodle and Pie burrowed deeper into her pockets.

  The shacks flanking the road became more numerous, built in denser groups. The crowd was more dense too, their murmuring louder, excitement bristling. Ahead, a dark form took shape, gradually revealing itself as a long, wooden wall, at least twenty feet high. It stretched away in each direction as far as the eye could see, before disappearing into Mist. There was a gap in it, about three times the width of the main door to Agromond Castle.

  The gateway to Blackwater.

  The pulling sensation became stronger, balling in the center of Jemma’s sternum, and she craned her neck, scanning the sea of heads and horse buttocks in front of her. The crowd jostled. Jemma’s nerves wound tighter, the specter of Digby’s fate growing larger in her imagination with every second. Where was he? She clutched her Stone. It tingled under her fingers. Then she saw something through the Mist: two beads of blue, blinking faintly from close to the gateway. Sapphire blue, just like her mother’s eyes in the vortex of the snowstorm—

  “There—the crystals!” Jemma kicked Pepper on. Noodle and Pie nosed from her pockets, their gazes fixed as intently as Jemma’s on the beads of light ahead. Suddenly, a cord of luminous blue leapt from the crystals and crackled into her fist. She gasped in amazement, then panicked, willing the cord to disappear—people would see it, would see her, would find her out! But nobody looked. Nobody reacted.

  The sapphire light sparking between her Stone and the crystals was visible only to her—and, apparently, to the rats, who were blinking with surprise. Elation washed through her. The crystals shone more intensely, drawing her on. For a split second, she saw the group of three horses, one with Digby hanging over the back. They entered the gateway into Blackwater, and the cord of light dissolved.

  “Oh, no, we’ve lost them!” Jemma steered Pepper forward, ignoring the irate glares aimed at her. The crowd shoved and pressed, their murmurs growing in pitch. Children cried louder; people yelled to one another: “Save me a place, Kallas!” “What d’you s’pose ’e’s called us for, eh? In’t ration time yet.” “Oy, Lila—meet me outside the Strangler’s Arms after, will yer?”

  Pepper tossed her mane and ground her teeth, her ears flat on her head. Jemma could feel the panic rising in the mass of muscle beneath her; though used to seeing people on the Goodfellows’ delivery rounds, Pepper had probably never seen a mob like this. Praying that the mare wouldn’t kick or bite and draw attention to herself, Jemma kept talking softly to her. Finally, they funneled through the gates, and poured with the rest of the crowd into a small square of ramshackle wooden buildings, lit by a blaze of torchlight.

  The hubbub grew: other horses, neighing; carts, their wheels squealing; voices, yelling; babies, screaming; hounds, barking. The air was thick with smoke, and stank of rotten eggs and charred meat. Around the square’s perimeter, children juggled sheeps’ eyes, men pulled rabbits out of tall hats, and women turned small animals on spits above open fires that glowed with coals. Beside them were piles of cages full of the next victims: birds, rabbits, and creatures that looked similar to Noodle and Pie, but with thicker coats and bushy tails.

  “Squirrel! Three farthin’s for a luvverly roast squirrel!”

  Jemma felt the blood drain from her face. “Hide yourselves, Rattusses,” she whispered, “or you might be next.” Noodle and Pie dived into her pockets and lay there, still as stones.

  She urged Pepper across the square into a torchlit street along which the crowd was surging. Several times, she saw a flicker of blue ahead, only to lose sight of it in a wisp of smoke, or behind a s
ilhouetted rider. It was getting harder to push through the jostle and crush. She’d have to find another way.

  “Over there—up that alley. Easy, girl. That’s it.” They broke into a dank, narrow street, then Jemma steered into another alleyway to the right. At the next intersection, she spied a narrow corridor running parallel to the main artery, and trotted Pepper into it. But Pepper was flagging, her hooves sliding on the carpet of mud and garbage, her neck hanging with exhaustion.

  “Come on, girl—please!” Jemma tried directing energy from her Stone into the mare, but tonight’s sprint had obviously proven too much after the long day’s ride. Pepper plodded to a halt and refused to take another step.

  “Oh, Pepper … What am I to do with you? I don’t feel safe leaving you here!” But there was no alternative. Jemma slid from the saddle and dragged Pepper farther into the corridor, where the shadows were darker and she was less likely to be found, and then held the mare’s face between her hands. “If anyone comes,” she said, “run. Use your hooves and kick, if you have to. Just don’t get caught. I’ll be back soon with Digby.” I hope, she thought. Pepper whickered as if in answer, though Jemma doubted that she’d understood. Checking her pockets for the rats, she found the rest of the turnip Digby had given her and fed it to the mare. Then she ran to the next corner and pelted in the direction of the crowd. Noodle and Pie bounced in her pockets, squeaking in time with her pounding feet.

  The noise increased. Sweat beaded on her face. Blood thumped through her veins. She’d lost so much time! How would she find Digby now?

  Suddenly, she felt the crystals’ pull again, this time to her left, from another alley. She raced into it. The pull grew stronger, as if she was being hauled along by some force outside herself. She hurtled out into a street, and slammed into a horse and rider. The impact sent her pitching into the mud, the rats tumbling from her pockets.

  “Oy, watch it, you!” A gruff voice. Impatient hooves, stamping. Jemma rolled out of the way and lay facedown in the gutter, peering through her fingers as three horses walked by, away from the crowd.

  Away from the crowd …?

  Three horses. One black, one bay, and bringing up the rear, a roan. Slung across its back was Digby, wrists and ankles trussed up like a Mordmas turkey. He was looking straight at her, his eyes wide with astonishment that turned rapidly to alarm.

  “Mmmm—mmmm!”

  Off to her left, Noodle and Pie squealed. From behind her, Jemma heard a guttural snarl. Something heavy landed on her back—something solidly muscular, every fiber of its body rigid.

  Fang. Fang, intent with revenge for the prey he’d been denied on Mordwin’s Crag.

  In a flash, she felt the hound’s jaws opening, the heat of his breath as he was about to sink his teeth into her neck, and forced herself to kneel in an attempt to throw him off. But Fang hung on, his claws digging through her cloak, raking down her back. She stifled a scream, but couldn’t help a high squeak escaping her. Lok turned his head to look over his shoulder—

  Jemma hurled herself and her assailant into the alley, then tossed off her cloak. She bundled it around the gnashing creature and hauled it farther into the shadows. The bundle heaved and snapped. She had to act fast, before Lok came looking.… Yanking back the cloak, she twisted her fist into Fang’s collar and fixed his venomous gaze. “Now listen, you,” she hissed, clutching one of his drooling jowls with her free hand, “it’s like this.…”

  Gory images snapped through her head, and she propelled them into Fang’s pus-colored eyes: Mordwin’s Crag … the Aukron … So huge! I killed it … Me! Killed it, dead … “The choice is yours, Fang. I kill you, just like I killed that monster, or I let you live. But if you show your master where I am, or hurt my friend, I’ll get you. Wherever you are, I’ll be coming for you.”

  Fang whimpered, cowering. Want … live …

  “Oy, Fang—where yer got to, stupid animal?”

  Jemma released the hound and pressed herself against the wall just as a black horse appeared at the end of the alley. Two small shadows scurried through the mud and launched themselves onto her boots, a peep of air escaping them as they landed.

  “Huntin’ rats, are yer?” Lok’s voice grated from the street. “Heel, yer little beggar!”

  Fang ran toward his master, tail tucked between his legs, and the two of them disappeared. Jemma leaned against the wall, heart hammering as she gulped down air. Fang’s claw marks stung on her back, but there was no time to dwell on that now. Noodle and Pie clambered up into her pockets, their golden fur black with mud. She picked up the cloak and wrapped it around her. Then, pulling up its hood, she trotted to the corner and peeked around it.

  Lok stopped at the next alley, outside a stone building not thirty feet away.

  “Right, young Sharky, we’re done with yer.” He jumped off his horse and threw a coin at the boy. “Here’s a ha’penny for yer trouble. Now, get lost, yer little toad.”

  The boy scurried away, and Lok turned to his companion. “Bring this thievin’ good-fer-nothin’ inside an’ get ’im locked up. A good stonin’ after the rally oughta teach ’im a lesson, don’t yer reckon, Zeb? A nice treat for the crowd.” He swaggered into the building, carrying the saddlebags, which pulsed sapphire blue into the night, like beacons warning of jagged rocks in a storm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Rally

  Saturday night

  Jemma crept to the window of the stone jail and peered in. Flame flared: Lok, lighting a lamp on the table. Digby, held from behind by Zeb, gnashed into his gag, his body tense with restrained fight as Lok tipped out the saddlebags’ contents: book, leftover sandwiches, two apples, Jemma’s knife, and last of all, the two crystals.

  “ ’Allo, ’allo, what do we ’ave ’ere?” Lok picked up the crystals; Jemma cringed as he turned them in his filthy hands. “Looks like they might be worth a bit. Somethin’ you thieved, eh, boy?” He turned to Digby and spat at his feet. “Well, it don’t matter how you came by ’em. They’re mine now!” He laughed, and pocketed them. Jemma’s stomach clenched. How dare he!

  Zeb shoved Digby into a cage in the corner of the room, slammed and locked the door, then hung the key on a hook nearby. Lok blew out the lamp. Jemma ducked into the alley as the two men swaggered out, and waited until their horses’ hoofsteps had splattered away.

  Noodle and Pie crawled onto her shoulders, and she stepped cautiously back into the empty street. Suddenly, from an alley opposite, she heard a jumble of voices, and the sound of feet running through mud. A herd of urchins burst into view. Jemma froze, unsure whether to dart into the jail, stand her ground, or run. Then they were upon her. She dodged aside, but one of them grabbed her cloak as he passed. Her hood fell back, and the rats plopped into it.

  The boy laughed. “Come on, spiky-head!” he said, pulling her into their midst. “Better hurry or you’ll be late fer the rally!”

  He let go and ran on. Jemma tried to turn back, but boys crammed her on both sides, sweeping her into their stampede. Then a small hand pressed into hers. A girl, a little shorter and more slight than she, was running beside her, dragging her along.

  “Wait—no!” Jemma tugged at the girl’s hand, but the girl’s grasp was like iron

  “What’s the matter, boy?”

  Boy? Of course … her shorn head. Digby had said she looked like a boy.

  “Won’t do not to go,” the girl said. “You know the punishment if they find you been skivin’ off.” She nipped between other runners. She was as fast as she was strong, and Jemma was panting by the time they reached the main street. They slowed down as they flowed into the gathering tide of Blackwater folk. “Ain’t seen you around here before.” The girl tossed a hank of black hair from her face. “What’s yer name?”

  Jemma’s mind scrambled. What if her accent gave her away? “I … it’s … um …”

  “Um! Odd name, innit? Mine’s Talon.” She made a face. “My pa’s idea. Stupid git.”

  Talon. The n
ame fit, if her grip was anything to go by. Jemma’s anxiety intensified as the squeeze of the mob increased, then eased slightly as they spilled into a square much larger than the one at the town’s entrance. It was packed, the yelling and whooping almost deafening now.

  Talon pulled Jemma toward one of the houses bordering the square. Next to it was a tiny alleyway—an escape route, if only Jemma could break away.…

  “ ’Ere, let go of me!” Jemma imitated Digby’s accent, imagining him in a grumpy mood, and tried to prize her hand from Talon’s. “I got to find a good view.”

  “That’s jus’ where I’m takin’ yer—best seats in the house!” Talon stopped outside a door and pulled a huge bunch of keys from her skirt pocket. “Here we are … this one.” The door creaked open, and she yanked Jemma into a dusty hall, holding her hand tighter as she took the rickety steps two at a time up three flights. At the top was a small trapdoor, which she pushed open with one hand. “Up you go,” she said, shoving Jemma through it and onto a shingle roof. Talon hauled herself up to sit beside her. “My favorite place, this,” she said. “I always watch from up ’ere.”

  Jemma could see why. Below was a swirl of color. Torches burned in brackets placed on the walls around the square at regular intervals, sending up thin trails of black smoke. The crowd teemed toward the far end of the square, where a platform had been erected. The sheer mass of people was breathtaking; Jemma had never imagined, much less seen, so many at once.

  “Good, innit?” Talon said, wrapping her arms around her knees. “We in’t the only ones, though. See?” She pointed to the rooves surrounding the square, dotted with other onlookers.

  Jemma tensed. She couldn’t help liking Talon; she seemed to be a bit of a loner. Even so, she had to get away from her and back to Digby—but how? Talon seemed determined to cling to her, and would outrun her in seconds. Noodle and Pie turned around in her hood, their nervousness as palpable as her own. She felt for her wineskin; perhaps a swig of sour milk would help. It didn’t.