“Everyone calls me Nile,” he corrected. “Pleased to meet you, Fenn.”
He spoke aristocratically, each consonant falling sharply on Fenn’s ear, the words too clear and well cut, compared to Halflin’s husky drawl or Viktor’s lilting sing-song voice. Nile put his hand out, palm down, as if he expected it to be kissed, but instead Fenn took his hand and shook it. Even doing that made his skin crawl and he let go quickly. For a split second a little sulky frown skitted over Nile’s face, like he was about to have a tantrum, but he quickly recovered his composure and smiled, flashing a bright set of perfect, creamy white teeth the colour of pearls. After seeing Waggit’s many sets, Fenn wondered if they were real.
“And this is Mrs Leach.” He flicked a hand indifferently to the woman.
She narrowed her eyes as she looked Fenn up and down. “My Gulper found you then?” she asked pointedly, beaming at Gulper proudly. Nile paid no attention, now stalking around Fenn in a small circle, eyeing him curiously, like he was looking at an art exhibit.
“Newcomers are always welcome here, aren’t they everyone?” he announced in a silky smooth voice. Amber didn’t bother to look up from her book, but Fenn knew she was scrutinising his every move out of the corner of her eye; her book was upside down.
Another boy appeared, crawling out from under a blanket in a corner then standing and yawning. He looked a little older than Gulper; tall, with long frizzy dark hair coiled in tight ringlets and the deepest brown eyes Fenn had ever seen. Fenn remembered the Venetian on the Panimengro; this boy looked similar.
“I’m Fathom,” he said, “and this is Milk.” Behind him, lurking in the shadows was a boy who was Fathom’s complete opposite, with pallid skin, faded eyes and hair the colour of straw, knotted in tight braids around his head, like basketwork. He was so white that he looked like he’d been dipped in bleach, and his veins were like blue ribbons beneath the surface of his skin. The boy stepped forward and lifted his forearm in front of his eyes to shield them from the firelight.
“Hello,” Milk said, so timidly Fenn could scarcely hear him. Fathom tilted his head towards the fire.
“Light hurts his eyes,” he explained as Milk retreated to the shelter of the dark. “And that’s Comfort,” Fathom continued, pointing to the girl by the fire, who still didn’t show any sign of acknowledging them.
“Deaf and dumb. But awfully good at cooking,” Nile said in an exaggerated, stagey whisper.
“Who’s hungry then?” Mrs Leach suddenly asked, daintily stepping towards a large metal table around which were more cable spools, tin drums and wooden crates. She fussed around, rearranging the cutlery, then took a silk flower out of her hair and put it in a bottle in the middle of the table. At last she sat down, gazing attentively at Nile.
“Take a pew.” He smiled, offering a place next to him and looping a flabby arm over Fenn’s shoulders as he sat down.
“So, where are you from and how did you get here, dear?” Mrs Leach asked. Fenn hesitated. He wasn’t sure how much he should give away in front of Nile; every fibre in his body told him to steer clear of the man.
“I was down in a hold,” Fenn said at last. “It was difficult to tell…”
Nile tutted.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” he said, ultra-patiently, like he was talking to a very young child. “Where is your home?”
“East Isle … well, East Marsh,” Fenn admitted reluctantly.
Nile raised his eyebrows in surprise, then nodded thoughtfully. He pulled a tin toothpick from out of his pocket and wiped it clean on his sleeve.
“Still above water is it?” he asked.
“Yes,” Fenn replied.
“I see. East Marsh; home of Sargassons and Terra Firma spies, or so they say,” he added, peering at Fenn over the top of his glasses and beginning to clean his teeth.
“And bogtrotters!” Amber chimed in, looking up briefly from her book before studiously ignoring the proceedings again. Milk giggled from the shadows.
“Stop twistin’ the hay, Amber,” said Mrs Leach curtly.
“Bogtrotter is very offensive, Amber,” Nile said. “There’s more to those marshlands than meets the eye. They were once home of the Resistance. May it rest in peace!” he scoffed.
Fenn felt sick. It was as if Nile knew something, but he seemed more interested in what was dangling on the end of his toothpick than Fenn.
“And how old did you say you were?” he asked. Fenn flushed.
“Fifteen,” he said, remembering Halflin’s advice as he put on a deeper voice than normal.
Amber huffed and shot Fathom a knowing look. Nile stared coldly at her until she buried her head back in her book.
“Why are you here?” Mrs Leach asked; her eyes flicked over to Nile, who frowned at her interruption, his eyes glittering. She busied herself folding the filthy grey napkins into grubby swans.
“The Gleaner I was on saw a Terra patrol,” said Fenn.
Nile looked intrigued. “Unusual. They normally give us a wide berth.”
“Why?” asked Fenn.
“Terras like to keep their boats clean and shiny so they steer far away from the Slicks round the Shanties.” Grinned Gulper.
“But, in the end it doesn’t matter how you got here; it’s what you do while you’re here.” Nile smiled. “The Shanties are full of human flotsam and jetsam; people running from floods, ending up in the middle of the sea.”
“Have you lived here long?” asked Fenn, looking around the room.
“Long enough to get comfortable,” smirked Nile. “And you’re welcome to stay.”
“Thank you but I’m going to the marsh on West Isle; my grandad thought I’d be … safer there,” Fenn stammered.
There was a resounding silence then all but Fathom burst out laughing, including Mrs Leach who held her loose teeth in as she giggled. Fenn felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment.
“And you ended up here? That was unfortunate! Well, you’ll be safe here if you follow the rules,” Nile said, winking to his audience.
“What rules?” asked Fenn, puzzled, looking from Gulper to Nile, then to Fathom who, even though he’d only just met him, he felt he might be able to trust a bit more.
“Exactly! That’s what we say! What rules?” Nile chortled, rubbing his hands together and drumming his neat, red-slippered feet on the floor in childish delight. He clasped his knees as he laughed. “So perceptive, Fenn, and you’ve only been on the Shanties one night!”
Fenn noticed a funny look flash across Gulper’s face. He wasn’t sure what that look meant, but he felt he ought to say something good about him.
“I wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for Gulper. He saved me from Roustabouts.” Gulper looked gratefully at Fenn, but Nile ignored the comment, rearranging his kimono as if it were made of precious silk, then clicking his fingers at Comfort to hurry up with the food. Desperate not to lose his moment in the spotlight, Gulper suddenly grabbed Fenn’s rucksack.
“An’ there’s an animal, Mr Leach!”
“Is that so?” said Nile, tentatively poking his hand in Fenn’s rucksack.
“No, don’t…” began Fenn, but it was too late. Hearing the strange voices, the Not-an-otter flew out in a flurry of fur, jumping over Nile’s shoulder and up onto the ledge just above his head, where it shrank into the shadows hissing and spitting. Mrs Leach screamed so wildly that her teeth popped out and fell clattering under the table. She clambered onto the crate, gathering her skirts around her and whimpering in fear. Gulper was instantly on his hands and knees, groping in the dark for her teeth.
“A rat! Gulper! Kill it!” she squawked.
Nile gathered the hem of his kimono up, displaying his hairless white legs and grabbed the nearest weapon; a spoon lying on the table. He stood up, peering into the gloom. Locating the Not-an-otter, he stepped towards it, jabbing the spoon forward like a rapier. Fenn jumped in front of him, knocking the table over.
“Stop it! It won’t hurt!”
/> “Do thomething Mr Leath!” Mrs Leach sobbed, still tottering on top of the crate.
“Get out of the way!” Nile hissed at Fenn.
“It isn’t a rat!” Fenn shouted.
With one hand stretched out to ward off Nile, he clucked and whistled, holding out his other arm to the Not-an-otter, still trembling in the shadows. For the first time ever, the Not-an-otter jumped into a human’s clutch.
“What is it?” asked Nile suspiciously.
“I don’t know,” Fenn said, stroking its head. “But it’s not a rat and it’s not an otter either.”
“It’s a mongoose,” said Amber, surveying the commotion with a look of deep disdain. Nile pulled a face.
“That’s no bird,” he said sniffily.
“They’re like otters but smaller,” Amber sighed, rolling her eyes.
Reassured, Mrs Leach tentatively climbed down off the crate.
“I’ve nether theen anything like it.”
“And when exactly was the last time you were on land, dear?” Nile asked her patronisingly.
Gulper rubbed Mrs Leach’s teeth clean and handed them back to her. She clapped them back in and patted the moss of her hair back into shape.
“He’s mine,” Fenn said, curling his arms around the mongoose protectively. He opened the rucksack and the mongoose slipped back inside.
“Keep him out of my way. If you don’t, we’ll eat him,” said Nile coldly. Mrs Leach nodded again.
“And don’t expect no extra food for it neither,” she said primly, eager to show her support of anything Nile said.
“How many times have I told you about double negatives Mrs Leach?” Nile sighed listlessly. “Comfort! Breakfast!” he barked over his shoulder.
Amber stowed her book away and trotted over to help Comfort serve up. Comfort picked up the skewers and laid them on the plastic lid of a packing case, next to a mound of gritty-looking rice. She set the tray down on the table with a watering can filled with water. Nile pulled out a silver hip flask, embossed with a family crest and put it in front of him, unscrewing the silver cap. Clapping his hands, Nile summoned the other children to eat.
“Good haul, Gulper?”
Gulper grinned triumphantly as he dug deep in his pockets and drew out a fat dead rat, then from the other side two smaller ones. He dangled these by the tails for everyone to see then dropped them on the floor, wiping his bloodied hands down his front. Mrs Leach beamed at Nile.
“E’s a clever lad, in’t he?” Then to Fenn, “Think you could learn ’is trade?”
Fenn bit his lip. He hated rats.
“I could fish,” he suggested.
“Slicks killed the fish round here,” Fathom said.
“I’ll learn yer rat-catching,” Gulper mumbled reluctantly.
Mrs Leach peered at Fenn’s foot still wrapped in the shreds of Gulper’s hood.
“We’d best get ’im shod, Mr Leach,” she said.
“Shoed, Mrs Leach. Shod is for horses.”
“Whatever, we should give ’im a check.”
Fenn thought he caught her give Nile a tiny wink, but he was distracted as Gulper went over to a tin trunk and rummaged inside. Before he realised what was going on, Mrs Leach had pinned him from behind.
“Get off!” he shouted, but Nile had already grabbed his foot in a vice-like grip. He ripped off the remains of the plastic and wrenched his toes apart, scrutinising them through the lens of his glasses, like a master jeweller.
“Very tidy!” he said appreciatively as he dropped the foot.
Fenn angrily shook Mrs Leach away as Gulper tossed him a couple of boots to choose from.
“And that answers two mysteries: you’re a true Seaborn, which isn’t good news for you. But it means you can’t be a spy, which is good news for us! The Shanties has more than enough of those.”
A wide, tight-lipped smile split across Nile’s face, smooth as a pebble.
“So you can stay. Train in one of the many arts we offer! Everyone earns their keep.” He gestured graciously around the room and made a modest little bow. “It isn’t much, but what we have, we share,” he said humbly, splaying his lily white fingers over his heart in a gesture of compassion. “Friendship, food and a bed after an honest day’s graft.”
“Great!” Amber muttered. “Rations just went from one-seventh to one-eighth.”
Fenn angrily shoved his foot into one of the boots.
“I won’t be here long. I’m getting on the first boat I can.” He stood up and stamped the boot twice to make sure it fitted. Amber shot him an incredulous look, then glanced at Fathom who was already shaking his head.
“Well, Fenn,” said Nile, his voice soft and playful. “We all have our little dreams.” Fenn looked around the table.
“There are hundreds of boats here! They must leave now and then, when people get permits…?” Fenn’s voice trailed to nothing as he realised everyone was looking at him in disbelief. Nile leant forward conspiratorially and beckoned Fenn to lean in closer. In a soft voice that seemed to Fenn to flick out like a lizard’s tongue, he explained.
“I think you’ll find that while we may be at sea, the last thing you’ll find is a boat. Well, not one that’s seaworthy, anyway!” he said gently. “If there was, we’d all be on it! No; every Refuse-Ship ending up here has already been scuttled by the Terra Firma to stop it getting to land. Besides, there’s no fuel for them.”
“Refuse-Ship?” Fenn asked.
“Terras call ’em that cos they’re full of refugees no one wants,” Gulper explained. “So they’re always refused.”
“It means garbage too,” Amber muttered angrily.
Nile clapped his hands together briskly, signalling the end of the discussion. “Enough. Tuck in. Work to do,” he said.
Immediately the children grabbed at the meat, tearing off hunks between their teeth. Fenn picked up the skewer in front of him. Although ravenous, he inspected it first, turning it around suspiciously. It looked like rabbit, except at the end… Fenn touched it gingerly. Yes, they were fangs. Halflin used to shoot the odd hare, but this was smaller. Maybe rabbit? They had big teeth like that but he didn’t remember them being so pointy.
“Is this…?” he said as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to sound rude.
“Rat,” said Milk, through a mouthful, as if he’d said nothing more unusual than “rice”. He pulled a whisker out of his teeth.
“Looks good,” Fenn said; any food was better than none and he was famished. It tasted rich, a bit like rabbit, but stringier. No one else spoke as they gobbled in silence for the next few minutes.
“As you’re obviously such a quick learner, Fenn, perhaps selling might suit you better than catching rats?” Nile said, finishing a skewer and tossing it aside. He wiped his mouth fastidiously and nodded to Amber. “Take him to market. He has an honest face, don’t you think?”
“Why should I get lumbered with the newbie?” Amber groaned. Nile shot her a look.
“Just be careful,” Mrs Leach said. “Don’t want you getting snatched on your first day!”
“Snatched?” asked Fenn. Nile glared at Mrs Leach then turned to Fenn reassuringly.
“Amber will look after you. Nothing to worry about.” Amber scowled moodily.
“Apart from Amber, that is!” Fathom quipped. He winked kindly at Fenn, but Fenn didn’t take it in; exhaustion, a full stomach and the heat of the fire had caught up with him.
“Poor thing. You look done in,” Mrs Leach said with what seemed like genuine kindness. “Bet you never slept a wink last night.” Nile wafted a hand towards an alcove between two beams where a hammock made from thick plastic sheeting hung.
“Take that one. Gulper can move.”
Gulper pulled a face, but quickly returned it to a smile the instant Nile looked his way.
“Thank you,” Fenn said. “For the … for everything.”
He stumbled over to the hammock, kicked his boots off and tumbled in. He let the mongoose out of the
rucksack and it settled to sleep, stretched over his chest. He pulled Halflin’s jacket tighter, drew the ragged blanket over his shoulders and closed his eyes, listening to the soft pattering of the Happy Meal packets flapping in the draughts and the wind moaning as it swirled around the fort’s iron walls. This time sleep came instantly, like he’d fallen into a bottomless pit.
12
Bright, green-tinted sunlight sliced through the gaps in the packaging around the walls, and in each shaft of light minute specks of dust circled one another endlessly. Fenn had woken to the sound of metal on metal, that put his teeth on edge and pulled him sharply from his deep sleep. It was Comfort, poking the embers of the fire with a spoke from a wheel, dropping in little scraps of paper from a basket of torn shreds that she kept by her side. On these she carefully piled up a nest of tiny pieces of wood. She put her face close to the weak flames and blew, but too hard. A mass of ash puffed over her, turning her toffee-coloured skin white. Fenn smiled at her mishap, but she gave him a look Halflin would have said could turn milk sour.
At that moment a boot scraped on the rung of the ladder leading to the roof. It was Amber. She’d been tending Nile’s Water orchard that he’d built on the fort’s roof when he first arrived at the Shanties. Plastic sheeting covered the entire area and was carefully pegged so that condensation ran down into tin drums. Over the top was a scaffold, from which hung Water trees – dozens of upturned umbrellas and buckets to collect the rainwater. As well as trading rat meat, it was the girls’ job to harvest the water and mend any tears.
“Hello,” Fenn said, trying a smile on Amber. She glared at him too.
“We’ve missed the morning trade,” she snapped.
Amber stomped over to the wall and lifted one of the Happy Meal packets, partially revealing a window. She peered out over the sea. “See that: the sun’s right up,” she said.
Fenn called the mongoose down from the ledge where he was carefully licking his paws clean.
“He needs feeding first,” Fenn said. Amber sighed and folded her arms while she waited and stared out over the ocean. Fenn felt around inside his rucksack and tried to find the little pack of sardines and rice from Magpie, but there was nothing left save a few strips of shredded cloth. The mongoose had eaten the lot, including the thing Fenn thought was soap. Amber pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves and glanced over.
Fenn Halflin and the Fearzero Page 10
