Fenn Halflin and the Fearzero

by Francesca Armour-Chelu

  “And you’re getting off just in time too,” Lord cut in. “Chilstone’s fleet is less than fifty leagues west of here. More Sweeps are coming; they need extra labour. Repairs to the Mainland Wall have held up work on the West Isle’s. Landborns are nervy and no wonder. West Isle marshes are swarming with Seaborns nowadays, trying to find ways to get in…”

  Fenn glanced at the others. Amber wasn’t listening and was still griddling the bacon with a great big soppy grin on her face. Fathom was scoffing the food down. None of them had eaten properly for weeks.

  Comfort was sitting on the floor facing away from Lord and Nile, looking at Fenn intently; her mouth was pulled down at the corners and her eyes were brimming with tears. He guessed immediately that she suspected the same as him: that they might end up on the Mainland or behind one of the other Walls, but never as free citizens. They’d live out their lives slaving for others and lose every connection with the past that they’d ever had. Lord’s silver tongue meant nothing to Comfort, instead she trusted her instinct.

  Fathom called Fenn and Gulper over to get their share and Amber filled their plates.

  Nile shook his head bleakly.

  “Raids! Rationing! Roustabout attacks. The Shanties aren’t what they used to be. It’s certainly time for us to all move on,” he said to the room at large. “And very generous of Lord to help us.”

  “It’ll be fine sailing to have old friends like you and Mrs Leach with me,” Lord said, clamping his hand down on Mrs Leach’s knee and making her squeak with delight. “Although I wonder how the little lady will cope on a rough barge.” He held her hand and kissed it, making her simper at him.

  While everyone discussed what routes they could take or how much stuff they could bring from the fort, Fenn nudged Fathom.

  “It’s a trick; it’s not a convoy ship!” he whispered in his ear. Fathom didn’t turn around at the news, but continued to watch Amber cooking.

  “How d’you know?”

  “I’ve just been inside it.” Fathom shook his head.

  “Why would Nile lie? He’s going with us!”

  “He must have a deal with Lord. Using us lot as his ticket out…”

  Before Fenn could say more, Mrs Leach’s powdered face was nestling between their shoulders; she pulled her arms tightly around their waists and squeezed them affectionately.

  “An’ wha’ are my handsome boys whispering about now?” she asked, her eyes hazy and out of focus and a funny little wonky smile playing on her lips.

  “Just saying how lovely you’re looking tonight Mrs Leach,” said Fathom quickly. Mrs Leach blushed, her cheeks dimpling with a shy smile. For a fleeting second, Fenn glimpsed how she must have looked once – the youth she was trying to recapture with her sticks of burnt wood and pots of blue powder. Mrs Leach made a pretty curtsey, lifting her crinkling plastic skirt graciously, and gave Fenn a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek. Emboldened and inspired by the compliment, she weaved her way back over to the two men, pulled her stool nearer to Lord, and started laughing too loudly at his every joke. If it was to make Nile jealous he didn’t rise to it, but instead just looked her up and down condescendingly. After a few moments he said, wearily, “Oh, do please stop, Mrs Leach. You’re embarrassing yourself.” And Mrs Leach shrank back in herself, like a tortoise recoils into its shell. Fathom turned back to Fenn.

  “I trust them; Lord and Nile go back years.” He stood up and disappeared to where his belongings were kept.

  In desperation, Fenn looked around at the others, wondering who would believe him. Gulper was staring adoringly at Nile; he’d never believe Nile could do wrong. But there was still Amber.

  “When are we leaving?” Fenn asked Lord casually.

  “Crack of dawn, if the weather settles,” Lord answered. “Too dangerous to hang around any longer.” He squinted through the smoke at Fenn as he spoke, and narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure I recognise you! Have we met?” Fenn shook his head. “Funny, you look familiar,” Lord said genially. He shrugged and patted Comfort’s head. “This pretty one will easily find foster parents on the Mainland!”

  As the evening wore on and the fire was stoked up, Lord and Nile got steadily sillier, revelling in their games of one-upmanship, bragging and tall stories. Mrs Leach gazed on her husband with slack-jawed admiration but finally, after too much laughter and too much food, Nile was sick. Fenn watched as she mopped him up. This was her servitude; taking his insults, looking after his every need, in exchange for the safety of his protection. She was a survivor and stronger than she looked; she hitched him up on her shoulder and half carried, half dragged him up the stairs, calling instructions to Fathom and Fenn to make sure Lord was comfortable for the night.

  Lord’s eyes were already starting to blink with tiredness as he slumped into his chair, now and then shifting to get out of the draught. Fenn’s mind suddenly sharpened. He put another half a day’s supply of wood on the fire at once.

  “Let’s get you warmer,” he coaxed, as the fire sparkled and flurries of purple-blue flames flickered up like fireworks. He leant his shoulder up against the back of Lord’s chair and gently eased it towards the fire. Exhausted from the endless sailing and drinking, Lord soon fell into a deep sleep. Fenn waited until Lord was snoring loudly, blowing little bubbles of spit with every breath, then he carefully pulled the laces out of his boots, tucking them in his own pocket. He slipped over to where Nile kept his boots and did the same to those.

  As soon as everyone was asleep, Fenn pulled his jacket on, gently lifted a sleeping Tikki and put him in his rucksack, then he scooped his little rope calendar and other possessions in too. Slipping silently through the room of sleeping bodies like a ghost, he went over to the tin drum where they salted and smoked the rats. He filled one pocket with a mix of ash and salt from the large crock, then took a fistful of hardened grease from the tray underneath the roasting rack. He tiptoed to the hatch and rubbed grease into the bolts and hinges. Once he was done, he crept up to Amber and put his hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t yell out and wake the others. Amber struggled to sit up.

  “What are you doing?” she spat, pushing him off. “And what’s that on your hand?” She wiped her mouth furiously.

  “We have to get away from here,” Fenn whispered.

  “What?”

  “Lord’s a trafficker. He’s captain of a slave ship for children.”

  Lord stirred and scratched his belly in his sleep. Fenn patted down the air with his hands to make Amber quieten.

  “I’ve been inside it…”

  “When?” asked Amber suspiciously, her small eyes narrowing even more than usual.

  “This afternoon. I saw it come in. I wanted to see if we could stow away,” he whispered. Amber stared at him beadily.

  “You mean if you could.”

  “No. I mean we,” Fenn repeated firmly.

  Amber scrutinised him. “We could just tell Nile.”

  “Can’t you see what’s going on? He’s trading us, Amber. We’re his ticket off the Shanties.”

  Amber bit her lip. Shaking her head, she pulled the cover tighter around her.

  “That’s what happened to your friend Nami, isn’t it? And the other children that Fathom told me disappeared! Nile doesn’t keep us here out of the goodness of his heart.” Fenn stared hard at Amber. “This is a shopfront and we’re the goods.” For a few seconds Amber stared ahead blankly, then tears welled in her eyes.

  “Have you told Fathom?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t want to know. You have to persuade him.”

  “I will.” Amber nodded. “What about Gulper?”

  Fenn shrugged. “Don’t know if he’d leave, but I’d swear Comfort’s guessed.”

  “So what’s your plan?” asked Amber, climbing out of bed.

  “To get off the Shanties. Tonight.”

  He nodded over to where Lord was still snoring.

  “He’s got an old sailing barge; they sailed it with just three of them. You said Fathom a
nd Gulper could sail all right and I’m a fast learner. You take Comfort. I’ll wake the others and catch you up.”

  Amber agreed, pulling on her coat.

  Fenn got a lantern while she tiptoed to where Comfort was curled up like a cat in her hammock. Shaking her gently, Amber put her finger to her lips and quickly helped Comfort put on a pair of boots and some warm outside clothes. Meanwhile Fenn slipped over to the hatch and slowly slid the bolts back, lifting it open. They didn’t make a sound, but a sliver of cold air streaked under the tarpaulin, making Lord stir in his sleep again.

  “Quickly,” Fenn whispered, beckoning them over, lowering the ladder gently. But it was too heavy for him to move quietly and despite it being slathered in grease too, it rattled and clanked as it fell downwards. Fenn just managed to grab it and cling on.

  “Where’s his boat moored?” Amber whispered.

  “Know the Gloriana?”

  Amber nodded.

  “There’s a hidden jetty behind her,” he explained as he stepped down onto the ladder. “Red sail. She’s called the Salamander.”

  He helped Comfort down through the trapdoor; a gusty wind caught them on the ladder and he encircled her with his arms as they climbed.

  “Hurry,” he said. “There are only a couple of hours before dawn.”

  19

  It was the first time Comfort had been outside the fort for years and she was white with fear. Nile and Mrs Leach’s plan must have always been that once she was big enough she’d go out and work until the time came for her to be traded; before she lost her appeal. But Comfort had always stayed so small that Mr Leach thought she was too fragile. Both of them must have been afraid she’d be snatched and their investment lost.

  Comfort quivered like a leaf as Fenn guided her down to the lower level of the Shanties. The wind howled around them and the iron struts on the giant girder glinted like knives in the moonlight. Despite this, Fenn had to keep coaxing her to go quicker, afraid that the alarm would be raised before they got away. As soon as they reached the alleys, he grabbed her hand urgently. They ran, barely able to see straight in the lashing rain that hit them like splinters of ice; by the time they reached the tiny crawl-way through the Gloriana they were both drenched. Fenn pushed Comfort inside and again the rats squirmed away into their nests in fright. Tikki wriggled in the rucksack, eager to go and hunt, but Fenn had tied it tightly. He wasn’t taking any chances; no one was getting left behind.

  “Up here!” Fenn whispered, clambering over the slimy green floor and jostling Comfort up the iron staircase. The icy wind blew across the open deck and shavings of brittle snow had already started to settle inside. They squatted down out of sight underneath a rotting awning. From this vantage point Fenn could see anyone approaching in the alley and also the comings and goings on Lord’s barge. Logan and Owen were sitting on deck to keep watch, huddled around a glowing brazier. They had rigged up a ramshackle shelter over their heads.

  Fenn and Comfort didn’t have long to wait before they heard a scuffling by the hole and the sound of rats squealing as they were kicked out of the way. Candlelight flickered in the shadows below as Fathom and Amber scrambled across the cabin. Fenn whistled down to them.

  They climbed up the stairs. Fathom immediately knelt by Comfort’s side and gave her a hug, rubbing her arms to warm her up.

  “Gulper?” Fenn whispered to Amber. She shook her head.

  “He wouldn’t believe me.”

  “But he promised not to tell,” Fathom explained.

  “I’m going back for him,” Fenn said, but Fathom grabbed his arm hard and pulled him back.

  “No, you’re not,” he hissed. “He’s made his choice. You’ll just wreck our chances of getting off. If we don’t get on this boat, we might as well throw ourselves off the Shanties. It’ll be quicker than starving.”

  “Fathom’s right,” Amber said. “Gulper will never leave those two. They’re all he knows.”

  Fenn knew what they said was true; they had already gone too far by leaving the fort without Nile’s permission. He would never take them back if he found out what they’d done.

  Fathom peeped through a gap at the Salamander. “I know these barges. Worked on them in New Venice. I can get her started,” he said. “But how do we get on board?”

  “I…” began Fenn, hoping for inspiration. He peeped through the decaying struts in the barge’s side. The watchmen below were now taking cupfuls of something from a pan on the brazier.

  “I’ll distract them,” he said finally. The others looked at him sceptically and Amber opened her mouth to say something. Standing up briskly, Fenn cut in before she could speak. “Just be ready.”

  Amber smiled doubtfully, her fingers automatically reaching for her clover stud.

  Fenn tiptoed down the stairs and wriggled out of the Gloriana’s side. No hiding this time. He felt sweat prickle on his back and goose-pimples stipple his arms. This was how escaping felt; this was what he’d been dreaming of for the past few weeks. Out of the blue, he remembered the first time Halflin showed him how to gut a pig – the pig Fenn had raised from birth. Fenn had been so scared of it: its deadness, its terrible stillness. He remembered being afraid of hurting it, which was ridiculous but true, and so instead of cutting, he feebly prodded the knife into the cold flesh. Halflin got angry and closed his hand around Fenn’s to make him hold the knife confidently, in order to slice right through the pig’s body, saying, “Stop pokin’ it and have some respect; that pig died so you can live. If you’re doin’ somethin’ do it proper.”

  If you’re doin’ somethin’ do it proper.

  Fenn steeled himself, thumped down heavily onto the jetty and jogged along far enough to ensure the two men saw him.

  They immediately stood up and walked towards the barge rail, gazing silently as Fenn hastily approached, pretending to be out of breath.

  “Is this Lord’s barge?”

  “Who wants to know?” asked Owen guardedly as he sipped his coffee. Steam blew in front of his face. He winced at the heat on his tongue.

  “He sent me to get you,” Fenn gabbled. Owen sniffed, wiped his cuff over the flecks of coffee stippling his beard and put his cup on the barge rail to cool. Something distracted him and he looked in the direction of the Gloriana. Fenn prayed that Fathom had extinguished the candle he’d been carrying.

  “He needs help straightaway. Some of the other kids are getting suspicious,” Fenn added.

  In the shadows behind him, Amber and Comfort lightly tiptoed across the jetty, slipping over the rail.

  “That’s Nile’s problem,” Logan said, coming to stand with Owen. He rubbed his hand over his grimy face, scratching his salt-and-pepper stubble.

  Fenn shook his head.

  “Too many of them. He said to come quick. Help settle things down.”

  Owen gave him a sharp look, then tilted his head once more towards the Gloriana. Fathom had his leg out of the hole and froze. He was clearly visible to Fenn’s sharp eyes but Owen didn’t seem to notice, distracted by an increasingly loud thrumming noise in the distance. He turned to Logan.

  “Can you hear that?” he said.

  Logan ignored him, already swinging his legs over the rail, puffing with the strain.

  “Are they all at Nile’s?”

  Fenn nodded, feeling sick to his stomach as he realised something wasn’t sitting right with Owen, who was peering along the jetty. He needed to distract him. He quickly hitched the rucksack off his shoulders.

  “Don’t s’pose you’ve got a bit of bread to spare have you?” he asked, as he loosened the rucksack’s final cord. Tikki bounded out of the bag then scampered up to Fenn’s shoulders, where he curled around his neck. He nuzzled against Fenn’s ear and Logan laughed in childlike delight, clapping his hands.

  “A mongoose!” he said. “Ain’t seen one of them for years! Can we give it some bread, Owen?” Owen shook his head dourly and cast his beady eyes over Tikki.

  If he couldn’t distract Owen
, he could at least amuse Logan. Fenn made a special fuss of Tikki, making him run up and down his arms, desperately trying to keep the two men looking his way. Logan giggled with unbridled joy, nudging Owen. Taking his chance, Fathom ran lightly across the jetty and dropped over the side of the Salamander.

  “Shouldn’t keep the boss waiting,” Fenn said. Logan looked back questioningly at Owen. Owen shook his head.

  “Don’t need two of us,” he said and deliberately took his foot off the barge rail. But Logan shrugged his shoulders and stomped past Fenn down the jetty, heading towards the Gloriana.

  One down, one to go, thought Fenn. He turned to look at Owen expectantly. “Lord wanted you both,” he ventured.

  Owen wasn’t listening to Fenn. He had cocked his head again. Leaning over the barge rail, he looked out to sea.

  “We never leave the boat,” Owen muttered distrustfully, frowning. “Who are you anyway? I don’t remember your face.”

  “I work for Nile,” Fenn said breezily. His heart was thumping so hard in his chest now it felt like it was going to pop right out and bounce along the jetty all by itself like a ball. “I can keep an eye on the boat.” He was hardly breathing now and he was sure his voice sounded squeaky and insincere.

  “I bet,” Owen said with a sarcastic smile as he reached for his mug on the rail. As he did, he frowned and peered closer, staring hard at the coffee – the surface was trembling. A deep boom sounded in the distance and the whole jetty shook.

  “What the…?” started Owen, looking at Fenn, perplexed.

  Before he had a chance to say more, a net was dropped over his head and Fathom and Amber yanked him down to his knees, binding the net tightly around him with ropes. But Owen was stronger than he looked and thrashed wildly, immediately breaking free.

  Fenn grabbed the handful of ash and salt from his pocket and chucked it hard in Owen’s face, blinding him. He howled in pain. Fenn leapt over the barge rail, followed by Tikki, and helped Fathom grab Owen beneath his armpits and swing him over the rail onto the jetty, where he lay sprawled, clawing at his streaming eyes. Amber and Fathom hurried to the barge’s bridge. Another thunderous boom sounded across the Shanties and Fenn turned to see where it was coming from, but at the same moment he was distracted by a figure stumbling out of the Gloriana’s side and then racing down the jetty towards the Salamander as if his life depended on it. It was Gulper.