She heard footsteps, and shoved the gem in her pocket again. A marine, Verris's right-hand man, Borges, ran towards her, his face blanched white with panic. He stumbled on a cobblestone, and let out a girlish shriek. He thrust out his hands to steady himself, regained his balance and sprinted on, around the corner and out of sight.
Others came, each with the same look of horror on their faces. Then more still, rushing along the street – pushing the slower ones out of the way. Tab saw an older woman hit the wall not far from her. She scrabbled on her hands and knees for a few paces and then hauled herself up again, oblivious to the long gash in her shin.
Tab noticed a few trolls amongst the crowd too, their ugly faces drawn into a grimace. She shrank back, feeling the cool of the wall on her hands. It took a lot to frighten a troll.
The horrible screeching noise sounded again. Tab's stomach rolled over in a sickening lump. She steadied herself against the wall, sure that she was going to throw up.
The people in the street lurched at the sound too. Some of them were sick. The smell of it took a moment to reach her.
So, it's not just me, Tab thought. It's not inside my head.
The crowd started running again, citizens elbowing each other and shoving the smaller and weaker ones to the edges of the street. A child fell and her mother grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her along the street.
Tab heard Philmon's voice calling her name. She stood on tiptoes trying to see over the heads of the surging people, but she couldn't find him.
‘Tab! Over here!’ he called.
She saw an arm go up in the middle of the throng. She stepped forward and was swallowed into the tide. Several times her feet were stomped on, and she stumbled, pushing the person in front of her, trying to stay upright.
Philmon called her name again and again. Each time his voice was closer as he moved within the flow of people, as though he was crossing a fast-running river.
The whistling shriek sounded a third time. As one the crowd pitched. Tab could smell the vomit and hear the sound of stomachs heaving. Some Quentarans dropped to their knees, holding their ears, and were trampled. Tab held her sleeve over her mouth trying not to gag. Philmon grabbed her other arm. She took his hand, linked fingers and held on tight. Through the jostling pack she saw Amelia's face pinched and green on Philmon's other side.
The street reached a T-intersection and the crowd split. Amelia was dragged one way and Tab the other. Philmon stretched his arms as wide as he could. His hand slipped, and his new grip on Tab's wrist was painful.
She wrenched his hand. ‘This way!’ she insisted. ‘That way narrows. We would be crushed.’
Philmon's face strained with effort as he dragged Amelia from the mob.
The three renewed their grip on each other's hands and ran through the wider street. The crowd had thinned a little, and soon they were able to dash along without fear of being separated, stepped on, or trampled.
‘What did you see?’ Tab asked. ‘What is that sound?’
‘Loraskians,’ Amelia panted. ‘They've boarded us.’
Philmon shook his head. ‘They're horrible!’
‘The sound – when you are close to them, it paralyses you,’ Amelia added, her eyes wide. ‘The City Watch – they're all frozen.’
The three friends came to another intersection and started heading towards the City Wall. Tab stopped. ‘Wait!’
She tilted her head to the side. The sound was faint at first. There it was again! The metallic gurgling, trilling noise, and something else too that she couldn't quite make out. It was a feeling that made her skin prickle.
‘This way.’ She directed her friends towards the City Gate.
‘Where are we going?’
‘It's the dragon,’ Amelia said.
‘Have we got time for that now?’ Philmon puffed.
‘Either way we will have to face the Loraskians,’ Tab told him. ‘We can do that with a baby dragon, or without one. Which would you prefer?’
‘I see your point.’ Philmon nodded.
They reached the wall. The Loraskian scream sounded again, but it was further away. It rang in Tab's ears, but didn't make her sick like it had before. She looked out over the small stretch of Barrenlands that ran alongside the western City Wall. She could see the dragon. It looked like a bird in the distance, flitting and bouncing along with its wings outstretched.
Tab's mind filled with images, similar to when she was in the secret room, dismembered limbs and spilled guts, steaming fresh blood – except this time it was no ox or bullock. The hide was cream and chocolate brown. The equen!
>>>NO!
>>>Hunger, hunger
She scrambled down the steps and wrenched at the great door, but it wouldn't budge. She threw herself at it, slapping it and clawing it with her fingers. ‘Philmon! Help me!’ she roared.
Amelia and Philmon ran to the guard's box and hauled at the chain that ran the counterweight. The immense door opened a fraction and Tab slipped through.
In the sandy ground ahead Tab could make out three sets of tracks. Two feet, Tattoo's hooves, and the intermittent, bouncing, bird-like tracks of the dragon. There was something else too, a long, winding snake-track. She followed with her eyes back to its source, a mass of rope and canvas tucked next to the City Wall. It took her a moment to remember – the sky-traders’ wing craft had been stacked there! The giant with six axes must have planned to use one to make his escape with Tattoo.
Tab sprinted, following the tracks across the Barrenlands towards the Drop-off. Her lungs burned with the strain and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to get there before the hatchling.
She could see shapes ahead, blurred through her tears.
Soon she was sobbing. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and kept running. Her legs trembled with fear and rage at what might happen to Tattoo. Her veins were full of adrenalin, and she couldn't see properly. The meaty, rancid smell in her nostrils blinded her with panic. Two images appeared in her mind, the shadows and the scavenjaws. These weren't her own feelings. She was receiving Tattoo's thoughts. At the same time she felt excited, victorious and ravenous, a hot joy, from the dragon.
The shapes were larger now. There were four, a stone's throw away from the Drop-off. One shape was the glider. She could make out Tattoo huddled half under the glider's wing – perhaps strapped to it. She pranced up and back, trying to free herself, tossing her head.
The baby dragon swooped and retreated – teasing, Tab felt, drawing the hunt out. It was very much like its mother, shimmering in green. It was graceful and beautiful.
But Fontagu's giant, who appeared to be grappling with the half-assembled glider, was not what she was expecting. He was much smaller, and there were no axes. He was just a boy.
His hair was chocolate brown and his skin a sandy colour, just like the herdsfolk Tattoo had shown her. All at once she remembered her impossible dream of the boy on the rope. He had climbed the anchor rope onto Quentaris from the world below to rescue his queen!
Giant with six axes indeed! She had known Fontagu was lying, but to be conquered by a child no bigger than herself ? She shook her head.
She also realised that Chak had tried to trick her into arranging her release, when the information Tab needed – where the equens came from, was right beneath her feet all the time.
Tab staggered towards them. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, but the contradictory emotions washed over her in successive waves of terror, craving, sorrow, destruction, panic, hunger. It was too much. Her ears began to ring. She saw spots in front of her eyes. She stumbled and fell. ‘No!’ she shouted, angry with herself. The dragon turned towards her, and bounced forward a few steps. It trilled playfully. Again she had the sensation that it was picking a word out of her mind.
>>>Hunting?
It dipped down on its forelegs, as if inviting her to play.
>>>I forbid you!
The dragon swivelled its head back and forth,
measuring the distance between Tab and the equen, like a naughty puppy.
Something whizzed by her ear. She ducked, and fell again. The boy had a sling. He was shooting at her and the dragon.
>>>Come here right now!
The baby dragon cooed, but she could still sense its cunning, trying to determine just how much it could get away with.
Tab closed her eyes and concentrated her thoughts.
The emotions from the two creatures were so strong, crushing against her, and she sweated with the strain. She held out a hand as though that could hold their minds back. Focusing on the air going in and out of her lungs, she thought anger, but most of all she thought shame and disgrace.
When she opened her eyes again the hatchling had lowered its head, shuffling from foot to foot.
The boy was still struggling with the glider. He looked over Tab's shoulder and suddenly worked faster. He seemed to have the last of the struts in place. He dragged the glider towards the Drop-off. Tattoo followed him reluctantly with the sling draped around her girth.
Tab turned around. Philmon and Amelia dashed across the sand. Behind them she could make out huge hulking silhouettes heading towards them.
The Loraskians screeched and Tab fell to her knees, shuddering against the sound. Her stomach lurched and she spat in the sand.
The boy slid, fell, clambered up, digging his bare heels into the sand, scrambling and running towards the Drop-off. She could hear him gasping and panting with strain as he dragged the glider. He looked over his shoulder once more and then he jumped. Tattoo resisted, but then the momentum lifted her off the ground and she too disappeared over the edge.
Tab looked ahead again. Amelia and Philmon leaned against each other for support. Amelia's back arched as she was sick.
The silhouettes were closer now. She could see the Loraskians’ massive, bulging, insect-like eyes. What appeared to be cloaks were actually folded, dusty wings, like moths. Tab had seen them before. She had seen them in her mind when she was in the tunnel.
Nearby the dragon snickered. It tittered and bounced, once, twice, and then it launched itself over the Drop-off – chasing the glider.
Tab took a deep breath, ready to call it back, but the Loraskians sounded again, and this time Tab collapsed.
Cold Stars
Tab awoke; at least she thought she did. She wasn't able to open her eyes or move her limbs. She could smell sour vomit all around her, and her tunic was cold, as though the sick had soaked in. It was hard to breathe and she felt a weight on her chest and legs. It was a horrifying, claustrophobic, panicky feeling, but she knew that losing her nerve wasn't going to help. She concentrated on breathing, like she had in the Barrenlands, until she felt calm again. Once her breathing was steady she sent out her thoughts.
Close by there was a bird. It was frozen too, but at least it had its eyes open. Tab was amazed how resigned the bird felt, lying on its back in the garden. I used to fly; now I can't.
Through the bird's eyes Tab could see the Loraskian soldiers stacking the bodies of the Quentarans one upon the other in great mounds in the Square. They looked dead but she knew they were just paralysed from the Loraskians’ screech, just like Tab was. New bug-eyed soldiers brought more bodies in wheelbarrows and in carts, borrowed from the markets. Tab was horrified. What were they planning to do with them now?
She could see herself, partially, from the bird's eyes – under the shoulder of a child that had been placed above her. Tab was grateful to be near the top of one of the mounds. She spied Amelia lower in the stack and she tried to call out, but all she could manage was a wheeze.
Between the mounds of people were piles of mood stones, taken from the pockets of the Quentarans before they were placed onto the heaps. Now the stones were a cool aquamarine colour. Two or three Loraskians seemed to be assigned to counting each pile and packing the stones into special caskets, which other moth-winged soldiers carried away.
The closer Tab watched, the more encouraged she was by the care the Loraskian soldiers seemed to take in placing people on the heaps. They didn't just throw them on in any order. They seemed to be stacked from largest to smallest, and there was a limit in the height of the piles. It gave her hope that her condition was temporary. With any luck, once the Loraskians had their mood stones back they would leave the Quentarans relatively unharmed.
She watched through the bird's eyes for a time, but after a while the methodical work of the Loraskians became repetitious, even boring, to Tab. She slipped back into the darkness of her own mind and slept.
Later, Tab melded with the bird again. She stayed in the back of its mind – not controlling, just watching. It blinked and twitched. It shook its head, flipped over, bounced a few steps and flew away. Tab would have smiled, if she could.
The bird flittered through the city. The Loraskian soldiers with their cases of gems followed a crooked path in single file, like ants, towards the City Wall, where they ran up a gangplank, jumped, and then flew out across the expanse between the two cities, their grey moth-wings a blur.
The bird was reluctant to follow, but Tab pushed it gently towards the Loraskians’ sky-city. She looked out for the sky-traders’ city, but it was gone. Tab guessed they had taken advantage of the Loraskian attack on Quentaris to slip through the vortex.
The soldiers landed on their sky-city, and then marched purposefully to the centre. Here there was a great spire, which turned slowly. It was peppered with thousands of holes, like a beehive, or wasps’ nest. The soldiers would slot their case of gems into a vacant cell, collect a new, empty case and then turn back to Quentaris to have it refilled.
Tab released the bird, and then very cautiously she reached out for one of the Loraskians flying back to Quentaris. She wasn't able to slip inside its mind, but she did get a sense of its mood. She felt honour, duty and purpose, and something else, tenderness and loyalty to its comrades.
They're not horrible, she thought. They're economical. They didn't see stacking bodies as macabre, it just seemed to them the most efficient way of storing paralysed persons, while they retrieved their gemstones.
Tab's Loraskian landed and followed its comrades back through the streets. Tab sensed something else too. The Loraskians thought the Quentarans were hideous, soggy, greasy creatures. Handling them was an act of great bravery. They thought of themselves as fine looking. They thought Loraskians were the best-looking creatures in all the worlds. They weren't horrible, just conceited, like Fontagu, Tab mused.
The Loraskian stopped. Somehow it had heard her. It thought she was poking fun and it was not pleased.
>>>No>>Not laughing at you. Amused, because underneath our skins we are all the same
The thoughts pulsated like colours in its mind. The Loraskian squeaked, which she took for a grunt of acknowledgement. It changed its course, stopping in front of another Loraskian. She got the feeling that this new one was further up in the hierarchy.
>>>I have found one that communicates
The boss Loraskian squealed a reply that Tab was not able to decipher.
The Loraskian reached for Tab in its mind.
>>>I'm here
>>>We have more slots in cases than mood stones
She wasn't sure what it meant, or what she was supposed to do about it. It opened one of the cases and placed a claw-like hand into one of the slots where the mood stones were nestled.
>>>We have more slots in cases than cold stars
In her mind Tab showed him a picture of the skytraders’ city. >>>You have all that they gave us
>>>We have more slots …
>>>In cases than cold stars>>I know. What will you do to us if you don't recover all your cold stars?
>>>Do to you?>>We have more slots in cases than cold stars
Tab thought about her secret chamber. She expected the idea of giving away all those jewels to hurt, but it didn't. Too many friends were in danger. She sent the Loraskian the feeling of one of the gems she found in the secret chamber.
>
>>>Will any cold stars do?
>>>Direct me to where you are stored
Tab wasn't able to explain left and right, near or far so she used colours, red for when it was near and blue for when it was heading in the wrong direction. After a few mistakes the Loraskian hauled her body from the pile.
Before she knew it the Loraskian stabbed her in the neck with its proboscis. She felt an ice-cold fluid rush into her veins and gradually sensation came back to her limbs.
It was good to be back inside her own body, but she was weak, and her head ached. She felt like she had been run over by a team of oxen.
The Loraskian offered to carry her, and she was grateful, knowing how repulsive she was to it. It lifted her under her knees and shoulders. Up close it smelt pungent and alkaline, but she was careful not to wrinkle her nose.
She was about to tell the Loraskian which way to go, but then she remembered that they had a problem. The tunnel's entrance was one way, and the dungeon with access to the corridor, the one she had been in with the egg, was locked.
Who would know about finding treasure? she wondered. A pirate, of course! Verris!
‘We need to find someone,’ she mumbled. The Loraskian put her down and she wandered from pile to pile, trying to recognise the faces. She appealed to the Loraskian for help, but he gave her his species’ equivalent of a shrug, as if to say, ‘You creatures all look the same to me’.
Over near the Hub she spied a few mounds of Quentarans in the marines’ uniform. Of course! That's where Verris would have been at the time of the attack – guarding the Hub and Quentaris's precious icefire.
She scuttled towards those heaps as best as her weak limbs were able, and tried to move the bodies so that she could see better.
The Equen Queen Page 7
