“We can’t stay long,” he said, through a mouthful of lung-lapped smoke. “A day at most. As soon as the others are here, we must plan for our departure.”
“And these two…?” asked Griffin, sotto voce, nodding at us as if we were deaf.
“We are not dumb animals!” I protested, and forced him to meet my eye. “We will go where we will.”
Thomas smiled at me then, and I thought there was some admiration in it.
“They will travel with us,” he said, and yawned slightly, closing his eyes. But I could tell Griffin was not happy about this. He cast me a nervous look.
“Captain,” he said, “if these children are in your charge, then there are many here, in my house, and others, too, who will gladly take care of them while we are gone…”
“I have already decided,” said Thomas, and he did not open his eyes. Griffin gave an impatient sigh.
“I have always respected your judgement, Tom. But where we are going is no place for children. Perhaps it would be better if they remained here, in the city…”
“They are not safe in the city. Why do you think I brought them here? The same thing that hunts me, hunts them. There is no safe place anywhere anymore. They can come with us as far as the Green Cities, and then we will decide what to do. Until then, their peril is our peril.” He was murmuring now, already half-asleep. He crossed his arms, and rested his head on his shoulder. “And there is an end to the matter,” he said. Though, by the look on Griffin’s face, I sensed there was not.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
As the day wore on, and the hour crawled towards midday, the sky outside became grey and dull, and we could not see the sun. The large woman served us bowls of potage, sour but hot, and tasting of kale and the sea. One by one, Thomas’s companions arrived at the house. First was Fyn Blackwood, a young-looking man with a face as thin as an arrowhead, and a beard already going grey. He smiled when he saw us, and ruffled Magnus’s hair. Then there was Lukas Broad, a dark-eyed, older man, dressed in a green greatcoat, with fraying epaulettes, and an upturned collar. He barely registered our presence, but quickly fell into whispered conversation with Thomas and the others. After him came the twin brothers, Joseph and Samuel Hollis, tall and loud, and full of hope and spirit. They seemed delighted to see us, and were soon about playing with Magnus, and gently pestering us with good-natured questions. They seemed more children than men.
After we had eaten our fill, we were ushered upstairs, to a small, sparsely furnished bedroom, where Thomas told us to wait. We trusted him, and he had more than earned that trust, but there was also a change come over him since the night before; a sense of distance, like the distance between a captain and his men.
With precious little to do, I quickly became bored sat upstairs, though Thomas had set a fire, and Magnus seemed happy enough for a while, playing with some wooden blocks Joseph had given him, and peering out of the window at the street below. There was the Dragon’s Head, vast and pointless, a monument to some long-dead dignitary’s vanity, dwarfing the people around it, and blocking out the light. I already hated it, even before I knew what it was for.
Voices thrummed in the kitchen below, and rumours of conversation reached us every now and again. Pacing the floorboards, I noticed one had a hole in it big enough to see through, and, pressing my eye to it, I was pleased to discover that it looked straight down on to the kitchen table.
There was a map spread there, so large it spilled over the edges, and the men were gathered around it. I watched the movement of their heads as they swung around and about, swaying like the sea with the flow of their talk.
Turning my head and placing my ear against the gap, I found I could hear some of what was being said, though I could not make out all the voices. They seemed to be arguing about the journey ahead.
“…fifty miles at least to the village of Sorrow. Then another fifty to Harbinger…”
“More…”
“We can re-shoe the horses at Larrock, then take the Salt Road through Fairburn. That’ll take a week at least, but we can cut through the Eastern Downs to just south of the Meer. From there we would be crossing into the southern reaches of the Green Cities…”
“There are warlocks on the Downs, they say. They’ve made their home near Fierce, hard by the River Claire…”
“I was told they’d long gone…”
“Like the drooj we saw at Upcombe had ‘long gone’, Fyn…? You have been wrong before, you know…”
“Not as often as you, Hollis…”
“All right, all right…! That’s enough. We’ll give the land round Fierce a wide berth, just in case. It’ll cost us a good few miles, but I suppose that can’t be helped. From there onwards, though, our original route still stands. We go by the Salt Road, and then the Sorrowing Way, through Salem Forest.”
Here there was a long pause. I could hear my breath. Magnus had pushed his face near mine, and I pushed it away again, and put my finger to my lips. He scowled at me, and sat and sulked, pulling angrily at the laces on his shoes. Then, from below, one of the other men spoke. It was Thomas. He had talked little up until now.
“Are you sure about Salem, Griff? Watchers have been seen there, and in great number.”
His friend sighed, and I heard a dull drumming, as someone beat the devil’s tattoo on the table.
“If there were another way, Captain, I would take it. But Will scouted it last summer…” And here they all stopped at the sudden reminder of their loss. “He was the best tracker I’ve ever seen. If that is the way he would have us follow, then that is the way we should go, in my opinion, though he no longer be here to guide us.”
A pause, and then somebody coughed, and another stamped his boot on the floor.
“It seems sensible, Tom. We could go through Handpool, and along the paths of the Froster folk, but it would add a good week to our journey. And Redburn and the Sweepers is no straighter. That would leave Sourburgh, and the Western turnpike; but Sourburgh is a garrison town, and there are men there who know Marcus Strange, and know of us; if we are recognized, we will be hanged as deserters.”
I gasped at this. So there was no doubt, they were soldiers, and Thomas, it seemed, their commander. But why would they be hanged? From whom, or what, had they deserted?
“All that you say is true, of course,” said Thomas, after many moments had passed. “And yet I fear the Dark Forest, and I am no coward. I have seen many things in my time. But the name of Salem was one to conjure with, even when I was a boy. There is evil there, they say, unequalled in all the world, save Glenaster itself. But we will do as you say, and hope the Watchers have joined their brethren on the Eastern Downs. Will Bowyer risked his life more than once to save mine, and his advice was always good; I will not offend him now by ignoring it. We will take the Sorrowing Way.”
There was another, long pause, as if the men were digesting what had been said, and all that it meant; and then they seemed to break up their meeting, for the talk became looser and louder, and when I put my eye to the floorboards I saw they had moved away from the table.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
As the day wilted into evening, Thomas came upstairs to bring us food, and sweet, cloudy lemonade. There were oatcakes and slices of granary bread, apples, and two small pieces of rich chocolate cake, so thick that it squelched as you pulled it away from the plate. He sat and watched us eat, and then spoke.
“How are you feeling?”
I did not know how to respond to this, so I said:
“I’m a bit cold.” Magnus simply looked at him dumbly, his mouth glued with chocolate cake.
He walked over to a cupboard set in the wall, and withdrew a couple of blankets, which he put round us.
“We will stay here tonight, and then leave early tomorrow,” he said. “Our destination is the Green Cities, beyond the wooded lands of Fairburn, and north of Salem Forest. Have you heard of them?”
I nodded.
“I have friends there, good fri
ends, people who can protect you and look after you. My men and I travel on, further north. We have a duty to perform, an important one, though it should not take us long. When we have returned, I will take you back to your home in the south, and find somewhere you can both be safe. And I give you my word, I will not rest until I discover the fate of your parents. If they are still alive, I will bring them back to you.” I saw Magnus was searching his face, ever hopeful; and Thomas nodded at him, the kind of nod one would give an equal, rather than a child. He got up from the chair where he sat, and seemed uncertain what to do for a moment. “In the meantime, you are well guarded.” He gestured to the door. “These men are fully armed, and no strangers to battle. I will see you safe to the Green Cities; I swear it.” And then he said again, so soft it was hardly a whisper: “I swear it.” And he bent down and kissed our foreheads, and his eyes seemed to shiver for a moment with the promise of tears.
“Now get yourselves ready for bed,” he said, opening the door. “Tomorrow will be a long day: the first of many. I’ll get some more wood for the fire.” And he left us, and the door sighed to a close behind him.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
We slept there in the bedroom that night, and huddled close together for warmth, for despite the fire it was cold in the room, and the wind blew fierce till the morning. Magnus fidgeted beside me, sleeping fitfully, and crying out, sometimes for our mother, and sometimes for me.
Thomas woke us early, as the first light was bullying its way in from the east, and gave us towels, and led us across the landing to a small room, where a bathtub had been filled with warm water, the window above it misted with steam.
“Now have a good wash, both of you, and get dressed. There may not be much chance of a good bath for a while after this morning. I will meet you downstairs when you are ready: but do not take long. Your belongings have already been put into the waggon.” And he left us.
I washed my brother, and then myself, and we did not need much encouragement to hurry, for though the bath was warm, the room was not, and we were glad to get dry and into our clothes. Magnus shivered, his bright hair sticking up allwaywards from his head after I had dried it, and his eyes gazing loosely into space. I grabbed his hand, and we went downstairs.
The house, and the mews outside, were busy with people and animals, and Thomas was nowhere to be seen. But then Samuel Hollis, who sat rubbing his eyes at the table, told us he had gone into the city to fetch some more supplies, and would return soon. He had said we were to wait for him, and eat some breakfast.
The woman from the previous night was still there, and as before she did not speak, but sang to herself as she prepared us porridge in neat wooden bowls, and then a plate of scrambled eggs and hot buttered toast. The porridge was thick with salt and cream, and we hardly needed the eggs as well; but mindful of Thomas’s warning that we had a long journey ahead, we ate them anyway, Magnus dipping the toast in them, and flecking his coat with yellow.
“Sticks to your ribs,” said Samuel with a wink, as he polished off his own breakfast, before wandering into the yard for a cigar.
Thomas came in a good half an hour later, and, on seeing us, said:
“Good. You’re all ready.” He put a large, heavy-looking bag down on the table, and turned to Samuel, standing sentry by the door. “We’ll be leaving at eight. Nice and quiet out of the city gates. The waggon’s all pulled up at the back. Has Lukas gone to the smithy?”
The other man nodded.
“Swords needed sharpening. Some of the knives, too. And Joseph’s horse cast a shoe this morning, so he’s taken her in.” Samuel pulled his coat closer about him. “Cold this morning.”
Thomas looked out at the city’s skyline, now silhouetted sharply against the blossom of the morning sun. The Bridge of Socus was a faint, grey line across the heavens, slowly coming into view as the day grew in strength.
“It will get colder.” And the two men exchanged the briefest of glances, before Thomas turned back to look at me and my brother, who was yawning theatrically.
“I know you’re tired. You can get plenty of sleep on the journey. I wish I had better to offer you. I know you wanted to see the emperor.”
Magnus looked at me, obviously expecting me to say something. I felt a sharp pricking in my nose, and behind my eyes.
“You have already done more than enough, sir,” I said. “I do not think we would have survived long without you.” Thomas smiled at this, a broad grin that split his face.
“No, I’m sure you would have found a way, Esther Lanark,” he said. “You’re braver than many others your age, and many much older, too. You too, Master Lanark.” And he smiled again, and went outside.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
It was a little after eight that we set out, the seven of us, past the Dragon’s Head, and out into the streets of the city’s northern suburbs, towards the Barrow Bridge, that crosses the Fern, and from there leads to the rich fields of Fernshire, below the hills of Thyme, and, beyond, the wooded valleys of Fairburn. The waggon Thomas had spoken of was large, and covered by a canvas roof stretched across a hooped frame of six bows, evenly spaced. Inside, there were bags and supplies, and rugs for sleeping; and it was underneath one of these that Magnus and I crouched, building a nest for ourselves near the front, just behind the perch where Joseph and Samuel sat, driving the two horses that pulled us along.
Around about, and on either side of us, the others rode their own mounts: Lukas up ahead, Griffin on one side and Fyn on the other, and Thomas at the rear. In this way the waggon was guarded at each corner, and we felt, for a while, very safe and cosy, as if we were royalty travelling through the capital, rather than two orphaned children.
For the first mile or so the journey went well, Joseph remarking that we would soon be at the river. But then, as we moved slowly towards the narrow pass that approaches the bridge, we came to a stop, as did all the carriages and horses and people round about us. For away to the east, and shouldering the bend of the August Road that leads up to the embankment of the river, sounded the trumpets and hooves of the emperor’s procession.
I heard Thomas ride up behind, to speak to Griffin, and the men sounded tense, their horses pawing the earth. Samuel looked to see we were all right, and gave us a tight smile; but I could tell he was nervous too, and the silence outside, broken only by the approach of the emperor and his retinue, felt heavy and unwelcome.
“God save His Majesty!” shouted a woman, and then another: “May His days be long and blessed!” A few cheered, and there were cries of “Hooray!” and “Long live the emperor!” But all of this sounded to my ears like so much empty thunder. We would have to wait for the emperor to pass.
“We could be here all day…” muttered Fyn, though no one replied. I had heard that, in the capital, a man had to be careful what he said about His Majesty Emperor Marcus Dulthummon III, for the crows carried him his messages, and the smallest ants whispered the most precious of secrets into his ears.
The time dragged like a knife, and Magnus and I put our faces up to the back of the waggon, where we peeped carefully through the narrow space where the canvas had been tied taut.
We had come to rest at such an angle that we could see the procession approaching, about a hundred yards down the street. Trumpeters in richly brocaded tunics were at the front, marching in rhythm, their instruments held tightly against their chests, and flashing like fire as they caught the glare of the new day’s sun. Behind them came a whole company of soldiers, perhaps an entire regiment: row upon row of guardsmen, their uniforms crisp as frosted leaves, their buckles so highly polished they hurt your eyes, and their pikes carried high on their shoulders, sweeping up into the air, a whole sea of them, rolling and swaying as the men advanced.
Behind them came the emperor’s own party: a vast carriage, big as a house, encrusted with gold and set on a high frame, so that it reared up over the heads of the crowd. There were great red-and-white plumes sailing from its roof, and from the he
ads of the horses that pulled it, and, on either side, mounted cavalrymen, flanking the enormous, gold-painted wheels, whose movement sent a tremble through the earth as they rolled. Footmen in red-and-gold livery stood along the carriage’s running-board, clinging on with faces grimly set, and as they made their slow progress towards us, I saw there were men and women, dressed in harlequin costumes, flinging confetti from small porcelain bowls, so that it showered hopefully down upon the emperor and his people, before quickly turning into a mucky morass under the horses’ feet.
Courtiers in black gowns, and wigs so heavy I thought their heads might drop off, kept pace, just behind the carriage, and some beat an angry tempo as they walked, stunning the ground with silver-topped canes, their noses held aloft as if avoiding a bad smell. Perhaps they were: there were enough horses about. Still, the crowd whooped and cheered as if their lives depended on it – which maybe they did – and even the sight of a children’s choir, hymning the emperor’s praises and dressed in uniforms that looked about three centuries out of date, could not break the spell:
Our emperor is our Guiding Hand!
He brings us peace throughout the land;
His rule is fair, his laws are just:
In him all peoples place their trust…
I, for one, could not help laughing: a ticklish giggle that started in the back of my throat, and spread to my belly, till I shook with the effort, and had to retreat back into the waggon to hide my face. I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever seen.
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