“I had my reputation to think of. I hadn’t had a seeing for weeks. People might have started to ask questions.”
“But you don’t need to fake seeings. You’re Maximillian Crow.”
“No, I’m not.”
Silo was shocked. Maximillian Crow was even more villainous than he had imagined. He wasn’t even Maximillian Crow.
“Who are you, then?”
“My real name’s Orlando Bramble.”
“So what happened to Maximillian Crow? The real one, that is.”
For the first time Orlando looked slightly ashamed of himself. “Well, I feel bad about that, but he should be all right.” He thought for a moment, then said, “I know they say he was a great seer and all, but he was a bit dim as well, if you know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t,” said Silo. “You’re going to have to explain it. From the beginning.”
“Well,” said Orlando, settling himself comfortably on Silo’s bed, “I guess I’m a bit like you, really. No parents to speak of—they got killed in a riot a few years back. So I lived with my older sister for a bit, till she took up with a Raider. She went off with him and I haven’t seen her since. I hear she’s done well for herself, though, captains her own ship now and everything. So she left me with my uncle and he—well, he did quite a few things, but the one they got him for was fixing a goatball game. So then he got shipped out. And that left me on my own and I did a few things too. Nothing serious, you understand, but a boy has to eat. Then I got myself into a spot of trouble.”
Here was a family that put even the Zycos in the shade.
“What sort of trouble?” asked Silo.
“I was in Herringhaven. It’s a harbor town out west. Got caught stealing. Anyway, the authorities said they’d found me an honest job as a cabin boy. That was fine by me, but then I realized where the ship was headed. Turned out they were shipping me out.”
“Stop!” said Silo. “Explain this shipping-out thing.”
Orlando looked at him in surprise. “You don’t know much, do you? Is it true what Elgarth said, that you come from a swamp?”
“It’s not a swamp, it’s a marsh,” said Silo.
“Whatever. Anyway, ‘shipping out’ is what happens to people who upset the Government. They get shipped out to work someplace, the sort of work that no one else wants— so chances are my uncle’s in the Northern Isles by now, working down the silver mines.”
“So where were you being shipped out to?”
“That’s the problem. It was to the Us of Ay.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” said Silo.
“I’m not surprised. Chances are it doesn’t exist. Most people think it’s just a legend from the time of the Ancients.”
“But why would the Government send people to a place that isn’t there?”
“That’s really complicated. It’s all to do with the Ancients. You know how the Government’s always going on about how wonderful the Ancients were? About how we must find out how they did all those weird things and do them again?”
Silo didn’t. But then he thought of goatball and nodded wisely.
“They want to find out what the Ancients’ power was so they can use it again.”
“But they already have power, don’t they?” said Silo. “What about all their soldiers and inspectors and governors?”
“Not that kind of power,” said Orlando. “The Ancients had things called power stations and power supplies and power lines. They want all that back. It’s a different kind of power—some sort of force, I think, not like a solid thing.”
Silo thought he understood. “Something like the wind or the tide.”
“I suppose so. No one really knows. Anyway, they say that in the time of the Ancients there was a place called the Us of Ay, and the Government is sending a ship to check it out, just in case it really exists. To see if there’s anyone there who understands the power stations and stuff.”
“So they were going to ship you out to the Us of Ay.”
“Yeah, but obviously I didn’t want to go. I mean, they say it’s thousands of miles away—if it’s there at all, that is. It just sounded really dangerous. And that’s when I met Maximillian Crow.”
Silo was beginning to feel sorry for Maximillian Crow. “What did you do to him?”
Orlando yawned and slumped back on Silo’s bed. “It’s been a long day. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Oh, all right, then. Well, after they caught me for thieving, the headman of Herringhaven said he felt sorry for me, what with my bad family and all. He said he was going to give me a second chance, and that he’d found me a job as cabin boy on a ship called the Leviathan. Said it was sailing to Parris Port. Well, I was really pleased. Parris Port’s only thirty miles from the Capital and I’ve always wanted to go there. So he gave me a letter to hand to the captain and I went down to the harbor. And that’s when I realized he was lying.”
“How?”
“I watched them loading the ship. Sailing to Parris Port’s just coast-hopping—loads of places to pick up stuff on the way. But they were putting serious supplies on board the Leviathan. It looked to me like they were stocking up for a long ocean voyage. So I opened the letter, and it said that I was a dangerous criminal from a long line of criminals. Told the captain to lock me up below until they were out of sight of land, and then it wished him luck in finding the Us of Ay. So I had a problem. Seemed like the best thing to do was just run away, and fast. And I would have done, but then I met Maximillian.”
“What’s he like?” Silo was beginning to suspect the fate of his old rival, but he was curious about him all the same.
“He was kind of sweet, really. Very small, seemed much younger than eight. He was a bit muddled, though. He was meant to be meeting an inspector to get an escort to the Capital, but somehow he’d got himself lost. He asked me to help him. A trusting sort, I’d say. Anyway, he showed me a letter they’d given him.”
Orlando reached into his breast pocket and produced a thick sheet of parchment. “A very useful letter.”
He handed it to Silo, who read:
To Whom It May Concern:
The bearer of this letter, one Maximillian Crow, is traveling to enter into the service of the Government. Said Government commands that he be given all possible assistance on his journey, financial or otherwise, from whatever person or persons he requests it of. Any person or persons failing to comply with the above order will incur the wrath of said Government, and a fine of ten silver crowns.
Beneath was an impressive array of stamps and seals and signatures.
“You swapped the letters,” said Silo.
“Yes. And then I told him the inspector was waiting for him on board the Leviathan and took him down to the harbor. Just in case he got lost again.”
“But didn’t he tell the captain he was Maximillian Crow?”
“I expect he did, but I’d already thought of that. Before I resealed the letter I added a PS. I’m quite good at forgery—it was a sideline of my uncle’s, so he taught me a few things. I put: This boy is a shameless liar. Don’t believe a word he says.”
“He was only eight,” said Silo. “That was a horrible thing to do.”
“I don’t know,” said Orlando. “He was a weedy little boy. It might do him good, lots of fresh sea air and healthy exercise.”
Silo stared at him, and Orlando dropped his eyes.
“All right, then, it was a horrible thing to do. I still feel awful about it. I remember his little trusting eyes looking at me—Thank you for being my friend. I should have just run away like I’d planned. But I was in a spot.”
“You still are, aren’t you? You’re not a real seer. You can’t just go on paying people to burn down goatball stadiums.”
“I’ve thought of all that. After tonight I can just cruise on my reputation for a while. And when we get to the Capital I’m going to get brain damage, fake a head injury. Then I’ll say I’ve lost my gift and then I’
ll be free to do whatever I like.”
Orlando had a sudden inspiration. “I’ve just had a thought—perhaps you could slip me the odd seeing every now and then. Sounds like you’re really good at it.”
“It’s not that easy,” said Silo. “Seeings are rare. I don’t have very many.”
“Never mind,” said Orlando. “At least they’re good ones. Not all that rubbish about rainbows and snowdrops.”
He stood up and stretched. He was almost a head taller than Silo.
“How old are you really?” Silo asked.
“Getting on for eleven. Anyway, must go now, been a busy day. It’s been nice talking to you. It gets really tedious being Maximillian Crow all the time, hanging around with that creep Elgarth and listening to Daisy banging on about sunbeams. And thanks for not telling the inspectors about me burning down the goatball stadium and stuff.”
“How do you know I won’t?”
“Elgarth told me all about the Zyco family. Doesn’t seem like their style somehow. See you tomorrow.” He grinned at Silo and left.
Silo had a little friend. A little criminal friend.
They left the Fort-Before-the-Forest at noon the next day. When Ruddle and Silo arrived at the north gate it was obvious that the next stage of their journey was going to be done in much greater style than the first. There was an escort of sixty mounted soldiers waiting, for their road skirted the Wildwoods, and the Wildwoods were home to zoo animals and savage woodland tribes. The soldiers rode at the head of the party, followed by Ruddle and his fellow guides, then the inspectors, then the seers, then a group of servants, and finally three wagonloads of baggage. Silo supposed he should be riding with the other seers, but Blossom was set in her ways and liked to be last. She settled herself comfortably behind the baggage wagons and he was happy enough with her choice, for he had no wish to mix with anyone who thought him a web-footed psychopath obsessed with Eel Rights. But he was pleased when Orlando rode out of the column on his fat black pony and waited for him.
He grinned up at Silo, who towered over him on Blossom. “Good idea to ride at the back. Now we can talk. I told them I’d try to talk you out of your evil ways. They think I’m a saint—all except Elgarth. He said I was wasting my time.”
“Why has Elgarth got it in for me?” said Silo.
“I was wondering that myself. I think it must be the competition. I mean, how many seers does the Government need? There’s five already and maybe we’ll meet up with more. Mind you, Daisy seems pretty useless and so do those two new girls, Bella and Stella.”
“What are they like?”
“A bit deranged. They had a seeing this morning—according to them there’s going to be a big fire at an outpost. Not very original, are they?” Orlando laughed. “I’m pretty good at predicting fires myself—pair of arsonists if you ask me. But you’re a proper seer and I don’t think Elgarth’s too happy about it, so he’s spreading stories about your nasty criminal ways. The Government’s not too keen on employing criminals. I found that out in Herringhaven. Although I can’t see why you want to work for them anyway.”
Silo was surprised. “But seers always work for the Government, don’t they? They use their seeings to help them—warn them about attacks from Raiders, stuff like that.”
“Why not be different? Why not work for the Raiders and warn them about attacks from the Government?” Orlando sounded annoyed.
“Sorry,” said Silo, “I forgot your sister was a Raider.”
“Yeah, Val always had a taste for travel. Or Valeria the Violent, as I suppose I should call her now. That’s what it said on her wanted poster, anyway.”
Silo was struck by a sudden blinding thought. “Was Ingall the Unclean a Raider too?”
“Yeah. He burned all the coastal forts in the Southern Shires last summer.”
“Are they always called Something the Something? Like Valeria the Violent or Ingall the Unclean?” He hesitated for a moment. “Or Aquinus the Accursed?”
“Not all of them, only the really respected ones. It’s considered a great honor among Raiders to have ‘the Repulsive’ or ‘the Undesirable’ or whatever added after your name. It means you’ve performed great deeds.”
“Things like fire raising and tax evasion and destroying government property? Or stealing dogs maybe?”
“I’ve never heard of them stealing dogs before,” said Orlando, “but the other stuff, yeah, that’s all standard for a halfway decent Raider.”
So Silo’s father was a Raider. He rode in silence for a while, turning it over in his mind. After a while he asked, “Why aren’t they ever called nice things? Like ‘the Great’ and ‘the Good’ and ‘the Kind’?”
“They take the names their enemies give them,” said Orlando. “To show that they think they’re a real pain in the bum. A bit unfair sometimes, though. Val had a temper on her, but she wasn’t that bad.”
Maybe Aquinus the Accursed hadn’t been either. Silo hoped not, anyway.
Later that day, when the shadows were lengthening and Silo was beginning to think hopefully of supper, Ruddle pulled out of the column ahead. When Silo and Orlando drew level with him he was on foot, and his little horse was lame at his side.
“Rusty here’s got a loose shoe,” he said. “There’s a village up ahead—place by the name of Baldock, if I remember rightly. Best I stop off there, see if I can find a blacksmith.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Silo. He didn’t like to think of Ruddle alone and prey to zoo animals, although he wasn’t sure what use he and Blossom would be if they were attacked by another bear. Maybe Blossom could sit on it.
“I’ll go ahead and tell the others,” said Orlando, and muttered to Silo as he rode past, “I suppose I’d better go and be Maximillian for a while. I’ve been neglecting him a bit today.”
—
Ruddle and Silo made their way to Baldock. It was a compact cluster of huts, ringed with a high fence to keep zoo animals at bay, and as they approached they could hear pigs and chickens, and then the unmistakable clink-clink-clink of a blacksmith’s hammer.
“Sounds like we’re in luck,” said Ruddle. He led Rusty through the gate in the fence, but Silo stayed outside for a moment. Blossom wanted to graze, and Silo trusted her not to run away. Running anywhere was not something she much enjoyed, so he took off her bridle and turned her loose. He walked through the gate, but then suddenly, in the blink of an eye, day turned to night and a mass of confused images rushed through his mind. It was a seeing. It was the village, but the village at night. The wooden huts were burning and people were running, their dark figures flashing before a backdrop of flames. There were horsemen in among them, and the air rang to the sound of commands and curses and screams. For a brief instant Silo saw a hulking figure on a rearing horse. A club was raised high over his head, and behind him a banner streamed out for a moment, glowing crimson in the light of the flames: the sign of the red hand. And within seconds it was gone. Silo found himself standing on the threshold of the sunlit village with a group of friendly pigs snuffling around his feet. Head pounding, he hurried toward the sound of the hammer.
While the blacksmith saw to Rusty, Ruddle held forth to a group of ragged villagers, and he introduced Silo as he approached.
“This here is Silo Zyco, a genuine seer from the Eastern Marshes.”
Silo didn’t even pause to say hello. “Your village will burn. Horsemen will come here. They ride under the sign of the red hand. I don’t know when exactly, but soon.”
He never had been much good at small talk. He stared at their astonished faces for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked back out of the village, throwing himself down in Blossom’s shadow. Twenty minutes passed and then Ruddle, his face expressionless, came out leading a newly shod Rusty. A group of villagers gathered at the gate to see them off.
“Thanks for the warning,” said the blacksmith. “We’ll be ready for them when they come.”
“That seeing of yours…,” said Ruddl
e as they rode away. “Might be best not to mention that to anyone. Especially not the inspectors.”
“I wasn’t going to,” said Silo.
So far their journey from the fort had led them along muddy woodland tracks, but on the morning of the third day they came to a wooden sign bearing a single word: MOTORWAY.
“We’re entering godforsaken parts from here on in,” said Ruddle. “This here’s the old highway and we’ll be following it a step of the way.”
He looked glum at the thought, and Silo followed him out of the trees to find himself on a vast road, stretching off dead straight in either direction. The size of it took Silo’s breath away, for it was wide enough to march an army down, and their column seemed suddenly dwarfed as it rode out onto its great expanse, the sound of the horses’ hooves loud amid the silence of the woods that grew thick on either hand.
“Why’s it so big?” he asked in wonder.
“Who knows?” grumbled Ruddle. “All I know is that it’s hard on the horses’ feet. But government folk don’t seem to give a thought to that. The Ancients rode this way once, and they reckon that if the Ancients did so, it must be the smart thing to do. But mark my words, we won’t find any normal folk riding this road along with us.”
—
And he was right. Once a herd of deer flitted across their path in the far distance, but as the day wore on they met no other travelers. The road swept through the landscape regardless of the natural lay of the land, gouging its way through hills and soaring up on embankments over valleys, bisected by crumbling bridges that bore the ghostly traces of other, lesser roads that had long been engulfed by the surrounding forest. And one day this one, mighty as it was, would vanish too, for slowly but surely nature was taking its course. Leaf mold was piled deep upon the verges and its surface was starred with dandelions; here and there great oaks had fallen, and their little procession had to weave its way around their mossy trunks. They rode in silence save for the beat of the horses’ hooves and the creak of harnesses, for their strange surroundings seemed to throw an oppression over their whole party, and Silo was greatly relieved when, as dusk began to fall and the skies grew clamorous with home-going rooks, they finally saw signs of human life. A trickle of smoke rose up out of the forest ahead, and beside it a tall lookout tower. It was an outpost, more heavily fortified than any they had yet seen, and with a sign affixed to its gate:
Silo and the Rebel Raiders Page 6
