He propped up Ataba, whose breathing almost rattled. But the priest was smiling, even so.
“I saw the gods,” he panted, “and you did, too, Mau.”
“Thank you,” said Mau.
Ataba looked puzzled. “For what?”
“Not calling me demon boy.”
“Ah, I can be generous in victory.”
“They were made of stone,” said Mau.
“Magic stone! The milk of the world! Have you ever seen so much of it? What human hand could carve it? What mind could imagine them? They are a sign. In the heart of darkness, I have found illumination! I was right!”
“They were stone,” said Mau patiently. “Did you not see the slabs on the floor? There are your god stones! They were made to tread on! They fell into the sea, and you think they are holy!”
“A man in darkness may be misled, it’s true. But in the stones we saw a hint of the truth. The gods made you their tool, boy. You scorned them and spurned them, but the faster you ran from them, the closer you came to them. You—”
“We ought to move,” said Daphne to a distant background of crashing bones. “Even if they can’t get closer, that dust can. Move, I said!”
They obeyed, as wise men do when a woman puts her foot down, and went on along the tunnel at the best speed that Ataba could hobble.
But Daphne hesitated. The crashing tide of Grandfathers was nearly at the stone and, yes, it should be able to stop them, but Mau had sounded too confident, which to her mind meant that even he was not all that certain. He didn’t need to stop, but Ataba was suffering. He actually cares about the old man, she thought. A demon wouldn’t—
Crash… The tumbling bones hit the stone and stopped.
At least, all but one did.
It was probably a rib, she thought later. It sprang out of the mess and into the air like a salmon, and hit the skull of the Grandfather who was perched on the stone; he rocked backward and fell onto the skeleton on the other side of the stone, which fell over.
And that was it, like a trick with dominoes. Crash, crash, crash… the floor was more level here, and the bones rolled faster. Why hadn’t she been expecting something like this? The Grandfathers had been stuck in this moldy cave forever. They wanted to get out!
She ran after the men, before the dust rose. She’d heard that when you took a breath, you breathed in a tiny, tiny amount of everyone who had ever lived, but, she decided, there was no need to do it all at once.
“Run again!” she yelled.
They were already turning to look. Daphne grabbed the old man’s other arm and used him to tow Mau until they had got all six legs sorted out.
The entrance was a little white dot again, a long way off, and after only a few steps Ataba was groaning.
“Leave the lamps here,” panted Mau. “We don’t need them now. I’m going to carry him!”
He scooped up the priest and slung him over his back.
They ran. The dot didn’t seem to get bigger. No one looked back. There was no point. All you could do was face the speck of day and run until your legs screamed.
They only looked at the god statues, thought Daphne, trying to keep her mind off what was crashing down behind them. They should have looked at the walls! But of course they wouldn’t have known what they were looking at! It’s lucky I’m here…in a way.
Something crunched under her foot. She risked a quick glance down and saw little bits of bone bouncing along, overtaking her.
“They’re right behind us!”
“I know,” said Mau. “Run faster!”
“I can’t. The dust is going to get me!”
“Does not happen! Give me your hand!” Mau shifted the weight of the old priest on his back and grabbed her hand, almost jerking her off her feet. Mau’s legs were pounding across the rock as if driven by steam. All she could do was kick at the ground whenever it came near, to stop herself being dragged along it.
Now the circle of daylight was getting closer, and after having been so tiny for so long, it was opening fast. The ancient dust, which stung the skin and choked the throat, ran ahead of them across the ceiling, cutting out the daylight.
—they burst into evening sunlight, suddenly and intensely bright after the gloom of the tunnel. It dazzled the eyes, and Daphne felt herself begin to stumble into the sea of white that had taken the place of the world. Mau must have been blinded too, because he let go of her. There was nothing for it but to put her arms over her head and hope for a soft place to fall.
She staggered and folded up, while the dust of the Grandfathers, free after thousands of years, escaped at last on the wind, streaming away across the mountain.
It would have been nice if she’d heard thousands of little voices fading away as the cloud of dust was scattered to the wind, but to her regret she didn’t. Reality so often fails when it comes to small, satisfying details, she thought.
She could hear people now, and her sight was coming back. She could make out the ground in front of her as she carefully pushed herself up.
The dry, dusty grass crackled softly and someone walked into her view.
There were boots! Big sturdy boots with tight laces, caked with sand and salt! And above the boots, there were trousers! Real, heavy trouserman trousers! She said he would come and he had! Just in time, too!
She stood up, and the shock hit her like a shovel.
“Well, well, your ladyship, here’s a stroke of luck,” said the man, grinning at her. “So the ol’ Judy fetched up here, eh? Who’d have thought the ol’ bugger could manage it. Didn’t do him any good, I see, bein’ as it’s his hat I do see on that darkie’s head. What happened to the old fool? Ate him, did they? And never said no grace aforehand, too, I have no doubt. I bet that made him wild!”
Foxlip! Not the worst of the mutineers, but that didn’t mean much because he had two pistols in his belt, and they don’t care who pulls the trigger.
Most of the islanders were in the clearing. They must have led the men up here. Why shouldn’t they? She’d been saying for weeks that her father would find her. Most of them had probably never even seen a trouserman before.
“Where’s your friend, Mr. Foxlip? Is Mr. Polegrave with you?” she asked, managing a smile.
“Right here, miss,” said a hoarse voice.
She shuddered. Polegrave! And where she could not see him, which was even worse. He’d sidled up behind her, as was his way, the sneaky little worm.
“And will we be joined by Mr. Cox?” she asked, trying to hold on to the smile.
Foxlip looked around the little valley. He was counting people; she could see his lips moving.
“Him? I shot ’im,” said Foxlip.
Liar, she thought. You wouldn’t dare. You’re not that brave. You’re not even that stupid. If you missed, he’d have cut your heart out. Good heavens, a couple of months ago I wouldn’t have been able to even think a sentence like that. How broad can horizons get?
“Well done, you,” she said.
Her thoughts tumbled through her head. Two men with pistols. And they’d fire them, too. If she said the wrong thing, someone would get killed. She had to get them away from here—get them away and remind them that she was valuable to them.
“My father will pay you a great deal if you get me to Port Mercia, Mr. Foxlip,” she said.
“Oh, I daresay there will be a lot of payin’ one way or another, yes, I daresay,” said Foxlip, looking around again. “There’s ways and ways, oh yes. So you’re the queen of the savages, are you? One white girl, all by yourself. Terrible shame. I bet you could do with a bit o’ civilized company, such as might be provided by a pair of gentlemen such as us—well, I say us, but o’ course Mr. Polegrave here does indulge in the questionable habit o’ wiping his boogers on his sleeve, but bishops have been known to do worse.”
And, later on, she thought, It could still have worked if it hadn’t been for Ataba.
He’d seen the gods, in the darkness underground. And now he wa
s spinning with the holy memory. He was out of breath and confused, but he had seen the gods, and all uncertainty had been blown away with the dust of history. They were made of stone, indeed, but they had gleamed in their hidden home, and he was sure they had spoken to him, told him that everything he believed was true, and that in this new world he would be their prophet, delivered out of the darkness on the burning wings of certainty.
And there were…trousermen! The bringers of all that was bad! They were a disease that weakened the soul! They brought steel and beef and infernal devices, which made people lazy and stupid! But now the holy fire had filled him, just in time.
They all heard him scream ancient curses and march across the clearing with his knees clicking loudly. Daphne barely understood any of it. The words tumbled out on top of one another, fighting to be heard. Who knew what his blazing eyes were really seeing as he snatched a spear from a young man and waved it menacingly at Foxlip—
—who shot him dead.
CHAPTER 11
Crimes and Punishments
THE CRACK OF THE PISTOL echoed around the mountain. It was even louder in Daphne’s head. Ataba went over backward, like a falling tree.
Only Milo and Pilu know what’s just happened, she thought. No one else here has even seen a gun before. There was a loud noise and the old man fell over. I might just be able to stop everyone from being killed. Mau was crouched over the body of Ataba, halfway toward getting up. She waved at him frantically to stay down.
Then Foxlip committed suicide. He didn’t know it at the time, but that’s how it started.
He pulled out his other pistol and growled, “Tell ’em not to move. First one who does, he’s a dead darkie. You tell ’em that right now!”
She stepped forward with her hands up. “I know these men! They’re Foxlip and Polegrave! They were crew on the Sweet Judy. They kill people! They shot Mister Wainsly and Mister Plummer! They laughed about it! They—Pilu, tell them what a gun is!”
“They are bad men!” said Milo.
“Yes! They are! And they’ve got more pistols. Look! Stuck in their belts!”
“You mean the spark-makers?” said Mau, still crouched. She could see his muscles, wound up to spring.
Oh dear, thought Daphne, what a time to have a good memory….
“There’s no time to explain. They can point them at you and kill you better than any spear. And they will kill you, do you understand? And they probably won’t kill me. I’d be worth too much. Keep away. This is between…trouser-people!”
“But you pointed one at me—”
“There’s no time to explain!” hissed Daphne.
“You’re talking a good deal too much, missie,” said Foxlip. And just behind Daphne, Polegrave sniggered. She felt the barrel of a pistol pressed into the small of her back.
“Saw a feller shot inna spine once, miss,” the man whispered. “It stuck there, indeed it did. Funny thing was, he started dancin’, right there, legs goin’ like mad and him screaming. Didn’t fall over for ten minutes. Amazin’ thing, nature.”
“Stow that!” said Foxlip, watching the clearing nervously. The islanders had mostly slid away into the bushes, but those who remained did not look too happy. “What did that silly ol’ devil want to get hisself shot for? Now they’re all worked up!”
“Pretty raggedly lot, though,” said Polegrave. “We could hang on ’til the others come—”
“I told you to shut up!”
They don’t know what to do now, Daphne thought. They are stupid and scared. The trouble is, they are stupid and scared with guns. And there’s others coming. Imo made us smart, Mau said. Am I smarter than a stupid man with a gun? Yes, I think I am.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “why don’t we deal with this like civilized people?”
“Are you having a little laugh, your majesty?” said Foxlip.
“Get me to Port Mercia, and my father will give you gold and a pardon. Who’s going to give you a better offer this day? Look at this from a mathematical point of view. You’ve got guns, yes, but how long can you stay awake? There’s a lot more”—she forced the word out—“darkies than you. Even if one man stays awake, he’s only got two shots before his throat is cut. Of course, they might not start with the throat since they are, as you point out, savages and not as civilized as you. You must have a boat here. You don’t dare stay.”
“But you’re our hostage,” said Polegrave.
“You might be mine. I just have to scream. You shouldn’t have shot the priest.”
“That old man was a priest?” said Polegrave, looking panicky. “It’s bad luck to kill a priest!”
“Not heathen ones,” said Foxlip, “and the bad luck was all his, eh?”
“But they got these spells; they can shrink your head—!”
“When did they shrink yours?” said Foxlip. “Don’t be such a damn fool! As for you, princess, you’re coming with us.”
Princess, she thought. That was just like the mutineers. They called her baby names all the time. She hated it. It made her flesh crawl. It was probably meant to.
“No, Mr. Foxlip, I’m not a princess,” she said carefully, “but you’re coming with me all the same. Keep close.”
“And have you lead us into a trap?”
“It’s near sunset. Do you want to be up here in the dark?” She held out a hand and added, “And the rain, too.” A squall had blown in, and the first drops began to fall. “The people here can see in the dark,” she went on. “And they can move as silently as the wind. Their knives are so sharp that they can cut a man’s—”
“Why’s it happening like this?” Polegrave demanded of Foxlip. “I thought you were smart! You said we’d get the best pickings. You told me—”
“And now I’m telling you to shut up.” Foxlip turned to Daphne. “All right, my lady, I’m not falling for that malarkey. We’ll take you off this rock at first light. Might even get you as far as dear old dad. But there’d better be gold at the end of it, or else. No tricks, right?”
“Yeah, we got four loaded pistols, missie,” said Polegrave, waving one at her, “and they’ll stop anything, you hear?”
“They won’t stop the fifth man, Mr. Polegrave.”
She rejoiced in the change in his expression as she turned to Foxlip. “Tricks? From me? No. I want to get home. I don’t know any tricks.”
“Swear on your mother’s life,” said Foxlip.
“What?”
“You always were a stuck-up kid on the Judy. Swear it, like I said. Then I might even believe yer.”
Does he know about my mother? Daphne wondered, calm thoughts floating in a sea of fury. I think poor Captain Roberts did, and I told Cookie, but not even Cookie would gossip about that sort of thing to the likes of Foxlip. But no one is entitled to ask for an oath like that!
Foxlip growled. Daphne had been silent too long for his liking.
“Cat got your tongue?” he said.
“No. But it is an important swear. I had to think about it. I promise I won’t try to run away, I won’t tell you any lies, and I won’t try to deceive you. Is that what you want?”
“And you swear that on your mother’s life?” Foxlip insisted.
“Yes, I do.”
“That’s very handsome of you,” said Foxlip. “Don’t you think so, Mr. Polegrave?”
But Polegrave was watching the dripping forest on either side of the path. “There’s things in there,” he moaned. “There’s stuff creepin’ about!”
“Lions and tigers and elephants, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Foxlip cheerfully. He raised his voice. “But there’s a hair trigger on this pistol, so if I even think I hear a sound out of place, missie will be put to considerable embarrassment. One footfall and she’s ready for the boneyard!”
As soon as Daphne and the two trousermen had rounded a bend in the track and were out of sight, Mau stepped forward.
“We could rush them. The rain’s on our side,” Pilu whispered.
“You heard the big one. I can’t risk her being killed. She saved my life. Twice.”
“I thought you saved her life.”
“Yes, but the first time I saved her life, I saved mine, too. Do you understand? If she hadn’t been here, I’d have held the biggest rock I could find and gone into the dark current. One person is nothing. Two people are a nation.”
Pilu’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. “What are three people?”
“A bigger nation. Let’s catch up to them…carefully.”
And she saved me from Locaha a second time, he thought as they set off again, silent as ghosts in the rain. He’d woken up, his mind full of silver fishes, and the old woman had told him. He’d been running to the white city under the sea, and then Daphne had been there, pulling him up faster than Locaha could swim. Even the old woman had been impressed.
The ghost girl had a plan, and she couldn’t tell him what it was. All they could do, with their sticks and spears, was follow her—
No, they didn’t have to follow her. He knew where she was going. He stared at her, pale in the dusk, as she led the men down the sloping path to the Place.
Who would be in here now? Daphne wondered. She’d seen Mrs. Gurgle up at the cave, because everyone who could walk had been up there. There were some sick people in the far huts, though. She would have to be careful.
She lit some dry grass from the fire outside the hut and cautiously transferred the flame to one of the Judy’s lamps. She did it very carefully, thinking about each movement, because she did not want to think about what she would be doing next. She had to keep herself in two parts. Even so, her hand shook, but a girl had a right to tremble a bit when two men were pointing guns at her.
“Do sit down,” she said. “The mats are not as bad as the ground, at least.”
“Much obliged,” said Polegrave, looking around the hut.
It almost broke her heart. Once upon a time some woman had taught the man his manners, but to thank her he’d grown up to be a weasel, thief, and murderer. And now, when he was worried and ill at ease, an actual bit of politeness drifted up from the depths, like a pure clear bubble from a swamp. It wasn’t going to make things any easier.
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