by Lian Tanner
Grand Duke Karl had told her about times like this. “There are moments in any battle,” he had said, “when you cannot make sense of what is happening. All you can do is trust your instincts. If they tell you to run, then run. If they tell you to attack, then attack. Do not hesitate.”
This wasn’t a battle, but the voice inside Frisia was shouting. (Run!)
Run where?
(To the ship.)
Frisia beckoned to Kord. “We will board immediately. Tell the others.”
As her bodyguard walked away, Frisia grabbed her bow and quiver from the carriage. “Uschi,” she said. “You’re coming with us. Harmut, get her onto the ship.”
Harmut stared at her, startled. “No, she’s not going.”
“Don’t argue,” said Frisia. “I am your princess and I order her to go!”
Uschi poked her tongue out at her brother. “There, you see?”
“Put these in my cabin,” said Frisia, handing the bow and quiver to the younger girl. “Quickly.”
The air was getting lighter by the minute. There was an odd pain behind Frisia’s eyes, as if her thoughts were trying to twist themselves into a different shape.
(BE READY.… BE READY.…)
Ser Wilm was standing beside his carriage, surrounded by his servants. When Frisia ran toward them they swarmed around her, crying out in high voices.
“Your Highness, we want to go with him!”
“We’ve looked after him since he was a baby!”
“Who will watch out for him if we’re not there?”
Frisia was operating purely on instinct now, hardly knowing what she was going to say before she said it. “Ser Wilm. Do your servants have anything that could cut the ropes that tie the Falcon to the wharf?”
Ser Wilm looked hard at her. Around him, a dozen voices fell silent. A dozen pairs of eyes focused on Frisia with sudden interest. A dozen bone-handled knives slid out of purses and sleeves.
“They must do it quickly, and no one must see them,” said Frisia. She wasn’t sure who she meant by “no one,” but Ser Wilm nodded.
“Does this mean we are going with him?” whispered one of the servants.
“Yes,” said Frisia.
They tried to thank her, but she cut them off and pushed them toward the ship.
“Aunt Katerin!” she shouted. “Duchess Orla! Please get on board!”
“But I am not coming with you,” said Aunt Katerin.
“You are now,” said Frisia grimly, and she grabbed her aunt’s arm and dragged her to the bottom of the gangplank.
Back at the carriages, Physician Hoff was deep in conversation with Kord and Smutz. Frisia opened her mouth to summon them.…
(No!)
A chill ran through the princess, and for a moment she could not move. Was that where the danger was coming from? The castle physician? Her personal guards?
Suddenly everything made sense. No wonder the assassins had managed to get so close to the king!
She gripped the hilt of her sword and the wolf-sark rose up hot and terrible inside her. She took a step toward Physician Hoff. Her head throbbed. The eastern horizon was so bright that she could barely look at it.
(Run!)
With a great effort, she spun around and leaped up the gangplank. The captain was still standing there, but there was something bloodless and unreal about him. When she shoved past him he hardly noticed.
“Harmut, Uschi,” snapped Frisia. “Something is about to happen. Be ready.”
Ser Wilm’s servants were busy sawing through the two ropes that tied the Falcon to the wharf. Aunt Katerin was sitting on the bare boards of the deck, licking her hand and wiping it across her hair. Duchess Orla was climbing the rigging that surrounded the mainmast. Her black cloak flapped around her. Her bony hands gripped the ropes like claws.
Frisia felt horribly dizzy. The air around her was fizzing so violently that the whole wharf shimmered. She heard a squeak from Ser Wilm’s servants as the bow rope parted and the front end of the ship swung away from the wharf. With a loud splash, the gangplank tumbled into the harbor.
As if in a dream, Frisia saw Kord’s head jerk up. He shouted to Smutz and Physician Hoff, and the three of them began to run toward the ship.
At that moment, the first ray of morning sunlight touched the top of the mast. And the whole world burst open like a bubble.
She had no idea who she was. All she knew was that she lay on the wooden deck of a ship, gasping with shock. Around her, everything was chaos. A boy with a bandaged head was leaning over the rail, vomiting. A girl was crying silently. In the stern, another boy, a much smaller one, stared at his hands as if he couldn’t work out who they belonged to.
She heard a harsh croak overhead. An enormous black bird hung upside down from the rigging, its great wings fluttering helplessly. Beneath it a gray-spotted cat snarled and spat.
Who was she?
Frisia?
No …
Who, then?
She tried to stand up and the world spun. A different name presented itself to her.
Goldie.
She was … Goldie someone …
Goldie—Goldie Roth!
With an enormous effort, she dragged herself to her feet and peered around the little deck. She was on the Piglet! How did she get there?
And then she remembered. The Festival … Pounce’s treachery … Guardian Hope … the Big Lie!
She stumbled to the rail, half expecting to see the ancient harbor of Merne still spread out in front of her. But Merne was gone, and so were the old-fashioned carriages and the royal guards. In their place were the busy docks of Spoke.
And there was Guardian Hope, sitting on the ground, looking sick. But Cord—Cord was staggering toward the ship with his pistol in his hand and Smudge close behind him.
In the back of Goldie’s mind a voice cried, The stern rope!
Goldie almost fell over with astonishment. That was Frisia’s voice! What was the princess’s voice doing inside her head?
With her thoughts whirling, she raced down the deck to the stern of the Piglet. Something whacked against her leg and she glanced down. Frisia’s sword was there too!
Goldie swallowed. No time to think about it, not now! “Out of the way!” she cried, and half a dozen white mice leaped off the stern rope and dived into Mouse’s jacket.
As Goldie drew the sword from its sheath, heat surged inside her, so that she felt as if she were on fire. She raised the sword in both hands, then slashed downward. With a loud twang, the rope parted and the Piglet slid away from the wharf.
Too late! Cord and Smudge had leaped across the gap and were clinging to the netting.
“Morg!” screamed Goldie. “Toadspit!”
There was an answering shout as Toadspit ran toward her, with Morg flapping above him. Cord took one hand off the netting and fired his pistol twice. Morg squawked and threw herself high into the air. Toadspit dived for cover behind the deckhouse.
The fire inside Goldie burned from her heels to the crown of her head. Something roared in her throat, and a red mist descended upon her, so thick and murky that she no longer knew where she was. All she could think of was blood. All she could see was the enemy in front of her, flinging his leg over the side of the ship.
In a mad fury, she raised the sword again.…
Something brushed her arm. She swung around. Who DARES touch me?
She saw Mouse’s white, terrified face and tried to stop. But the sword had taken on a life of its own. It sliced through the air toward the little boy!
Goldie fought the sword with all her strength. She fought the fire and the red mist. She clawed her way toward the tiny speck of normalcy that still lay deep within her.…
The heavy sword stopped, a hairsbreadth from Mouse’s neck.
For a moment Goldie could not move. Inside her, Frisia’s voice hissed furious instructions. Kill the boarders! NOW!
With a cry of revulsion, Goldie threw the sword as far away a
s she could. As it clattered to the deck, Cord and Smudge surged over the rail.
Cord didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Goldie and held his pistol to her head. “Hey, Toadboy,” he shouted. “Come ’ere. And bring yer sister.”
There was a silence—a terrible silence. Goldie looked up in time to see Toadspit shuffle around the side of the deckhouse. His head drooped, his bandage was awry, and all the fierce stubbornness that made him who he was seemed to have drained out of him. Even when he was unconscious in the sewer, he had not looked so—so lost.
Goldie jammed her bruised knuckles against her mouth. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. The ship rocked in the swell.
“I said, bring yer sister,” snarled Cord.
Toadspit blinked, as if he had only just realized that someone was talking to him. He raised a trembling hand. He pointed to the gap in the rail where the gangplank had been. “She fell,” he croaked. “The bullet—you missed me—and hit her. She fell—in the water. She’s—gone.”
His voice broke. A tear rolled down his face. He sank to his knees and began to sob. From somewhere in the clouds high overhead, a harsh voice echoed, “Go-o-o-ne. Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-ne.”
Goldie felt Mouse’s fingers slide quietly into hers. She stared at Toadspit, trying to see—
“No,” she whispered. “Not Bonnie.” And she too began to cry.
“Show me,” said Cord.
“There’s nothing to see,” mumbled Toadspit.
“I said, show me!” And Cord belted Toadspit across the head with the back of his hand. A trickle of blood seeped from under Toadspit’s bandage.
The three children stumbled along the deck at gunpoint to where Bonnie had stood a moment before. The cat crouched next to the covered dinghy, watching them. Cord scanned the deck, then bent down and peered suspiciously at a streak of blood on the boards.
“Could be yours,” he said to Toadspit.
“Don’t think so, Cord,” said Smudge, who was squinting over the rail at the water. “Look at that black thing floatin’ down there. It’s a shoe, a little ’un. Looks like the ones the girl was wearin’. Want me to fetch it up?”
“Nah, don’t bother.” Cord’s lips drew back from his teeth in a vicious smile. “So she’s dead, eh? Oh dear. What a pity.”
“My little sister,” whispered Toadspit. “My poor little sister.”
Cord straightened up, his smile gone, his face as tight as a wire. “Search ’em, Smudge,” he said. “Then take us back to the wharf. We don’t wanna keep Flense waitin’.”
Smudge searched the two boys. But when he came to Goldie he hesitated. “Hey, Cord. Is she still a princess?”
“Don’t be stupid,” hissed Cord. “Search ’er, or you’ll feel me fist.”
Smudge patted Goldie’s pockets gingerly and found Toadspit’s knife. His eye fell on the sword and he picked it up. “Hey, look what I got! If that demon cat comes near me I’m gunna slit its gullet.”
Cord whacked him across the ear. “Get below, ya moron. Start the engine. Bring us back to the wharf.”
“Ow!” said Smudge, looking reproachfully at the other man. “Ya didn’t need to do that.”
He disappeared below deck. A moment later there was a hiss of gas and the engine rumbled to life. Smudge came back up, still clutching the sword, and took the tiller. The Piglet began to turn.
Cord shoved the children up against the mainmast, then backed toward the rail, pointing his pistol at them. From the clouds above, Goldie heard a mournful, fading cry. “Go-o-o-o-o-ne.”
She gripped Toadspit’s arm, as if she were having trouble standing up on her own. It was not so far from the truth. Her fingers tapped out a name. Bonnie?
Below, signed Toadspit. Hiding.
Goldie let out her breath in a long sigh. She had hoped desperately that it was a trick. But Toadspit had been so convincing that even suspicious Cord had believed him. And the shoe had worried her.…
Blood? she signed.
Mine.
Shoe?
Bonnie’s. Threw it.
The ship bumped against the wharf. “Hey, Flense,” shouted Cord over his shoulder. “Come and give us a hand. And watch out for that stinkin’ bird. It’s still around somewhere.”
Guardian Hope scrambled over the rail, puffing and grumbling. “You took your time. And they nearly got away. Where’s—” She caught sight of Goldie and her mouth fell open. “Golden Roth! I should have known!”
She stomped forward until her furious face almost touched Goldie’s. “Still interfering in the Fugleman’s business, I see,” she hissed. “Well, this is the last time, I promise you that. The very last time!”
She glared at Toadspit too, and Mouse. “Where’s the other girl, Bonnie?” she snapped.
Cord pointed to the water. “I shot ’er.”
Guardian Hope’s face seemed to swell. “You idiot! What are they going to think when they find her with a bullet in her?”
Cord pretended not to hear the question. He took a splinter of wood from his pocket and began to pick his teeth.
“Well?” demanded Guardian Hope.
Cord’s eyes glittered. He spat on the deck, right next to Guardian Hope’s foot. “You don’t know these waters real good, do ya, Flense? There’s a shark nursery out there.” He nodded toward the mouth of the bay. “Me an’ me brothers used to fish it when we was snotties. Ya chuck in a bit of bait and next thing ya know they’re all round the boat. That girl’ll be nothin’ but bones by now.”
“Will she?” said Guardian Hope, with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Will she indeed?”
Goldie glanced at Toadspit. There was no need to say anything. They could both see what was being planned for them. They must escape, and they must do it quickly.
But escape was looking more and more unlikely. Guardian Hope tied the children to the mainmast, tugging at the knots to make sure they were secure.
“Smudge,” she said, “keep us next to the wharf. Cord, I have some new instructions for you.”
As Cord followed Guardian Hope to the rail, a familiar sound drifted to Goldie’s ears.
Drums. A bombardon. A trombone playing out of tune.
“It’s the band,” she whispered. “The Festival is still going.”
“What band?” breathed Toadspit.
“Look. There!”
The musicians were shuffling along the wharf toward the Piglet. Their playing was as bad as ever, but the crowd following them didn’t seem to care. Goldie saw someone throw half a dozen buns. Sweetapple dived after them, and so did a group of masked snotties. The music stopped. The bandmaster grabbed one of the snotties and shouted at him. The boy seemed to be arguing. Or maybe pleading.
Goldie felt Mouse stiffen beside her. “What?” she whispered.
Mouse shook his head. Nothing.
As the band drew level with the Piglet, Cord’s jaw twitched. He muttered something to Guardian Hope and leaped over the rail onto the wharf.
The bandmaster had been bouncing along with his mask pushed up on his forehead. Now he stopped in his tracks. Sweetapple bumped into him. Dodger bumped into Sweetapple. They began to complain—then they too saw Cord. The music faltered and died. The crowd melted away, as if people could see there was going to be trouble and didn’t want any part in it. Only the snotties lingered curiously in the background, their masks turned toward the bandmaster.
He was staring at Cord with a look of terror on his face. Goldie remembered his desperate words the last time she saw him. “You’ve signed my death warrant, and that of all my fellows!”
It was true, she realized. The musicians had been an important part of the diversion when she rescued Bonnie and Toadspit. They hadn’t known they were a diversion, not until it was too late. But who would believe that? Certainly not Cord.
In the back of Goldie’s mind, Frisia’s voice whispered, A warrior always pays her debts.
Cord pushed past Dodger and grabbed the bandmaster’s arm. The bandmaster sagged,
as if all the air had gone out of him. With a yellow smile, Cord raised his pistol.…
“Hey, you,” shouted Goldie. The bandmaster’s head jerked in fright.
It’s still the Festival, Goldie reminded herself. Everything I say has to be back to front.
“Thank you so much for helping me,” she cried through gritted teeth. “You were so kind. All that information you gave me.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “It was extremely valuable. In fact, it’s got nothing to do with why we ended up here.”
The bandmaster’s mouth formed an O of surprise. Cord was taken aback too. Goldie could see his confusion.
The bandmaster recovered first. He straightened his coat and sneered at Goldie. “Pleased to have been able to help you, my dear. I, of course, am quite willing to betray my former colleagues. And I’m terribly sorry to see that you’ve got your comeuppance.”
Cord sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Guardian Hope leaned over the side of the ship, her face a picture of outrage. “What’s this? He betrayed us? And now he’s boasting about it? Give him a good whipping, Cord, for playing false with his betters. Then kill him.”
The bandmaster shot her a look of sheer loathing. But Cord spat on the dock and shook his head. “It’s just Festival talk, Flense. Don’t worry about it.” And he thumped the bandmaster on the arm in a more or less friendly fashion and turned away.
The bandmaster hesitated for just a second, then lunged after him, his chains rattling. “Going on a journey, Cord? We didn’t get much food this morning. Awful rubbish, most of it. I’d hate to give you some. A few bags of nasty little pastries for the trip, maybe? I didn’t smell rabbit in some of them. You always disliked rabbit, if I remember rightly.”
He glanced up at Goldie and she thought she saw the ghost of a wink.
“Nah, don’t want any,” said Cord, obviously pleased.
“Ho, boys!” shouted the bandmaster. “I don’t need a few of you to carry some provisions on board ship for me.”
The masked snotties surged forward in a mass, pushing each other out of the way. Old Snot, the bombardon player, and Dodger each took a bag from underneath their coats and reluctantly handed it over.
“Steal as many as you like, lads,” said the bandmaster to the snotties. “I’m sure Cord here won’t mind. He’s got a nature as sweet as a butterfly’s kiss.”
