by Lian Tanner
In the back of Goldie’s mind, the princess’s voice whispered, Divide his forces.
“We’ll have to divide his forces,” said Goldie. And then she bit her tongue, because she had spoken without thinking, and everyone was suddenly looking at her, even Broo and the cat, who had been glaring at each other from opposite ends of the table.
Goldie tried to catch up with her thoughts, which were partly hers and partly Princess Frisia’s. In the depths of her mind, lessons in military strategy collided with a tall, redhaired mercenary and his companions. Behind her eyes, the armies of ancient Merne rubbed up against two Blessed Guardians called Kindness and Meek.
And then, with a click like the cocking of a rifle, it all came together. Goldie picked up a crust of bread and tore it in two. “The Blessed Guardians”—she held up one piece of bread— “and the mercenaries”—she held up the other piece— “already dislike each other. We saw that tonight. We must work on that dislike, drive a wedge between them. Make them loathe each other. If we can do that, we’re halfway to beating them already.”
She popped both scraps of bread into her mouth—and stopped. The three adult keepers were staring at her as if they had never seen her before.
“What?” she said.
Toadspit grinned. “You sounded exactly like Princess Frisia.”
“Like who?” said Olga Ciavolga.
“I did not!” Goldie reddened, wondering what had given her away.
“You did,” said Bonnie. “Sort of bossy and clever.”
“What are you talking about?” said Olga Ciavolga.
Toadspit laughed. “Ver y bossy—”
“Answer me!” Olga Ciavolga banged her fist on the table so hard that everyone jumped. “What do you know about Princess Frisia? Why are you saying these things?”
“But we told you about the Big Lie,” said Goldie. Then she stopped in confusion. We haven’t told them! she realized. We were so pleased to get back safely, and so worried about the Protector . . . They don’t know any of it!
In the end, it was Toadspit who began the story. He described how Bonnie had been snatched off the streets of Jewel by two men working for the mysterious Harrow, and how he and Goldie had followed them and stowed away on the Piglet. When he got to the part where he too had been captured and drugged into unconsciousness, Goldie took over.
With a shiver she described the voyage to Spoke and the search for her friends in a strange city. And how Mouse had befriended her and told her fortune.
On the other side of the table, Mouse smiled his sweet smile, and Herro Dan shook his hand and gave him a second bowl of soup. Sinew picked up his harp and played a lonely string of notes, with a bright chord of friendship at the end.
The story was a complicated one, and Goldie had to backtrack several times to make sure she had left nothing out. But at last she came to the part where she had rescued her friends, only to have Guardian Hope trap them all in a disused sewer—
“Guardian Hope?” said Sinew, looking up from his harp with a frown. “The very same Guardian Hope we know and love? Are you sure it was her?”
Goldie rolled her eyes at the thought of anyone loving Guardian Hope, and nodded.
Bonnie wriggled in her chair. “She was going to drown us! She had orders from Harrow, because we knew too much. But Goldie saved us by telling a Big Lie, and that’s how we ended up in—”
“Hang on,” said Herro Dan, holding up his hand. “Back up a bit, lass. What did you know that was important enough to kill you for?”
“The true identity of Harrow,” said Toadspit.
And he told them.
Olga Ciavolga’s eyes narrowed to furious slits. Sinew played a sequence of notes that made the hair on Goldie’s neck stand up.
“Well, that makes sense at last,” said Herro Dan through gritted teeth. “Keep goin’, Bonnie. You were sayin’ that Goldie saved you.”
By the time Bonnie had finished explaining about the Big Lie and the sword and the bow, and how Guardian Hope was probably dead at last, Mouse was yawning and the cat had tucked itself into a warm spot next to the stove. Its eyes were closed, but its ears followed Broo as he leaned toward Goldie, his nostrils flaring.
“A warrior princess?” rumbled the brizzlehound. “That is why I did not know you earlier. You look like a friend, but you smell like a stranger.”
Goldie’s cheeks burned. She hated holding things back from her fellow keepers, and for a moment she thought that perhaps she would just tell them and get it over with. She sat forward in her chair—
But before she could speak, Herro Dan rubbed his chin and said, “I’ve heard of all sorts of things comin’ out of a Big Lie. Leftover smells, a sword, a bow—that’s nothin’ to worry about. But every now and again someone comes out the other end as mad as a quignog. They’ve got another life still stuck inside ’em and it tears ’em apart. You can never trust ’em again. I’m glad that didn’t happen to you young ’uns.”
Goldie sat back, feeling sick. If she tried to tell them about Princess Frisia and the wolf-sark now, they’d think she was mad. As mad as a quignog! They wouldn’t trust her anymore, and who could blame them—she hardly trusted herself. They might even decide that she could no longer be Fifth Keeper!
Mouse was watching her. He knew there was something wrong. She avoided his eyes and said to the brizzlehound, “That’s all it is, Broo, a leftover smell. I’m me. I’m not a princess anymore. I’m just me.”
“Well, I wish you were still Frisia,” said Bonnie. “When she fought the Graf von Nagel, she shot an arrow right through his heart. If you were the princess you could shoot the Fugleman!”
“Or I could challenge him to a duel,” said Toadspit. His hand caressed the hilt of his sword. “And kill him.”
Olga Ciavolga shook her head. “Think carefully before you get blood on your hands, all of you. It does not wash off easily. I was there at that final battle with von Nagel, and I tell you, I would not wish to go there again.”
Goldie stared at Olga Ciavolga in astonishment. She had always known that the senior keepers of the Museum of Dunt were far older than they looked. But the battle with von Nagel was five hundred years ago!
“You were there?” breathed Toadspit. “In a proper battle? Will you tell us about it?”
“No, I will not,” said Olga Ciavolga shortly.
Goldie leaned forward again, her heart thumping. “Did you know Princess Frisia, Olga Ciavolga? What was she like?”
For a moment the old woman said nothing. Then she heaved a sigh. “She was self-centered and ruthless. Not a nice person.”
“Oh,” said Goldie, wishing she hadn’t asked.
“You’re not bein’ fair,” said Herro Dan. “The girl had her strengths.”
Olga Ciavolga inclined her head. “I suppose she did. She was a fine warrior.”
“What happened to her?” asked Toadspit, excitement shining in his eyes.
“She died on the battlefield.” And with that, Olga Ciavolga pressed her lips together and would say nothing more, no matter how much Toadspit begged.
But when Goldie yawned and stood up, still clutching her secrets, the old woman followed her out of the kitchen.
At first they walked in silence through the dusty rooms, past suits of armor, stuffed birds, gilt-framed paintings, and an endless line of whirring, ticking clocks. But then Olga Ciavolga stopped and said, “You did well in Spoke. I am proud of you, child. You did well tonight too, and tomorrow after you have seen your parents we will discuss exactly how we should go about dividing our enemies. But for now, tell me. The bow, the sword, the scent of a princess. Were these the only things to come out of the Big Lie?”
Her eyes were so sharp that Goldie felt transparent. Nonetheless, she nodded. “That’s all. There was nothing else.”
The clock behind her hiccupped in protest, then fell silent. Olga Ciavolga said, “Indeed. Good night, then.”
“Good night,” said Goldie. And she walked away, knowing that the old woman
stood and watched her go.
Meanwhile, down by the docks, in one of Jewel’s many warehouses, Pounce was building himself a hidey-hole. He had thought of going back to the Piglet to sleep, but it was too far away and he was too tired and crabby. As he dragged a battered old crate into a corner and patched it with cardboard to keep out the cold, he muttered to himself.
“How am I s’posed to find ’im in a strange city, eh? How am I s’posed to know where to look? ’E could be anywhere. I could spend the rest of me life searchin’ for ’im!”
He climbed into the crate to inspect it, then scrambled out again. The cardboard wasn’t enough. He needed something warmer.
“I bet Mousie’s sorry now that ’e took off,” he mumbled. “I bet ’e’s hidin’ in a doorway somewhere, wishin’ he was back with ’is old mate Pounce.”
He shivered, only partly from the cold, and peered around the warehouse. It was filled with boxes, piled one on top of the other and as easy to crack open as an oyster. Pounce ignored them. He squeezed his thin body out the window he had entered earlier and broke into the next building but one. There, after a bit of hunting, he found a bale of brand-new black woolen robes.
“Mm, not bad,” he said. He took a dozen of the robes, resealed the bale so that it looked untouched, and headed back to what he was already beginning to think of as his own warehouse. Before long, his hidey-hole was as warm and squishy as a nest of rats. He snuggled down in the black robes, whispering reassurances to himself.
“I bet I find ’im tomorrow. Or the day after, at the latest. No need to worry. Everythin’s gunna turn out all right.”
The trouble was, Pounce’s whole life up until now had taught him that things didn’t turn out all right. In fact, they usually went as badly as they possibly could, and then took a turn for the worse.
What if he couldn’t find Mouse tomorrow, or the day after? Or what if he could find him and the little boy didn’t want to be his friend anymore? What if Mouse was sick of boats and sewers and not knowing where his next meal was coming from and had run away from Pounce forever?
“No,” said Pounce quickly. “He made a mistake, that’s all. Or—or maybe Goldie and Toadspit stole ’im away somehow, while me back was turned! Yeah, I bet that’s what ’appened!”
He grinned viciously and took the pistol from his belt. “Well, they ain’t gunna keep ’im. I’ll grab ’im back from under their noses. And if they try to stop me, I’ll shoot ’em!”
A yawn took hold of him. “Don’t worry, Mousie,” he murmured as he fell toward sleep, still clutching the pistol. “I’m comin’ to save ya. ’Cos you and me is friends, and we gotta stick together. We don’t care about no one else, do we? It’s just Pounce and Mouse. Always ’as been, always will be. Everyone else is . . .” Yaaaaawn. “. . . trouble.”
Reunion and parting
Early next morning, Toadspit, Bonnie, and Goldie muffled their faces with scarves and winter hats and went down into the city.
The streets were not as quiet as they had been the night before, but the fear was still there. People hurried to the markets or to their jobs, peering nervously over their shoulders and falling silent whenever they saw a squad of mercenaries.
“Look how scared everyone is,” whispered Bonnie. “Isn’t it horrible!”
“We’d better copy them,” said Toadspit. And although they were almost bursting with excitement at the thought of seeing their parents at last, the children hunched their shoulders and peeped anxiously from under their hats until they looked as timid as everyone else.
When they came to the Fallen Bridge, which was not fallen at all, but spanned Gunboat Canal in a graceful arc of bluestone, they separated. Toadspit and Bonnie hurried toward their house, and Goldie continued along Misery Street, which led to the Plaza of the Forlorn.
Now that she was alone, her excitement had turned to worry. The last time she had seen Pa, he had been suffering from dreadful nightmares, and Ma had had a hacking cough that showed no sign of getting better. Goldie had only been gone for a few weeks, but a lot could have happened in that time.
She slipped in the front door of her apartment, her feet making no sound on the tiled floor. “Pa?” she called softly. “Ma?”
There was a cry from her parents’ bedroom, and Ma came flying out with her hand over her mouth. When she saw Goldie she stopped and jammed her eyes shut, as if she didn’t dare look.
“Are you—are you real?” she whispered. Her eyelids fluttered. “I’ve dreamed about you so many times, and woken with my heart in tatters. I’m not sure I can bear to do it again.”
“Ma,” said Goldie, hurrying toward her. “It’s me! Look! It’s really me!”
But it was not until she was folded in a bear hug that Ma could be persuaded to open her eyes. Then she began to cry. “Oh, my lovely girl, how we missed you! Are you all right? Where have you been? That vile Fugleman—”
She stopped and glanced at the wall of the adjoining apartment. “Frow Edel,” she mouthed. “I think she sometimes listens to us!”
She put her lips closer to Goldie’s ear. “The Fugleman said you were in Spoke. Only of course he didn’t know that it was you and Toadspit and Bonnie; the Protector made sure of that. So what he said was, the missing children were in Spoke. Only then something went wrong, and he said that the missing children were probably”—her voice broke—“probably dead and that it was the Protector’s fault! I didn’t believe a word of it. Not a word! But still— Oh, my sweet!”
Tears flooded down her face, and down Goldie’s face too. “You’ve shrunk, Ma,” she whispered. “Your cough’s not worse, is it?”
“No, my cough’s the same as ever. And your Pa is no better and no worse.”
Goldie held her mother at arm’s length. “But you have shrunk.”
“No, dearling, you’ve grown. You’re getting more like my sister Praise every day.” Ma touched the little blue bird that was pinned inside Goldie’s collar. “You know, I thought you had disappeared, just like she did so long ago, and it broke my heart. But here you are. And you’ve still got Praise’s brooch! I thought you might have lost it, after all that has happened.”
“I’ll never lose it,” whispered Goldie. “It gives me courage.”
Ma hiccupped a laugh. “Courage? Dear me, that’s something you never lacked! Oh, I wish your pa was here! He’s gone to the markets—he should be back any minute. Now tell me exactly what happened to you. No, better wait until Pa arrives. Just tell me a little bit. How’s Bonnie? And Toadspit? Are they safely home too?”
It was impossible not to start telling the story. Goldie had just reached the point where Toadspit was captured, when the front door opened and Pa stood, frozen with shock, on the threshold.
There were more tears then, and more explanations. Pa had shrunk a little too, and there were new lines on his forehead, but his chest was still broad and comforting and his eyes were growing happier by the moment.
When Ma had made hot chocolate, and Pa had rummaged in the shopping baskets and brought out a tea cake, Goldie started again at the beginning of her story. Her voice was no more than a murmur, but when she came to the part about Harrow, she lowered it even farther.
“There are two important things you should know about him,” she whispered. “First, he was behind the bomb that exploded in Jewel last year.”
Ma gasped. That bomb had killed one child and wounded several others, and the city’s militia had never found out who was responsible.
“And second—” Goldie paused dramatically. “Harrow is really the Fugleman!”
Total silence greeted her words. Ma and Pa stared at her, then at each other. Goldie began to worry that they might not believe her. “I promise you—”
“I knew it!” Ma thumped her fist into the palm of her hand. “I knew he was rotten! Didn’t I say so? The scoundrel! The treacherous, lying—”
“Shhhhh!” said Pa. “Shhhhhhhhhh!” But at the same time, he was nodding. “We’ve been hearing suc
h stories,” he whispered to Goldie. “The most ridiculous one is that it was the Protector who set off the bomb last year, in league with the militia. According to some people, the Fugleman was forced to hire the mercenaries and take over the city in order to stop her!” He snorted. “You wouldn’t think that anyone could believe such nonsense, but they do.”
“Frow Edel told me just yesterday,” whispered Ma, “that all the old stories about the Fugleman were lies put about by his enemies. She thinks he’s a wonderful man and so forgiving of those who have tried to harm him!” Ma rolled her eyes. “The woman is an idiot.”
“And there are far too many like her,” whispered Pa. “Those of us who have been in the House of Repentance know better than to trust the Fugleman. But others—”
“They long for a return to safety and stability,” said Ma. “And he promises it.”
Goldie knew how persuasive the Fugleman could be, so she wasn’t surprised that people were once again falling for his lies. But she was surprised when Pa folded his arms and said, “We can’t let him get away with this.”
“Now that we know the truth, we must tell people,” agreed Ma.
“No!” said Goldie quickly. “It’s too dangerous.”
Pa raised his eyebrows. “I never thought I would hear you say such a thing.” He turned to Ma. “Are you sure this is our daughter and not an imposter?”
Goldie blushed. “I mean—I thought you could come back to the museum with me. You’ll be safer there.”
“While you do what?” said Pa.
“Well—”
“Exactly,” said Ma. “Are you going to sit with your hands folded while Jewel is overrun with lies and cruelty? Of course not! So why should we?”
Goldie wracked her brains for a way to dissuade them. “You might be imprisoned again!”
Pa’s eyes were sober and perhaps a little frightened, but he smiled quietly. “We survived the House of Repentance once, dearling. If necessary, we will survive it a second time.”
There was little more to be said. Pa pulled out his pocket watch and reminded Goldie that she was due to meet Toadspit and Bonnie soon. Ma wrapped the remains of the tea cake in waxed paper, with instructions to make sure that Herro Dan, Olga Ciavolga, and Sinew got at least one slice each.
