Path of Beasts

by Lian Tanner

  He laughed again.

  And in the middle of his laughter, the third brizzlehound, who had one white ear and was not a phantasm after all, opened his great jaws and snapped the Fugleman’s neck.

  Salvation is a double-edged sword

  Sinew found some rope that the mercenaries had left behind, and bound Guardian Hope tightly. Olga Ciavolga stitched Toadspit’s leg while he bit his lip and tried hard not to cry out, and Bonnie and her parents winced until the stitching was done.

  Goldie sat on the remains of a chimney, stunned by what had just happened. Pa wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest, unable to speak.

  “You know there’s not a prison that could’ve held him,” murmured Ma, nodding toward the Fugleman’s corpse, which Herro Dan had covered with the parley flag. “He would’ve charmed the bars themselves into stepping aside and letting him through.”

  Goldie knew Ma was right. But the stunned feeling would not go away. She felt as if all her nerve endings were laid bare, so that the city and the museum wrapped around her as tightly as Pa’s arms. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see Frow Carrion rumbling across Old Arsenal Bridge on its way out of Jewel. She saw the last soldier and the last rat dive through the Dirty Gate. She felt the Gate slam shut behind them.

  It’s finished, she told herself. It’s over.

  And yet somehow it wasn’t. The museum was still restless, and all around her the air crackled, as if something important hung in the balance.

  Perhaps it was to do with the phantasms, which were gathering in the plaza once more, stiff-legged and snarling. Goldie thought she was too weary to care.

  But then the cat rubbed against her leg, and Morg flew down to join them. A moment later, Broo loped toward them with his breath huffing out in clouds.

  “The mercenaries and the Guardians are gone,” rumbled Broo. “They will not return. But now—”

  “That’s good,” said Goldie, trying not to notice the blood on Broo’s jaws, and failing. She forced herself to smile, knowing that the brizzlehound had only done what was in his nature and that she was not sorry. The Fugleman had brought his fate upon himself. Justice had been done.

  “But now,” continued Broo, “there is a problem.”

  Behind him, five hundred phantom brizzlehounds raised their hackles and growled on such a deep note that Goldie could feel it vibrating in her chest.

  “Prrrrrroblem,” said the cat, and five hundred idle-cats wailed in angry agreement.

  Auntie Praise strode through them, looking as if phantasms were something she dealt with every day of her life. “Am I imagining things,” she said, “or are these brutes about to declare war on each other? Goldie, can you stop them?”

  Toadspit hopped over to the ruined chimney, with Bonnie supporting him. And the next minute everyone was gathered in front of Goldie, expecting her to do something.

  “They’re mortal enemies,” Goldie said slowly, trying to collect her wits. “I—I think they only came together to save the museum.”

  “And now that threat’s gone, they’re ready to turn on each other,” said Herro Dan. He eyed the great beasts warily. “They might only be phantasms, but they’ve got me scared. You’d best send ’em back where they came from, lass, as quick as you can.”

  Goldie nodded and beckoned to Broo and the cat. “Will they talk to me?” she whispered.

  “We will ask them,” said Broo. And he and the cat trotted across the space that separated them from the phantasms.

  When they returned, they brought a single brizzlehound with them. He was bigger than his companions, and his ghostly frame seemed to blot out half the night sky. Close by—but not too close—stalked an equally big idle-cat, its tail twitching like knotted rope.

  The two creatures were so ancient and wild and terrible that the words Goldie had been planning to say dried up in her throat. Even Auntie Praise blanched when she saw them, and Guardian Hope, who was tied up nearby, began to sob with fear, great fat tears oozing down her cheeks like treacle. Only Mouse edged forward, an expression of awe on his face.

  The brizzlehound bent his massive head toward Goldie. “We have done what we were summoned to do.” His voice rumbled across the cobblestones and out into the listening night. “What more do you want from us, human?”

  Goldie gulped. “W-will you go back now?”

  The idle-cat’s ears flattened. The brizzlehound sniffed Goldie’s hair. “You are the one who brought us out of the deep caves?”

  “Yes,” whispered Goldie.

  “But now you are different.”

  “Um—yes.” The terrors of the Beast Road, the wolf-sark that had saved her, the mad frenzy of the sword fight— Goldie felt as if they had happened to someone else.

  She fought down her fear and asked again. “Will you go?” The brizzlehound shook his head. “The one—” “You must,” interrupted Olga Ciavolga sharply. “This is no

  place for you.”

  But the brizzlehound had not finished. “The one who leads us out of the deep caves must lead us back again. That is the nature of the Beast Road.”

  Goldie sighed inwardly. Her whole body ached, and she wasn’t sure if she could walk anywhere, much less as far as the Devil’s Kitchen. Nonetheless, she began to rise.

  Herro Dan’s big hand came down on her shoulder. “Exactly how far does she have to lead you?” he said in a suspicious voice. “To the beginnin’ of the tunnel, where the Beast Road starts?”

  “Faaarrrther,” said the idle-cat. “Mmmuch faaaarrrrther.” Goldie felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach.

  “You mean I have to go back along the Beast Road?” “No!” cried Ma.

  “Definitely not!” said Sinew.

  “They want you to walk it again?” cried Pa incredulously.

  “Is that what the creature is saying?”

  “Not a chance,” said Herro Dan.

  Olga Ciavolga’s voice rose hard and sharp above the others.

  “She survived the Beast Road once, and that was miracle enough. She would not survive it a second time.”

  “Then we will stay here,” said the brizzlehound in a cavernous voice. “It makes no difference to us.”

  Behind him, the great hounds stirred, like the beginnings of a forest fire. The idle-cats spat at them, and they growled back and bunched their great muscles. The city held its breath, and so did the museum.

  Goldie struggled free of Pa’s arms. “No, wait! Don’t fight! You’ll terrify people! You must go back!”

  “I will take them,” said Broo.

  The cat pushed in front of him. “Meeeee!”

  “Not yooouu,” said the idle-cat, glowering down at its small relation. It raised a ghostly paw and swiped at Goldie’s cheek. “Sheeee is the one.”

  Ma clamped her hand over her mouth and stifled a sob. Pa grabbed hold of Goldie again and said, very loudly, “I won’t allow it! My girl is not going back there!”

  “I agree,” said Auntie Praise. She glared at the other keepers. “You lot sort something out. But don’t expect Goldie to fix this. She’s done enough.”

  Herro Dan shook his head. “We don’t expect her to fix it, lass. Like you say, she’s done enough already, and Toadspit too. But—”

  He and Olga Ciavolga caught each other’s eye. Something passed between them.

  “But what?” whispered Goldie. No one spoke. “But what?” Olga Ciavolga turned to the two great beasts, her face pale.

  “You are flesh and blood in the deep caves, are you not?” “Fleeesh and blooood,” agreed the idle-cat.

  “And out here you are phantasms?”

  “Yesssss.”

  “So what is this?” And the old woman pointed at the rubble-strewn ground.

  At first all Goldie could see was boot marks and the tracks of Frow Carrion, and she did not understand what Olga Ciavolga was talking about.

  But then she saw the new indents—the ones with the slash of claws around them and pads the
size of dinner plates. The ones that were appearing right before her eyes.

  She went cold with horror. This was the thing that still hung in the balance, the thing that made the air crackle and the chimney shake beneath her.

  The brizzlehounds and the idle-cats were becoming real. “Herro Dan?” she whispered. “Why are they—” “Dunno, lass.” The old man sounded as tired as Goldie.

  “Maybe they’ve stayed out here too long. Maybe it’s somethin’ in the air, or somethin’ else we can’t even begin to guess at. These are old, old mysteries.” His voice cracked. “We don’t expect— Not you. Not again.”

  Goldie could not speak. She knew what she should say, for the sake of everyone in the city, but the words would not form on her tongue.

  I’ve done enough, she thought. I’ve done enough!

  With that she found her voice and said, “I—I don’t think I can—”

  But the city was listening to her. She could feel it, every bridge and canal and cobblestone waiting on her decision. And almost before she knew it, she found herself saying, “Maybe—maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, going back a second time. At least I’d know what to expect.”

  “No,” said Pa, his eyes fixed on those awful paw prints. “You’re not going and that’s the end of it.”

  The thing that hung in the balance shifted to one side. The idle-cats raised their heads as if they could smell blood. Flesh clothed their paws and slid up their legs as smooth as silk.

  Goldie clutched Pa’s hand, thinking of the past year and how much she had grown up in that time. Was this what it had all been leading to? She didn’t want it to end here. She wanted to see more of life! She wanted to be Fifth Keeper, and help put the museum back together. She wanted . . .

  But it was no use thinking like that. Something had to be done. And she was the only one who could do it.

  It seemed that salvation was a double-edged sword.

  She squeezed Pa’s hand, then let it go. “I’ll take them,” she said. Her voice cracked around the edges. “I—I have to take them.”

  The balance swung the other way. The city listened more closely than ever. The Bridge of Beasts seemed to strain toward Old Arsenal Hill, like a dog on a leash. The House of Repentance, which had served such a cruel and twisted purpose under the Blessed Guardians, sniffed the air, as if it could smell change coming.

  Ma’s mouth twisted in pain. “No! Why does it always have to be you?” She looked around wildly. “Why can’t someone else do it?”

  “I’m sorry, Ma,” said Goldie, holding her close. She could see the devastation in her mother’s eyes, and in her father’s too. “I—I’ll come back. Wait for me!”

  Toadspit’s face was gray. “You’d better come back!” he hissed in her ear. Sinew said more or less the same thing, though much of it was lost under the sobbing of his harp strings. Olga Ciavolga and Herro Dan hugged her. Pounce offered her his pistol.

  But Mouse—

  Mouse was edging toward the brizzlehound. He looked so small that Goldie put out her hand to pull him away. But then he began to croon and whistle, and the brizzlehound and the idle-cat turned their terrifying eyes toward him.

  “Mousie?” hissed Pounce. “Whatcha doin’?”

  Mouse didn’t answer. His voice wove a wordless story in the air. His face shone with effort.

  The brizzlehound grunted, as if he had learned something interesting. He bent his head again and breathed on Goldie’s forehead. She felt a sudden heat inside her, as if the wolfsark had woken up and pricked its ears.

  “The white-haired pup is right,” rumbled the brizzlehound. He seemed to grow several inches. “It was the wolf that led us here, and the warrior, not this girl—”

  Goldie stood very still, hardly daring to hope. She could feel the balance sitting firmly in the center, and the city murmuring all around her, Yes, this is it.

  “—and the wolf and the warrior can take us back again,” said the brizzlehound. “If the girl will give them to us.”

  The unexpected reprieve was almost too much. Goldie gasped—great heaving gulps of precious air—and shook all over. Beside her, Ma and Pa were weeping.

  Toadspit wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then made a shooing gesture, as if telling Goldie to get on with it. She felt a strong urge to stick her tongue out at him.

  Instead, she said to the two great beasts, “H-how do I give you the wolf? And the warrior?”

  They surged forward to stand on either side of her. “Put your hands on us,” rumbled the brizzlehound.

  Goldie raised her hands and placed them high in the air where the creatures’ necks appeared to be. It was the strangest sensation. Their paws and their legs were already flesh and bone, but high on their withers there was only a faint warmth, like a memory of something from long, long ago.

  Deep inside Goldie, the wolf-sark’s lip drew back from its sharp white teeth.

  “Wh-what now?” she said.

  The brizzlehound said nothing. Herro Dan nudged Sinew. “Reckon it’s up to us.”

  Sinew touched his harp strings. Toadspit and Olga Ciavolga stepped forward to stand beside him, and Mouse wriggled between them, his mice clinging to his jacket. They began to sing—and play—the First Song. “Ho oh oh-oh,” they sang. “Mm mm oh oh oh-oh oh.”

  As the familiar notes wrapped around her, Goldie had a moment of extreme terror. What would she be when this was finished? Would she lose something she did not want to lose? Would she still recognize herself?

  But then the terror passed, and she too began to sing in a firm voice, “Mm mm ho oh oh-oh,” she sang. “Oh oh oh-oh oh.”

  Morg flew up to perch on a nearby wall, and raised and lowered her wings in the same ancient rhythm. The mice squeaked in unison. The cat closed its eyes and crooned, “Rrrow rrow ow ow ow-ow.”

  And then, with a great shudder, the museum joined in. The ships in Rough Tom, the portraits that hung from the walls of the Lady’s Mile, the whale skeletons and the suits of armor and the dreadful thing that lived beneath the waters of Old Scratch—they all sang with voices that had not been heard in Jewel for hundreds of years. Their song swept through the streets like a Great Wind, and the wild music surged up from the center of the earth to meet them.

  “MM MM HO OH OH-OH,” sang the museum and the city and the wild music. “OH OH OH-OH OH.”

  Something prickled beneath Goldie’s fingers. Broo threw back his head and howled, and deep inside Goldie the wolfsark howled with him. It was rising up to meet the singing, more powerful than she had ever felt it before. She gasped. On either side of her, she could feel the two great beasts, feel their ghostly hearts begin to beat in their chests, feel their breath on her face and the fur on their backs.

  The red mist filled her. She opened her mouth and howled with Broo and the wolf. She saw a great brightness all around. . . .

  And then it was gone. The brizzlehound and the idle-cat stood beside her, as solid as she was. She could smell them, touch them, feel them.

  But inside Goldie, there was an emptiness.

  The wolf-sark had left her.

  And so had the warrior princess.

  When Guardian Hope realized that the two great beasts had become flesh and blood, she began to weep again. No one took any notice of her. A procession was forming. Broo and the cat stood at the front of it, bristling with pride. Behind them were the two great beasts who carried the wolfsark and the spirit of the warrior princess. And behind them were the phantasms, bigger and wilder than ever, as if the wolf-sark had touched them too.

  At an invisible signal they surged forward across the broken ground, their enmity forgotten for now. Goldie could feel every step they took. Into the museum and through the ruined front rooms. Through the Staff Only door, which was dangling from its hinges. Up Harry Mount and down again. Through the Vacant Block, where the old tree burst into blossom as they passed. Through Broken Bones and Dark Nights and Stony Heart. Across the razor steepness of Knife Edge, and past the Tench’s stink
ing cells.

  Until, in the heart of the museum, they came to the place where the Beast Road began. Broo and the cat peeled away, and the other creatures strode alone into the darkness—and disappeared.

  With a start, Goldie found herself back in the city and realized that a considerable amount of time had passed. Behind her, Sinew was throwing wood on the fire and talking to Pounce. “We could use you and Mouse,” he said. “There’s always room for a couple more keepers, and I think you’d be good.”

  “Nah,” said Pounce, “we’s off to sail the seas in the Silver Lining, isn’t we, Mousie?” He paused. “Mousie?”

  Goldie glanced over her shoulder. Mouse was standing beside Sinew, shaking his head as if nothing would move him.

  Pounce groaned. Then his face brightened and he turned to the Protector, who was resting on a pile of rugs. “Want to buy a nice ship?” he said. “I’ll give ya a good price.”

  On the other side of the fire, Pa seemed to have reached an uncomfortable truce with Auntie Praise, and the two of them were talking seriously, with Ma joining in now and again. When Goldie caught their attention, Pa blew a kiss. Ma waved and wiped a tear from her eye. Auntie Praise winked, then turned to Bonnie, who was tugging at her arm.

  “I want to hunt down Old Lady Skint,” said Bonnie, “and put her in prison. Will you help me?”

  Pa raised an eyebrow. “Were you listening to our conversation, Bonnie?”

  “No,” said Bonnie. “I thought of it myself.”

  Auntie Praise rolled her eyes and said, “Some snotties do not seem to understand that they are only snotties! What will you set out to do next, rid the whole world of slavery?”

  “Does that mean yes or no?” said Bonnie.

  “It means yes, you insolent brat, if you can persuade your parents . . . and if I survive prison, where my sister’s good man is determined to send me. Now go away. We are talking.”

  Goldie looked around for Olga Ciavolga and Herro Dan and found them sitting nearby, gazing into the darkness at the battered walls of the museum. “Well, that’s that,” said the old woman. She slipped her boots off and began to rub her feet. “What do we do now?”