by Darren Shan
“You’re not coming?” I ask.
“Locks are your thing, not mine,” she smiles. “I’ll browse some clothes stalls instead. Come find me when you’re done.”
I tinker with several locks inside the shop, trying to make up for lost time. I mull over Winston’s parting farewell as I’m working. He said a wise dog barks if he comes to the vine at the end of the line. It might be a meaningless riddle, but I have a nagging feeling that there’s a hidden message in there somewhere.
My thoughts are interrupted by a conversation behind me. The locksmith is a grumpy man and he’s been keeping a close eye on me, but a couple of women have entered and he’s focused on them now. I’m not eavesdropping, but they’re talking freely and I learn that they’re from Ruby. One of them needs a lock for a chest.
“And you’ve heard that my locks are better than those you can get in Ruby?” the locksmith asks, puffing up with pride.
“No,” the woman says and he deflates, “but I thought a lock made by someone in another realm might prove harder for a burglar to crack.”
The locksmith grumbles something, then selects a fancy lock. “This will deter all but the most advanced thief.”
The lock looks far from foolproof to me, and the woman catches me frowning dubiously. “You don’t share his opinion?”
I shrug. “Not my business.”
“Take no notice of him,” the locksmith growls. “He smells like a rat. He wouldn’t know the difference between a lock and a latch.”
I wasn’t going to say anything, because it doesn’t matter to me whether a Rubicon gets swindled, but I rankle at the locksmith’s insult.
“Here,” I grunt. The woman hands the lock to me with a wry smile. I slip a finger inside, twist it a few times and hand it back to her unlocked.
“How did you do that?” the locksmith yelps.
“It’s not very complex,” I say.
“I know,” he says, “but an urchin like you shouldn’t...” He stops as the woman glares at him. “I mean, it’s not terribly complex, but it’s still –”
“I require a good, practical lock,” the woman says to me, ignoring the locksmith’s bumbling attempts to backtrack. “One which will deter strangers but won’t take ages to open every time I need to dip inside. Can you recommend anything?”
I glance round the store and dismiss most of the locks with a single look. I choose one but it yields to my efforts too easily. Another proves too challenging. I drift, trying more locks than necessary, enjoying the excuse to test myself. I’m surprised, as I was at Winston’s, by how easily this comes to me.
Finally I hand the woman a lock that is perfectly suited to her needs. “That should do the job,” I tell her.
“Thank you,” the woman says.
I turn to leave but the owner stops me. “Boy,” he says darkly, “I don’t want to see you in here again, understand?”
“Don’t worry,” I reply. “There’s nothing worth coming back for.”
I let myself out as he glowers, find Inez and wait for her to finish. She picks a red blouse and holds it up. She starts to ask me what I think, but stops and squints. “Are you alright?” she asks.
“Fine,” I reply.
“You look like you’re thinking of a joke,” she says.
“No,” I smile. “I was just wondering if I might make a diplomat.”
“What did you get up to in that shop?” she asks suspiciously.
“I took a leaf out of your book,” I grin, “and made friends with a SubMerged.” Then I wink and tell her the blouse doesn’t go with her new look. “Too much red.”
She winces – she forgot about her new hair colour – puts back the blouse and we mosey on.
6
THE SHOW IS PLAYING when we get back to camp. The thesps are acting out a sketch about a queen of Jade (one of the fallen realms) who was poisoned by SubMerged activists a long time ago.
A crowd has gathered and there are some SubMerged among them. They’re easy to spot because their faces are as dark and puckered as a rotting pile of strawberries.
“Heresy!” one of the Rubicons shouts. “Those accusations were never proven.”
He’s jeered by the Merged spectators and storms off in a huff.
Passers-by dip in and out, sitting down to watch a sketch or two, then moving on. Those who leave must recommend it to others, because the numbers grow over the course of the performance — at one point I do a quick headcount and stop at a hundred and thirty-six.
One person who isn’t impressed is Pol, the rat I met when we were setting up. He’s back again, clinging from a vine by his hooks, watching with a bored look.
“Rubbish!” he yells as the latest sketch concludes. He slips his left hand out of its hooks, reaches into a pocket and produces a rotten mushroom.
“Don’t you dare,” I roar, but he ignores me and throws it at the actors. I’m mortified, but they dodge the incoming missile and take no notice.
“Clear off,” I shout, but the young rat only laughs at me.
“Where’s your writetyper?” Pol teases. “Did you get into trouble for losing it?”
“You mean type–” I start to correct him, then stop. “So you did steal it.”
“Who, me?” He feigns innocence. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life.”
“Then how did you know it was missing?”
“Word spreads,” he chuckles. “I’ll look out for it. Maybe I can track it down if there’s a reward.”
I spot Cal and call him over. “Will you throw a boot at that rat, please?”
“No problem,” Cal grunts, starting to unlace one of his huge boots.
Pol yelps and shoots off before he’s knocked loose. He leaps to a neighbouring vine and slips in through a hole, but keeps popping up during the performance, to yell abuse and throw rotten veg at the thesps.
The actors repeat a few of the more successful sketches – including the one about the queen of Jade – before calling it a night.
There’s no sign of Kurtis. Inez looks annoyed, but I’m happy. Hopefully he got squashed by a giant.
I get a good night’s sleep, pick some mushrooms for breakfast, then head out with Kamran to carry word of the show further afield.
We return in time to prepare props for the first of the day’s performances, then settle back to enjoy the show. I missed the first few sketches yesterday, so I’m keen to see how they play.
There aren’t as many people as last night, but more than Dermot was expecting for a matinee. The actors are excited and I’m happy for them.
Inez and Cal stroll along and lie down beside us. Inez looks frustrated, and I’ve an idea of what’s irking her. “Any sign of the ugly dukeling?” I ask slyly.
“No,” she huffs.
I don’t like the fact that she’s upset by his no-show, but I’m relieved he hasn’t dropped by. I don’t like the thought of her cuddling up to a SubMerged.
There’s a bit of a commotion shortly after the start of the third sketch. Several important-looking people situate themselves in the middle of the audience, and the actors stop and wait. Some of the thesps seem thrilled, others nervous.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Inez.
She points to a woman in a striped business suit, with shining black shoes. She has curly, greying hair and steel-rimmed glasses, blue earrings and a necklace with a matching sapphire.
“That’s Queen Pitina,” Inez says softly.
“The one who wants to turn this into a SubMerged realm?” I hiss.
Inez nods. “The others look like nobles — lords, earls, duchesses and the like.” She casts her gaze around and I know she’s searching for Kurtis, but there’s no sign of him.
Cal growls. His fingers are curled into fists and he’s staring at the SubMerged as if he wants to strangle them, but there’s fear mixed in with the rage. He shivers, and I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the temperature.
When Queen Pitina and her cohorts have settl
ed down, one of them waves at the actors and the sketch begins again. The thesps give it even more than before, doing their best to impress.
I study the people in the audience. Many are looking angrily at the SubMerged, but their expressions soften when they gaze at Queen Pitina. I thought they’d hate her, because she’s threatening to turn this into a realm of evil and violence, but they seem besotted.
“Why do they like her so much?” I ask Inez.
“She’s their queen,” Inez says.
“But she’s a nasty piece of work, isn’t she?”
Inez sniffs. “It depends on your point of view. The SubMerged value fierceness and cunning. Power and control are virtues in their eyes. Where we see viciousness, they see strength. What we judge as cruelty, they judge as firm rule.”
“But the people of Sapphire don’t think that way, so why aren’t they more critical of the royals who are betraying them?”
“It’s not betrayal,” Inez says. “Pitina and Farkas openly support the SubMerged. They haven’t tried to hide their beliefs.”
“Still...” I grumble.
Inez sighs. “You have to understand, the Sapphirites adore their Family members. It’s that way in every realm. Most don’t share Pitina’s views, but they’ll cherish her even if she signs this realm over to the Rubicons.”
“I won’t,” I growl.
“That’s because you’re not one of us,” she says. “You’d see things differently if you were.”
“Don’t you believe it,” I huff, louder than intended.
One of the queen’s retinue – a man wearing a black coat with lots of jewellery pinned to it – turns to scowl at me and make a shushing gesture. I stare at him coldly, raising an eyebrow as if to say, What’ll you do about it if I don’t?
Inez starts to fidget. “I should go talk to the queen.”
“What about?” I ask, startled.
“I have something to tell her. But if I do it now...” She trails off into silence, then shakes her head. “It will have to wait. Hopefully I’ll see her again when this is all over and I’ll pass on the message then.”
That mysterious statement confuses me, but Inez isn’t going to elaborate, so I glare at the back of the head of the man who shushed me, clear my throat to wind him up, then do my best to enjoy the rest of the show.
7
THE THESPS PERFORM a sketch that deals with the dangers of voting for the SubMerged. They don’t mention any names, but it’s set in a dark, lonely zone, where Oleg and Jola talk longingly of times that were and freedoms that have been sacrificed. Oleg speaks of the friends and family he’s lost and the compromises he’s been forced to accept. Jola cries about her baby sister who was taken away to be raised as a soldier.
I stare at Queen Pitina, wondering if this will be our final performance, if we’ll be frogmarched out of here when the sketch is over and banished from Sapphire.
A shout interrupts the show. It’s the man in the black overcoat, who leaps to his feet and shouts again. At first I think he’s taken offence with the performance, but then I see that he’s wrestling with someone.
The others in Queen Pitina’s group are on their feet now, as are the rest of the audience. I stand up with Inez and Cal. He holds his ground, hands still bunched into fists, while Inez and I take a few steps forward for a clearer view. As we’re doing that, the man in the overcoat produces a pair of handcuffs and snaps them round his opponent’s wrists. The fight leaves the other person. His shoulders sag and he sinks to his knees with a scared moan.
It’s the vine rat, Pol.
“What’s going on?” Dermot roars, stepping to the edge of the stage.
“Thievery,” the man in the overcoat howls. He grabs Pol by an ear and hauls him to his feet. The thin, poorly dressed boy yelps. The man jabs at his coat and I realise it’s not as fancifully decorated as it was when he turned to shush me earlier. “He’s been robbing me. I bet he’s in league with the thesps. We should run them –”
“Peace, Edward,” the queen says, and he lapses into silence. At a gesture from her, the others step away from Pol and she turns to the stage. “Is this rat one of your crew?” she asks Dermot.
“No,” he says.
“You didn’t send him to pick us clean while we were absorbed in your show?”
The blood drains from Dermot’s face. “We’re honest thesps, your majesty, not in the habit of stealing from those who’ve graced us with their presence.”
The queen tilts her head. “I believe you.” She turns to the man called Edward and smiles soothingly at him. Then she casts an eye over the rest of the people with her. “Check your pockets and purses. Find out if the rat took anything else.”
As the queen’s companions check their valuables, I spot more rats overhead, a gaggle of scruffy children clinging to the vines, staring at Pol and his captors.
“What’s going to happen?” I whisper to Inez.
“Nothing good,” she says, grim but resigned.
Nobody else reports anything missing and the queen turns her focus on Pol.
“Well, rat,” she says icily. “Have you anything to say for yourself?”
Pol mutters something inaudible.
“Speak up when your queen addresses you,” Edward barks.
Pol glares at the man, then faces the queen. “I said he’s from Ruby. I’ll never apologise for stealing from a Rubicon.”
There are sympathetic murmurs from some of the crowd. The queen ignores them.
“I bet you’ve stolen from other folk too,” she says, “not just the SubMerged.”
I think about the missing typewriter but say nothing.
Pol doesn’t say anything either.
“When you offend a visitor to our realm, you offend me,” the queen continues. “I’ve always been wary of rats. Maybe it’s time we started denying your kind some of the freedoms which you have so far enjoyed.” She casts a glance at the other children clinging to the vines, then turns to the man in the black coat. “What do you want us to do with him, Duke Edward?”
“Let me have him,” the angry duke responds. “I’ll take him to Ruby and lock him in a prison. That’ll teach him not to steal from his betters.”
People mutter angrily.
“It’s not right,” a woman shouts.
“We can’t let them take one of our own,” a man growls.
“It doesn’t matter what he did,” another man agrees. “Nobody deserves that.”
The queen listens to the arguments, then motions for silence. “I agree. We can’t deal with our problems by exporting them to Ruby.” Edward glowers but bows his head obediently. “Having said that, if you think a spell in prison is warranted, we’ll build one for him.”
The locals are stunned, and stare at the queen as if she’d slapped a sweet old grandmother.
Queen Pitina tuts. “It’s been a long time since we operated a prison, but times are changing. We’ll build a small prison for this wretched –”
“No,” Cal snarls behind me.
Attention fixes on the large man, who steps up next to me.
“Excuse me?” the queen says, not accustomed to being challenged.
“I won’t let you put him in a prison,” Cal says firmly.
The queen’s features harden. “Do you know who I am?”
“Of course,” Cal says, “but that doesn’t matter. You can’t lock up a child just because he fancied a few jewels.”
“My jewels,” Edward bellows.
“So?” Cal sniffs. “If I caught someone trying to steal from me, I’d boot him up the bum and send him packing. That’s all the punishment this merits.”
As the duke sputters indignantly and Queen Pitina stares at Cal, I notice that everyone’s looking at the huge man and the queen, and I sense a chance to act. I’m not sure it’s wise – Inez would surely stop me if I told her what I was planning – but as Cal and Duke Edward argue, I slip around them and sidle up next to Pol.
The rat looks at me wit
h tears in his eyes. “Come to rub it in?” he squeaks.
“No,” I whisper and reach for the handcuffs. The hole in the lock widens at my touch and I pick it quickly. As Pol gawps, I bend and join my hands.
“What’s that boy doing?” a woman shrieks.
“He’s set the rat free!” a man roars and reaches out to grab me.
Before the man can seize me, a bewildered but delighted Pol steps into the cradle of my hands and leaps as I thrust. He flies into the air and is caught by a couple of his fellow rats. As chaos erupts, Pol and the others slip through a hole into the vine and disappear. I’ve just enough time to smile. Then I’m shoved to the ground and hauled to my feet moments later to face the wrath of the howling Duke Edward and – more worryingly – the judgement of the furious Queen Pitina.
“Well,” the queen says with the bleakest of smiles, “what have we here?”
“Leave him alone,” Cal shouts, but he’s ignored.
“What’s your name, boy?” Queen Pitina asks.
“Archie,” I mutter.
“Archibald,” Cal corrects me. “Archibald Lox, a valued friend of King Lloyd of Diamond.”
That throws the queen. She stares at Cal, not sure how to respond.
“What does that matter?” Duke Edward snorts. “The affairs of Diamond mean nothing in Sapphire. Besides, everyone knows Lloyd is a doddering fool. He –”
“Enough,” the queen barks. “I won’t have you mock a Family member. If you do it again, I’ll build that prison, but not for the vine rat. Understand?”
The duke gulps as people in the crowd murmur appreciatively.
“My apologies, your highness,” Edward croaks, lowering his gaze.
Queen Pitina turns to Cal. “Who are you?”
“Cal Riser,” he says. “I worked for King Lloyd. Archibald did him a good turn recently, which was highly appreciated.”
“And now he’s doing good turns for rats,” the queen says, switching her attention back to me. “Explain yourself.”
“Rats steal,” I say quietly. “If you’ve put up with them for this long, why change just because of an offended duke?”
