Warm wind whipped at her. She brushed her tangled and greasy hair from her eyes, and glimpsed a yellow-headed flickertail perched at a gap in the boarded-up window. It angled its head and looked at her with unabashed curiosity in its little, black marble eyes. A soft song chirruped from it.
‘Piss off,’ she said. The bird obliged.
She struggled to her feet and leaned against an exposed brick wall in silence. She shivered, despite the warmth of the day. Confusion made her dizzy but she recognised her surroundings: She was in one of the derelict buildings in Arrowhead, adjacent to the train station. The place was filled with dust and creepy old mannequin parts. She’d come here to sleep before the train station reopened.
As hard as she fought it, tears fell free. Marrin’s dead face wouldn’t leave her alone. She fell to her knees, retching nothing from her empty stomach.
She didn’t remember much, flashes and images—shards of a morbid jigsaw puzzle. Marrin’s still, peaceful face. She remembered the watchman lunging for her, Sister Ingrid screaming something. Eyes open, like she was waking up from a dream. She remembered leaping through the window, sliding down the pipe, bloodying her hands. Blood… So much blood.
She must have run for ages to get here, through shadowed alleys and narrow lanes. It was a miracle she’d avoided the Watch.
After several minutes, she drew herself up. The pain in her injured foot had abated at some point, but it left an uncomfortable numbness. She crept to the window where the flickertail had been. Two storeys up. This was how she got in during the night—climbed the pipe and scraped through the hole in the window.
Her sleeping face with a thin red line in her throat…
Enfield had posted the watchman for their protection… So how did someone sneak in and kill Marrin? What did that mean? ‘Gods… Do they think I did it?’ she said out loud. If they didn’t before, they probably do now. Stupid, stupid girl.
Ice flowed through her veins. What if they hadn’t discovered her when they did? What if I’d got into bed, not knowing she was lying dead under me?
Her head spun with confusion and her limbs turned heavy. Who would hurt Marrin? Evelyn’s a psycho… But a murderer? She rested her chin on her arms. Marrin… At least you won’t be tormented any more.
Wandering amidst the crowds only made her more isolated. She stood alone as the crowd washed over her—a stationary rock immobile against a rushing river. She felt like a child again, lost and crying for her mother. Like I ever had one. Jozef didn’t come close to counting as family.
Sir Raleigh Trevelyan Train Station was always being hailed as some marvellous landmark, but she couldn’t see what the fuss was about. It was as dusty, suffocating and filthy is anywhere else in this city.
The annoying-yet-catchy string music crackling from the speakers did nothing to lift her mood.
And when she caught her reflection in a window, she stood rooted to the spot.
She stared at herself—at her Raincatcher gear, tired eyes, dirt-caked skin—and her straggly, dark green hair.
‘Oh Gods.’ Marrin’s blood-soaked sheets, her startled eyes staring into nothing… Should it have been me? She came close to vomiting and crying but she pushed it from her. Plenty of time to cry when I’m gone. One way or another, her situation right now was the same however she cut it.
She made her way past the ticket booths. Mingling aromas of garlic and sugar tightened her stomach, made her mouth water. The gleaming metallic green and glistening silver of a train beckoned her. It didn’t look dissimilar to a new-gen airship.
It didn’t matter where she ended up. With the Remembrance, security would be tighter—but it wasn’t like this was the first time she’d snuck past the Watch. She could pass as seventeen if she had to—she could act like she’d lost her identification papers if a ticket clerk or conductor asked her, or say they were stolen along with her money. Most Daltheans still didn’t think much of Ryndarans—it wouldn’t take much to convince anyone that some tourist had dipped her pockets.
Fitz, Tiera, Angelo, Drimmon… She had to forget about them. She wished there was something she could have said to them, but…
Once she got away, she’d find work on an airship somewhere. Gods knew she could do a better job than half the crew on the Liberty Wind.
Yeah. Board a train heading to Ryndara, find a long-hauler airship, sleep among the cargo if there aren’t any beds.
She could work for free—if the airships in the rest of the world were anything like the Raincatchers, they’d be happy for the free labour and take the risk of hiring someone underage. She’d change her hair and her name every time she boarded a new ship, ’til she settled down somewhere far from all this...
The platform barrier loomed ahead. She didn’t remember it being so big. The shiny curves of the train poked up above the incoming tide of people.
‘Tickets? Tickets, please…’ She studied the three conductors at the barrier; they had their backs to her, overwhelmed at the flurry of tickets being shoved into their faces. Normally, the small gates within the barrier would be manually cranked open by the conductor upon seeing the ticket, but today they were leveraged open. If only she had a piece of scrap paper…
Realisation hit her like a bucket of ice water.
She rummaged through her pockets, elated at the jagged points of crushed paper.
The mage gave me her address! About time I had some luck.
A velvety voice spilled out of the loudspeakers high above Serena: ‘The next train to Rhis will depart at 10:04. Calling at Belon-Tura Mountain Pass, Dalthea Mining Authority, Havenfall, Havenbridge…’
Under ten minutes. She eyed the paper. If she flashed it up while she breezed past the conductor, there was no reason they wouldn’t think it was a ticket… Right?
If I do this, I can’t come back.
Bubbling beneath the fear and grief, Serena was ashamed to feel something else: Exhilaration. Her dreams of ageing out and leaving the orphanage were coming true, whether she was ready or not.
As she made her move, a two-man Watch patrol planted themselves at the barrier.
Shit! Got to think of someth-
‘’scuse me,’ a meek voice called to her. She lurched and spun on her heel. A short, skinny boy of about ten looked up at her.
‘S-sorry,’ he stammered. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya. It’s just, you look hungry is all.’
‘What?’ Her stomach growled when she caught sight of the sweet-smelling pastry the boy held up to her.
‘Here,’ he said.
Could be a trick. Leave.
Her paranoia thawed the longer she stared at the bun. She snatched it from his hands, muttered her thanks and devoured it in two mouthfuls. It reminded her of Clara’s chocolate squares.
‘You’re welcome,’ the kid said. ‘Got told to give ’em to homeless. Some old guy paid for ’em.’ He stared up at her, his wiry frame rocking on the spot.
‘Seems like you could be doing with eating them yourself.’
‘Nah, I’m fine,’ Milo said. ‘So… Are you? Homeless?’
‘Uh… No.’
‘Where ya from, then?’
‘It’s… Nowhere. I’m not from anywhere.’
The boy’s face screwed up. ‘How’s that?’
Serena shook her head. She glanced at the hanging clock. ‘It’s… complicated.’
‘Oh!’ His face lit up. ‘Are you from the Courtesans? Do you know my mum?’
Serena could only stare at him. ‘No,’ was all she managed. ‘Listen, thanks, but I’ve got a train to- pissing Irros.’
She turned back to the ticket barrier; the Watch patrol had stopped to interrogate a girl around her age. Shit.
The boy saw what had caught her gaze. ‘Oh, you hidin’ from the coppers, eh? How come? Wha’cha do?’
‘Nothing.’ She made to turn back to the entrance of the train station, but a pair of watchwomen cut through the river of people, approaching like sharks with the scent of blood.
‘Shit
.’
‘Here, come on!’ Milo urged. ‘Follow me!’
‘What? No, I-’
‘Aerulus, look at you! You’re in a tizzy! I got no love for the Watch, miss, I mean it. Come on!’
They hadn’t seen her yet—but how long would that last? How long could she hope to run? And no doubt they’ll pass my description on to the conductors. Shit. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid girl.
She could still risk it. She could still get on the train. ‘Damn it,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll follow you, but I need to be on the next train.’
‘Right you are! This way! I’m Milo, by the way.’
He stalked off, his slight frame easily lost amidst the people. ‘Pssst!’ He beckoned with his hand for her to follow. ‘Hurry up, eh?’
She stuffed her hands into her pocket, pushed her gaze downward, and followed the boy. He slipped between people, weaving and ducking with practised ease. He stooped behind a row of empty seats.
‘What are you doing?’ Serena whispered.
‘Hold on. One of ’em wankers shoved me about earlier, made me drop all my… Um, never mind. What I’ll do is, I’ll run out and tell the other coppers what he did and get their attention. More’n likely they’ll take a turn kicking me, but it’ll distract ’em enough for you to slip by the conductors.’
She glanced up. The watchmen were approaching fast. ‘You know this place better than me: Have you ever managed to sneak onto a train?’
‘Songstress, no! Them conductors are even more brutal than the Watch! Best o’ luck to ya though.’
‘The next train to Rhis will depart at 10:04. Calling at…’
‘Shit. Four minutes.’
‘Can’t you get the next one? The other one’s after 6, I think.’
Her heart sank. ‘I can’t wait that long.’
‘What do you wanna do?’ Milo urged. ‘You gotta make a decision, they’re coming!’
‘Give me your cap!’
‘Eh?’
‘Please!’
‘Bloody ’ell, free food, free hat…’
Serena snatched the cap from Milo’s head and bundled her hair up inside.
This will work. This will work.
‘Screw it,’ shrugged Milo, ‘I’ll say that bugger nicked it when he shoved me.’
‘Thanks. I owe you.’
‘Well, you can square up when you get back.’
‘Yeah… Sure.’
Three minutes.
‘Hang on, hang on. Where you gonna go? Do you have mates? Are you in a gang? I’m in a gang. I mean, I’m the only one in it, but you can join if you like.’
‘No, I’m not in a gang. I really need-’
‘All right, all right! Tell you what, I’ll hang about for ya at the side entrance if you don’t make it, right? But you want any more favours, you gotta tell me why the coppers want you. Deal?’
Her heart raced. ‘Sure.’
Without another word, Milo darted from behind the bench. ‘Here, here!’ he shouted. ‘You! Ya filthy perv!’ He jumped up and down, screaming insults and waving his arms.
This will work.
‘You! Yeah, you! You battered me and touched me in the nethers!’
Milo’s finger jolted the air as he accused the watchman.
‘You little shit!’ the copper shouted, which only drew more attention. He strode towards Milo and grabbed him by his threadbare shirt. ‘Lying little bastard! Spouting off like that is like to get you killed! I’m a man of the Watch! You want stuck in the Gravehold?’
‘Gravehold ain’t even real!’ spat Milo.
‘Constable!’ The other copper bolted towards them, his face filled with fire. ‘Release that boy!’
Milo’s gaze flitted towards the spot Serena occupied: She didn’t waste any time in striding to the barrier.
As he watched her move, he fancied his cap looked better on her.
‘Look at me when I’m hollerin’ at you, urchin!’ the watchman continued.
‘Constable Goodfellow!’ his partner roared.
‘But Sarge-’
‘A man of the Watch should not wet his breeches at the slightest insult,’ the sergeant continued. ‘And to visit violence upon a child to boot—in full view of visitors to our fine city too!’
‘Yeah, Constable Goodfellow,’ said Milo, swinging his middle finger up at him with gleeful abandon.
‘And you, young man—if you have a complaint against an officer of the Watch, raise it in the proper manner.’
‘Yeah, only for it to get tossed out! You coppers are all the same. Thugs an’ dogs! And me old mum knows the lot o’ ya!’
‘We have more pressing matters to attend to, young man. Be grateful I’m not shackling you and throwing you in jail for slandering a man of the Watch. With me, Goodfellow.’
The two officers resumed their questioning, but not before Goodfellow launched his middle finger up at Milo.
Two minutes.
‘Hurry up, miss,’ commanded the inspector. ‘Train won’t wait.’ He stood alone now that the torrent of passengers had calmed. The sleek metal of the train glowed.
‘Sorry,’ she called, picking up the pace. She fingered the paper in her hands. She paced ahead, praying to all the Gods that he wouldn’t ask for her ticket.
Then she had an idea.
As he opened his mouth to say something, Serena flicked her head to Milo. ‘Hi there,’ she said, ‘do you have a supervisor on duty today? I’m afraid a young boy is being hassled by the Watch for no good reason.’
‘Eh? Ah, who cares? Ticket-’
Jets of steam shot from the train. She could do this!
‘Now, I’m not normally allowed to say this,’ she started, ‘but I’m a junior reporter for the Viator. I’m supposed to blend in and observe our public utilities. New initiative by the Prime Councillor. I’d hate to report a dereliction of duty by train station staff to my editor, lest he decide to take the view that said staff member is in cahoots with the perpetrators…’
‘Eh?’
Shit. He can see it all over my face. I should run while I have—
But he followed her gaze and, sure enough, his face whitened when he saw the scene erupting with the Watch—and the bystanders watching.
The voice called overhead. ‘The train to Rhis will depart in one minute. The train to Rhis will depart in one minute.’
‘Sir?’ pressed Serena, unable to keep the alarm from her voice. If she didn’t catch the train, she was done.
‘Shit,’ he muttered, his face stricken with panic. ‘Uh, right, cheers for telling me, I’ll sort it.’
He pushed off towards Milo—and locked the barrier gate.
Nothing else for it.
Serena hopped over the barrier. Billowing dark yellow smoke coiled from the train’s chimney.
She ran.
Move move move move…
Her footsteps slapped the hard surface.
So close.
One of the carriage doors lay open.
If she could reach it in time, slip into the gap…
Adrenaline fuelled her.
Faces stared from windows, close enough to see the colour of their eyes.
She was going to make it!
Relief swept over her, but still she pushed-
A shrieking whistle sliced the air.
The train’s pistons churned.
It lurched into motion.
No…
She kept running.
The doors inched together.
Her legs ached.
She reached out, her fingers grazing the smooth metal…
It clamped shut.
Serena slammed into the door.
She yanked the handle, battered at the window, screamed at it.
A conductor hung out of a window further up the carriage, staring back at her with soft eyes and knitted brow. A whistle hung from his lip.
Serena sprinted after the train.
The conductor yelled something, but he was impossible to hear.
She kept running.
The sorry smile in the conductor’s face pulled away.
And changed when Milo’s cap whipped away from Serena’s head and her green hair whipped in the breeze.
The conductor’s eyes widened, visible even as the train galloped ahead of her.
She stopped.
His face turned red as he blew on his whistle, but the locomotive’s din drowned it out.
The train disappeared into the tunnel, carrying Serena’s hope with it.
Chapter Eight
‘There you are!’ Milo’s face beamed.
Serena trudged down the steps of the station’s side entrance. In the road ahead, a ring of people surrounded a fire-breather and a young blindfolded woman juggling swords.
She clutched Milo’s cap in her hand. Stupid, stupid girl…
‘Oi! You okay?’
‘What?’
The kid stared up at her. ‘Are. You. Okay? Songstress! What happened?’
‘I was too late.’ Nowhere to run. No-one to turn to.
‘So, why’d you run?’
I should turn myself in. I can say I panicked and ran. It’s the truth. The thought made her sick, but what choice did she have? The conductor would report her as soon as he returned, or send a messenger. Hells, he might even stop the train and come back. Okay, so the train’s out and the Watch will be all over the skyport. Stupid, Serena. No food. Or money. Or fr-
‘You promised!’
‘What, Milo? What is it?’
He froze, eyes filling. ‘Can’t break a promise…’
Damn. ‘I’m, I’m sorry. You’re right. You can’t.’ She made a theatrical, conspiratorial sideways glance. ‘Okay, here’s the truth: I’m a spy for the king, on a special mission. Just between me and you, okay?’
‘Don’t worry, miss! Is this because of Genevieve Couressa?’
‘I could tell you but I’d have to kill you.’
‘It is, ain’t it? I know she’s in town! Look…’ Milo fished two ornate, gold-embossed tickets from his trouser pocket. Genevieve Couressa’s name was there, in extravagant cursive writing. ‘See? She’s playing in the opera house tonight, after the parade!’
Serena didn’t care for music, but even she had to admit to feeling envious. Genevieve Couressa! ‘Very impressive, Milo, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Listen, thanks for your help, but I need to leave. Duty calls.’
Symphony of the Wind Page 15
