Angel Arias (4 page)

P
lank took her up the still-grand marble staircase at the heart of La Galatea and along the broad corridors to the south wing. From there they took a creaking cage-lift to the turret where Ruzalia lived.

Plank pressed Naif down into a chair in a circular anteroom.

‘Sit,’ he said, pointing a blunt finger.

He went over to a set of scarred wooden doors and knocked.

La Lobos opened one side and peered around. He stepped back to let Plank through and shut the door after him.

Naif heard raised voices, muffled by the walls. She looked around, taking in the untidy grandeur of the suite: stuffed armchairs with silk covers, wall-hangings of velvet and tapestry and a shiny material she’d never seen before.

Behind her, two beautifully carved wooden tables were jammed next to each other and littered with small chests and instruments of all kinds. Naif recognised some as compasses, and others as gauges for measuring rain and wind. On the largest table, the instruments were slightly rusty or broken. But on the smaller table, they glowed with polish and appeared to be in working order.

Beside the tables was a half-finished object rather like a large, open wardrobe and more than twice Naif’s height. One side held an open box full of cogs, strange silver balls and strips of copper metal.

Naif recognised its likeness to the Register on Ixion. This is what Ruzalia had been working on. She found herself drawn to the inside of it and ran her fingers along the wooden casing, remembering her experience when her badge was fitted.

‘I thought you were told not to move,’ said a familiarly gruff voice.

Ruzalia stood in the doorway, her face tight still with anger.

‘In here.’ She inclined her head and disappeared.

Naif left the booth and followed her quickly. Ruzalia might have saved them from Ixion, but she was neither kind nor warm. She was a woman plagued by determination and deep agitations.

The chamber Naif entered was filled with instruments of a different kind. Heavy wooden frames studded with iron and chains, spikes and wheels.

She had never been taken to the wardens’ Holding House in Grave but Joel had told her stories of the tortures that went on there – stories he’d heard from his whispered conversations with the loaders who brought food packs to the Grave warehouses. When Father realised that Joel had been talking with them, he sent Joel to the barley fields where he spent days bent over, cutting the barley heads with a scythe and stuffing them into sacks. It was not long after Joel began to work the barley that he ran away.

Plank and La Lobos stood by a high bench with long leather straps along its side and a brace of spikes running in a frame over the top. Both men had buckets and cloths and were sponging the surface down. As Naif stepped further into the room she saw the colour of the water. Then she could smell it. Blood. Metallic and thick in its scent.

Jud?
She glanced nervously around, but there was no sign of the wiry pirate and neither Plank’s nor La Lobos’s face revealed anything.

‘In two nights you’ll go to Grave,’ pronounced Ruzalia. ‘I have a task for you.’

‘I-I . . . a task?’ Naif felt winded, off-balance because of the blood and the torture instruments and Ruzalia’s change of heart.

‘The beads did not come from Ixion, they came from Grave.’

‘J-Jud told you this?’ Naif had to force herself to say his name aloud.

‘Jud told us some.’ Her grim gaze shifted to the object that La and Plank laboured over. ‘But not enough. Pirates are only good at two things. Drinking, and keeping their mouths shut about where they get their money from.
You
will find out who sold them to him and how they got them here.’

But how?
Naif left her question unspoken. This was her chance.

La Lobos squeezed his cloth one last time and handed it and the bucket to Plank.

‘La, take her back. We’ll leave on the tide tomorrow and return for you two days later at the end of the new moon. Be at the Old Harbour then. If you miss the rendezvous it will be another month before I can return without risk.’

Ruzalia strode to the other side of the room and lifted a heavy curtain to stare outside. It was night now and the only light from the window was the twinkling reef markers in the bay. She let the curtain drop. ‘Tomorrow.’

Naif nodded with relief. She was going home.

But underneath her determination to find answers, a pit of dread stirred.

‘W
hat happened?’ asked Charlonge as Naif entered their shared room.

She was standing by the window, hands clasped tightly. Markes sat on the bed, fingering a dressing on his neck.

‘Are you all right?’ Naif asked him.

‘Long-Li brought us here and then he went back down to the ballroom,’ said Markes.

‘But someone bandaged you?’

‘He took us to Mesree in the infirmary first. I never noticed how much she smells of onions.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘You?’

‘I’ve just been to Ruzalia’s apartments. I saw the Register she’s trying to build. It’s only half-finished. The discovery of the beads has rattled her, though. She’s changed her mind; she’s taking me to Grave tomorrow.’

‘What!’

‘Someone in Grave has been supplying Jud with the beads and pods. She wants me to find out who and how.’

‘Jud told her that?’ asked Markes.

Naif took a quiet breath. ‘I think she tortured him.’

She told them about the room and how Plank and La Lobos had been cleaning.

‘Maybe she was just trying to scare you,’ said Charlonge.

Naif shook her head. ‘I saw the blood. And Rajka and his friends had taken something. That’s why he attacked Markes.’

‘Naif’s right,’ said Markes. ‘He had glazed eyes. I saw them up close.’

Charlonge’s expression became anxious. ‘Ruzalia will come back for you, won’t she?’

‘Yes. Two days later, before the moon rises.’

‘But what if she doesn’t come? Or you aren’t able to meet her at the right time?’ Markes’s tone became grim.

‘There’s the barge. I could hide and wait for it.’

‘But that could be months,’ said Markes.

‘I’ll find a way back.’

‘Back where? To Ixion? Here?’

‘Yes. I have to help Joel and Suki and Rollo.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘Ruzalia mentioned a place called Port of Patience. She takes the over-agers from the barge there.’

‘I’ve read about it in the books on Ixion,’ said Charlonge nodding. ‘It’s a trading port.’

Markes looked around suddenly. ‘What was that noise?’

Naif heard it then; raised voices and thumping echoing down the corridor.

Charlonge turned the handle but Naif ran across and seized her hand. ‘No. Lock it.’

‘But –’

‘Char, lock it.’ She pushed the girl’s hand away and turned the heavy iron ring to lock the door.

Before either of them could speak or move away from the door, someone outside began wrestling the handle. When they couldn’t get the door open they began to thump on it.

‘Open up or we’ll burn you out,’ shouted a voice.

The three stared at each other. It was Rajka, for certain.

Naif put her fingers to her lips and beckoned Markes. Together the three dragged the chest of drawers from near the window and settled it against the door. The thumping started up again, and the shouts. The handle rattled again but the heavy lock held.

After a while the noise stopped.

‘They’ve gone,’ whispered Charlonge. ‘We should go to Ruzalia.’

But Naif shook her head. ‘Wait.’

The three leaned on the chest of drawers, listening. As the moments crawled past, Naif’s skin prickled with fear.

She’d felt the same sense of wrongness at the Youth Council meeting on Ixion when the Ripers had inducted Markes. Then she’d seen demons appear and crawl from the floor and up Markes’s body. It had happened one other time too, soon after she’d eaten a whole pod.

Right now she couldn’t see any demons. But it was as though they were hiding just out of her vision, waiting to claw at her.

She blinked and shook her head. ‘Quickly! Lock the window!’

Markes charged across the room and wrenched the shutters. Before he could close them a set of hands appeared on the ledge. A head followed the hands, a boy’s face painted with black stripes and a knife blade between his teeth.

‘Shut it!’ shouted Charlonge. ‘Shut it.’

But Markes froze, unsure of what to do. If he closed it the boy would fall.

Charlonge ran and grasped a large candlestick from the mantelpiece. She smashed it down on the intruder’s knuckles. The boy’s mouth fell open as he moaned and the knife dropped away.

She hit him again, right across the bridge of the hand, and they heard the crack of his finger bones.

He screamed and let go. They heard nothing more except the thud as he hit the ground far below the window.

Charlonge threw the candlestick away and gave a low moan of distress.

‘Markes, close it!’

Naif’s command broke his trance.

While he slid the bolts across, Naif went to comfort her friend.

‘Have I killed him?’ whispered Charlonge.

‘You stopped him, Char. He had a knife. You saved us.’

Markes joined their huddle. ‘I’m s-sorry, Char. I’m not . . . I didn’t know . . . what to do.’

Charlonge hugged him, crying. ‘It’s all right.’

They stayed together like that until the banging started on the door again.

‘Murderers!’ screamed Rajka. ‘Filthy murderers.’

Naif went to the door and raised her voice. ‘He came at us with a knife. Why do you want to hurt us?’

‘We want our freedom. She can’t make us stay here,’ he said.

‘That’s between you and Ruzalia.’

‘She won’t listen, but we’ll make her take notice
. You
will make her take notice.’

‘Why would she listen to me?’

‘She singled you out tonight. She talked to you. Now come out or we’ll hack the door down!’

‘You think she’ll allow you to destroy her home?’ Naif scoffed.

‘She’s not here. She took the airship out. We’re getting an axe. By the time she’s back we’ll have you.’

‘Ruzalia doesn’t bargain. She’ll come after you.’

‘Let her try,’ retorted Rajka. ‘We know what to do.’

Naif returned to her friends and crouched down. ‘We have to get out of here,’ she whispered.

‘How? They’re outside the door and the window,’ said Markes.

He was still holding Charlonge’s hands. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears and she was trembling.

‘What about the ceiling?’ Naif said.

They looked up. A dusty ventilation grille was in the corner of the ceiling above the door. Charlonge pulled her hand free from Markes’s to cover her eyes. ‘It’s too high. I couldn’t.’

‘We’ll slide the desk onto the chest of drawers and then put the chair on top of that,’ said Naif. ‘You’ll be able to manage that.’

She shook her head; her whole body shook.

‘Char,’ said Naif. ‘You just did something really brave to save us. Don’t wait for Rajka to break the door down. You heard what he said. Ruzalia isn’t here. We have to look after ourselves.’

‘You don’t understand. It’s the height. In Ruzalia’s airship, I wanted to throw myself over the edge. I c-can’t control the feeling.’

‘I’ll tie you to me.’

She shook her head. ‘Too dangerous. I might kill us both.’

‘No, you won’t,’ Naif whispered back firmly. ‘We have to try this. Rajka’s coming back with an axe.’

‘Where do we go when we get into the ceiling?’ asked Markes.

‘What else is on this floor?’

‘There’s my room next door. The others on either side are empty.’

‘I’ve seen Mesree and Long-Li,’ said Charlonge.

‘Me too,’ said Markes. He pointed to the south of the building. ‘That way, I think. At least five or six rooms along.’

‘Once we’re up there, we must find their room. Mesree might be able to get word to Ruzalia and Long-Li,’ said Naif.

‘It’s a mutiny, isn’t it?’ said Charlonge. ‘And after what she’s saved them from . . .’

‘They don’t understand that. They know they’re going to die.’

Noises started up again in the corridor outside.

This time Markes acted first. He went to the desk and began to drag it across the room. ‘You’ll have to help me.’

Naif and Charlonge got up and the three struggled to lift the desk up on top of the drawers. The chest was barely wide enough to hold it; two of the claw feet stuck partway off the wood.

‘It’ll topple,’ said Charlonge.

‘We’ll hold it while you climb,’ said Naif.

‘But the last person up . . .’

‘That’ll be me,’ promised Naif. ‘I’ll tie a sheet around my waist and throw you one end. If the table slips, you can pull me up.’

‘I’m not strong enough.’

‘There’ll be two of you. Please, Char. Please!’

Something crashed against the door, rattling the drawers and sending a chunk of wood flying across the room.

Naif ran to the other side of the room and grabbed the chair.

When she returned, Markes climbed onto the drawers and then the table. Charlonge and Naif held it steady for him while he caught his balance. He reached down for the chair and placed it in the centre of the desk.

As he climbed onto it, another loud crack sounded and the tip of an axe slammed through the wood.

‘Hurry!’ cried Naif.

Markes reached for the small square hatch in the ceiling while she held the table steady.

Naif grabbed a sheet from the bed and tied it around her waist. When that was done she nodded to the girl. ‘Your turn.’

Charlonge collected a second chair from near the window and put it next to the drawers to help her climb onto them. When she reached the desk, she hesitated.

‘Char, get onto the chair and let me pull you up,’ called Markes softly. He was inside the ceiling now, lying down with his arm dangling through the hatch. ‘Come on.’

She nodded, kneeling on the chair first before slowly getting to her feet. She and Markes linked the wrists of one arm together. He pulled her while she used the elbow of her other arm to lever up through the hatch.

Naif fretted as she watched. It was taking too long. At any moment Rajka would knock down the door and catch her. Her mouth was dry from fear and her legs shook as she began to climb.

When the next loud crack came, the axe head flew clear through the wood and light from the corridor spilled in.

Naif scrambled onto the chair but she wasn’t tall enough to reach Markes’s hands. Instead she threw the untied end of the sheet up to him.

‘Tie it around me,’ Naif heard him tell Charlonge. ‘Then grab me around the waist. Don’t step off the beam, though. You’ll fall through the ceiling.’

When that was done, he looked back down at Naif. ‘Now. Hurry,’ he whispered.

The chair stayed balanced for a moment and then as she shifted her weight, it slipped from beneath her.

Suddenly she was dangling in the air.

Markes gasped as her weight pulled him forward and she thought he would fall down on top of her.

Charlonge grunted with effort, holding him back.

He caught his balance as a final ear-splitting crack sent the lock flying across the room. The drawers and desk began to rattle. The door was being pushed inward.

Naif stared up at Markes. His face was flushed, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle.

‘Char, help,’ he gasped.

Naif hung helplessly as the two of them struggled to pull her upward.

Below her, the door was nearly open wide enough for Rajka to get through. She could see his arm and foot. If he caught her hanging there, he could reach her with his axe.

The idea of it sent more fear pumping through her. She climbed the sheet towards her friends.

Markes bit his lip with the strain and moaned as he wrenched with all his strength. Their hands touched and slipped. Touched again. And locked.

She struggled through the ceiling hatch as the door below thrust open far enough for a body to fit through. She glimpsed Rajka’s head and the knife in his hand. Then Markes slid the hatch back into place.