Chasing the Valley (21 page)

Maisy glances away. ‘She died a long time ago.'

Teddy looks a little guilty, and I feel the same. All this time I've assumed that Clementine brought the clothes because she was vain and stupid – not because they might have sentimental value. I finger my own mother's bracelet, which is looped around my wrist. I'm slightly shocked when my fingers touch Lukas's silver rose charm. I had forgotten about it. Part of me wants to throw it away, but not in front of the others. I don't want to get them talking about Lukas.

I glance out the window to distract myself. The world is pure cloud, white and tumbling. And with a sudden stab, I'm reminded of Radnor's waterfall. White water, churning. His body, falling. I squeeze my eyes shut. There is too much to remember.

Radnor is gone. Hackel is a traitor. Lukas is the king's own son.

And for a moment, I wish I could go back. I wish I could turn back time and reverse this whole insane trip. Climb back over Rourton's wall, and call that flare back down from the sky. Slip into the dark of the alleyways, and the wine-scented air of the Alehouse. Back to a time when I didn't need anybody. When I was better off alone.

When there was no risk of losing someone.

But it's too late. There are hunters on my trail, and a price on my head. My face bedecks a hundred wanted posters, and the scruffers of Rourton would sell me out in a second. And even if I
could
go back, what then? Would I go back to living alone? Trusting no one?

I open my eyes and glance around the com­partment. I see Teddy, in his peacock waistcoat. Clementine, blonde curls splayed against her seat. Maisy, fingers knotted in her lap. Their mouths are hard, and their eyes are tired. But there's a silent resolve beneath those stares. Solidarity. Unity. And it strikes me, suddenly, that we're in this together.

To go back to my old ways . . . it would still mean losing something. Not through death, or treachery. But a loss, nonetheless.

The train jolts into one of its regular stops. Out the window, the cables sizzle with a recharge of alchemy power. The pause only lasts twenty seconds, then we're off again, flying into the mist.

Clementine takes a deep breath. ‘I need some air. If I stay in this compartment, I'm going to go insane.'

No one answers. It's risky, of course, but we can't stay crammed in here forever. The train trip might last days, for all I know, and we won't survive long without food or water. And I have to admit, the idea of escaping this cabin is tempting.

‘I'll suss out the other carriages,' Clementine adds. ‘There might be a way to get food.'

‘I'll come too,' says Maisy.

‘And me.' I gesture at the gauze across my face. ‘No one's gonna recognise me behind this thing.'

We turn to look at Teddy, who frowns. ‘Try not to let anyone see your faces,' he says. Then he slaps a flowery hat over Clementine's head, concealing her blonde curls. It helps disguise the fact that she and Maisy are twins, so I give an approving nod.

‘What are
you
going to do?'

Teddy shrugs. ‘I'm going to find a way off this train. If anyone's gonna find an escape route, it's the professional burglar, right?'

We leave Teddy in the compartment and head off down the corridor. There aren't many people about – perhaps they're sleeping in, too exhausted by their ordeal in Gunning to bother with a gourmet breakfast. The compartment doors are closed, with ‘Do Not Disturb' tags hanging from the handles. Whenever the train bumps past one of the line's support pylons, the carriage jerks and the tags all flap against the doors.

At the end of the corridor, there is a thick metal door with a window. I peer through the glass and flinch at the sight beyond. To go any further, we have to cross a buckled metal platform between the carriages.

‘That doesn't look too safe,' Clementine says doubtfully.

‘Do you still want to go?' I say.

The twins nod, so I open the door. There's a blast of freezing air, and the world seems to fall away below us. White fog coats my hands and face with the sting of frost. I step onto the platform and try not to look down. There's a valley somewhere below, or a mountain slope, but it's too foggy to see. If not for the safety rail, I might fall fifty metres – or five hundred.

I push open the next carriage's door and slip inside. The others stumble in after me, and we slam the door behind us. Maisy looks as white as the fog; too late, I remember how sensitive she is to the cold. She doesn't have any coverings for her hands, so she rubs them together and blows on them to soothe the redness.

This carriage is the same as our own. We hurry down the corridor, take a deep breath, then brave another few seconds outside to cross into the next carriage. We repeat this trauma four times before we open the door onto anything different, and by this point I'm just about ready to quit. But then Clementine shoves open the final door and we stumble into a carriage full of people.

This is not a sleeping cart. It must be the dining carriage. There are no compartments, no narrow corridors. It's a wide, open space, with wooden tables and metal cutlery that winks in the light. There are massive windows, much larger than the one in our compartment, and for a confused second I think I'm still outside between the carriages.

Then I spot the dozens of figures. Richies, the lot of them, clustered around the tables. I'm relieved to see a few other teenagers – the last thing we need is to stand out from the crowd – but the majority are middle-aged gentry. The closest is only metres away: a hungover man who repeatedly stabs his tablecloth with a fork. He is dining upon some kind of breakfast pudding, made with peaches and custard, and the scent of hot cinnamon makes my mouth ache with hunger.

‘There are guards!' whispers Maisy.

I follow her gaze to the far side of the carriage. A group of men and women stand munching on toast, with pistols sheathed in their belts. I don't recognise their uniform, but the letters ‘B.O.N.' upon their sleeves suggest they're special guards for the
Bird of the North.
I raise a panicked hand to check that my veil is in place.

‘Where are they going?' says Clementine, as the guards open the door and cross into the far carriage.

‘Maybe they're checking the carriages one by one?' I say quietly. ‘We should get back and warn Teddy – if they start questioning people about the fire . . .'

I hurry forward for a closer look. If I can glance through the windows, perhaps I can glimpse what lies in the carriage ahead. It might be another dining cart, or perhaps more sleeping carriages. Maybe it's even the front of the train, and the guards are going to consult the driver. But I'm too late; heat has already returned to the carriage, fogging up the window and blocking my view.

When I turn back to the others, I see that a stranger has joined the twins on the far side of the carriage. It's the hungover man with the fork. He's given up on stabbing his tablecloth, and instead he's lurching at Clementine and Maisy with a hungry expression. He leans towards Maisy, lips parted, and huffs stale breath across her face.

‘Hey, sweetheart.' He grabs her hair and yanks her head towards him. ‘You're really pretty. Fancy a kiss?'

Maisy has frozen. She doesn't speak, or cry, or slap him. She just closes her eyes. I shove through the carriage, fighting to reach them. A richie woman snarls at me when I trip over her handbag, spilling coins and fancy lip stains across the floor.

Then Clementine is there. She grabs a knife from the nearest table and thrusts it towards the man's eyes. Now
he's
the one who's frozen, the one who wants to break away.

‘Whoa!' he says, and releases Maisy. ‘What're you doing? We were just having a bit of fun, weren't we, sweetheart?'

Maisy scrambles backwards, paler than I've ever seen her. She's faced hunters and waterfalls and traitors and fire. But I've never seen her lose control like this. She shrinks into the corner, trembling against the carriage's velvet wall.

‘If you go near my sister again,' says Clementine, ‘I will cut out your eyes. Do I make myself clear?'

The man looks like he wants to nod, but the blade is too close to risk any movement. ‘Yeah, all right.'

‘We gave up everything to get away from old creeps like you!' Clementine presses the blade against his eyebrow. ‘Stop
looking
at her!'

‘All right, I get it! I'm sorry!'

She digs the knife into his skin, enough for a thin droplet of blood to run across the metal. Then she yanks it away. The man sinks to his knees, clutching a hand to his face, just as I reach them.

The rest of the carriage has fallen silent. Dozens of richies are staring at us, eyes wide and horrified, their hands across their mouths.

‘Come on,' I say quickly. ‘We've got to get out of here.'

We pull Maisy to her feet and hurry back towards the carriage door. So much for an easy ride over the mountains. We need a way to escape the train – and we need it now. As soon as the man finds a guard, as soon as he reports that he's been attacked . . .

‘Hurry,' I say. ‘We've got to find Teddy and get out of here. That man's going to find a guard, and –'

‘He was asking for it!' snaps Clementine, as though I'm questioning her judgement.

‘I know,' I say. ‘You did the right thing, but we've got to
move
.'

We wrestle with the door between carriages, then step out onto the platform. It's as terrifying as ever – the feeble handrails, the hidden drop below, the blast of snowy wind – but there's no time to worry about the height.

We've got more pressing dangers to deal with.

 

 

 

We collide with teddy in the corridor of the
third carriage. He takes one look at our faces and stiffens. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Some creep grabbed Maisy, so Clementine grabbed him back,' I say. ‘And if we don't hurry, we'll be neck-deep in guards.'

Teddy just nods, grabs my arm and says, ‘This way.'

‘Did you find a way off the train?'

‘Sort of.'

There's no time for further questioning. We squeeze down the corridors of six more carriages, stopping only to grab our packs from our compartment. Every time I cross a swinging metal platform, the wind slaps my face with a reminder of the weather we'll face down below. Staying on this train now means certain death, but escaping it – here, in the middle of the mountains – will probably mean the same.

‘There's one good thing, at least,' Teddy mutters, pressing a hand against the wall to steady himself. ‘Feel that angle?'

I frown, confused for a moment. Then I feel it. The train is tilting slightly downwards now, angling its weight towards the front carriages. It's as though the train has stopped its upward climb into the mountains, and is now winching its way down the other side . . .

‘We're over the peaks?' I say.

‘That's what I'm hoping,' Teddy says. ‘If we've gotta get off this train in the mountains, better to do it on the downhill slope.'

The last carriage is larger than the others, and there's no safety rail to help us clamber inside. For a second, terror seizes my throat and I think I'm going to fall. But I can't afford to be weak now; not when Maisy is shaking and Clementine is still clenching her fists with rage. This crew needs every level-headed member it can get.

The carriage, as it turns out, is not designed for passengers. Half the floor is filled with cargo: leather trundle cases and barrels of supplies. The other half is caged off, separated by a mesh of metal that sparks whenever the carriage jolts.

‘What's back there?' I ask.

Teddy shakes his head. ‘Dunno, but I'd bet ten silvers it's nothing good.'

I remember our conversation about the recently extended train line, about why King Morrigan would waste so much tax revenue to give richies a holiday in Gunning. Maybe this is the real reason for the sky rail: this unknown cargo in the back of the train.

I step closer, keen to peer through the mesh, but a gasp from Clementine brings me to reality. She points back through the tiny window on the carriage door. The glass is blurry, obscured by fog, but a faint shadow moves outside. Did someone see us slip into this cargo carriage?

‘Hide!'

If we had time, we could burrow into a pile of cargo, then rearrange the racks to hide ourselves. But our pursuer will be here in seconds, and there is no time to move a thing. We throw ourselves into the darkest corner we can find, behind a well-balanced stack of kitchen supplies. My face is crushed against a sack of flour, and I strain my muscles to pull back my weight. If I lean too heavily against this bag, it might tip forward and . . .

The carriage door flies open.

A pair of guards burst inside on a flurry of icy wind: one man, one woman. They hold pistols ahead of them, aiming nervously into the dark recesses of the carriage. At first I think it's ridiculous for professional guards to seem so afraid of us. We're just a bunch of half-starved teenagers. But they're looking for a girl who held a knife to someone's eye and threatened to slice it out, aren't they? And they're probably on edge already, considering the crazed influx of passengers after the fire. They might even be afraid the Gunning arsonist snuck aboard this train . . . 

‘Show yourself!' says the nearest guard. He's a middle-aged man with a bit of a belly, but still fit enough for the muscles to shift visibly when he adjusts his grip on his gun. ‘Come out now, or we'll shoot.'

I try to control the sound of my breathing. I don't need to hold my breath completely, luckily, because the sway and rattle of the train is enough to conceal it. If he comes any closer, though, we'll be in trouble.

I sense a movement behind me, as though someone is sliding a hand into fabric. It's Maisy, reaching into the side pocket of our largest pack. She keeps her gaze upon the guards and feels around with her fingertips, wide-eyed and trembling against my shoulder. Then she withdraws her hand and holds out a pair of magnetic plates.

The guards are searching the cargo now, shining lights into every nook and cranny they spot. In twenty seconds they'll be upon us, shining that beam into our startled faces. I don't think two magnets will be enough, but the others must be too hard to reach because Maisy doesn't reach into the pocket again. She slides the first magnet onto the floor, pinning it beneath the edge of a sack of potatoes. Then she thrusts the other into a crack between two biscuit tins, and turns to look at me.

I try to build my illusion. I picture our corner, dark and empty, with nothing but dust and potato sacks. I struggle to push the illusion outward, to paint the image between those magnets like strands of spider web. There's a yank behind my gut and then it's done: an unnatural shimmer upon the air.

A second later, the guard is here. He shines his light towards our corner, then gives a snarl of frustration. This is the last corner for them to check in the carriage; if we're not here, they'll have to go back and search the rest of the train.

The train crosses a pylon hook, and the carriage lurches. The shelf holding the biscuit tins jerks sideways. Only a centimetre at most, but it's enough to disrupt the flow between the magnets and cause a momentary hitch in the sheen of my illusion. The flaw only lasts a second – a jerk, a shimmer in the air. But the guard's eyes widen and he leans in closer, fingers on the trigger.

I hold my breath. I can feel the others do the same; Maisy digs painfully into my shoulder, and one of Teddy's knees is pushing against my gut. I'm still tensing my muscles, straining to hold back my own weight – and the others' now, too – from tipping aside the sack of flour.

‘Hey!' The female guard gestures at the wire mesh partitioning the carriage. ‘Reckon someone could hide back there?'

The guard above us pauses, then pulls away to follow his companion's gaze. ‘Don't think so. What's back there, anyway?'

‘No idea. Boss said it was above my pay grade. Hers too, matter of fact.'

The man laughs. ‘That'd be right. Anyway, how the hell could someone get through that? It's all lit up with alchemy juice.'

As he speaks, silver sparks across the mesh.

‘Let's get out of here. I reckon the girl's nicked off to a compartment.'

They yank open the carriage door and barrel into the cold outside. The door slams and we wait several seconds before daring to move. Then I release my breath in a low gush. It sets off a domino chain of relieved exhalations from the others.

‘I reckoned we were goners,' says Teddy, cracking a shaky grin. ‘Good job on the illusion, Danika.'

‘It was Maisy's idea,' I say.

I turn to Maisy, suddenly remembering her terror when the man grabbed her. She is no longer trembling, but she looks at the floor to avoid my gaze. I open my mouth to ask if she's all right, but Clementine cuts me off. ‘What's the plan, Teddy?'

‘Huh?'

‘I thought you had an idea for getting off this train. And it had better not involve jumping, because from this height –'

‘Nah, not jumping,' says Teddy. ‘I was looking out the window at those pylons, right? They've put it where it's hard for passengers to see, but I stuck my neck out and I reckon they've got something buckled down the other side of the poles.'

‘You don't mean –'

Teddy nods. ‘Ladders. They must have 'em, right? They need a way for maintenance crews to get up and down, to fix the cables . . . or if they need alchemists to update the spells on the cables . . .'

‘Wouldn't they just choose workers with Air
proclivities, so they could ride the wind?'

‘They wouldn't be able to carry much up with them, though. All their tools'd be too heavy, I reckon. They need ladders.'

‘We'd better hurry,' I say, gathering up the magnets. ‘Those aren't the only guards on this train – there could be another pair along any minute now.'

We stuff our packs with food: a sack of flour, potatoes, a tin of cocoa powder and even fresh oranges. Maisy finds a leather knapsack and empties it out, spilling fancy stationery and bringing our tally of packs back up to four. She adds a box of mixed spice and herbs, then we pile in oats and dried fruits. I grab a few wineskins we can use to carry water. The last addition is a hefty bag of candied nuts.

‘We'll need the energy,' says Teddy. ‘Anyway, I reckon my tastebuds have earned a reward after all that cold porridge.'

When I think of the snow, and how freezing nights will increase our hunger, I crack open a biscuit tin and cram its contents into my pockets. I hack open the nearest few cases and rifle through their contents until I find warmer clothing. The others realise what I'm doing and mimic my actions, until we're all dressed in thick winter travelling coats and gloves.

‘Ready?' says Clementine.

I nod. If we had time, I would rummage through the other containers for supplies – blankets, perhaps, or a medical kit. But we don't have time to waste searching, and can't afford to carry baggage that might not contain anything useful. ‘Let's go.'

‘The train stops to recharge every fifteen minutes,' reminds Teddy. ‘As soon as it stops, we'd better move quick – we'll only get twenty seconds to get out of its way.'

We strap the packs on securely before we open the door, and a lash of winter wind hits us. The cold is so sharp that it hurts my face, but it's remark­able how the travelling clothes protect the rest of my body. I'm glad that richies are so intent on buying high quality garments.

Clementine slams the door shut. ‘Let's wait until the train slows down.'

We all nod in agreement. Better to wait here than brave the cold. But still, I don't want to imagine what will happen if we move too slowly. If the train begins to move again before we're safely away, we'll be crushed: smeared like insects against the pylon, or knocked aside to fall through the fog below. Either way, our deaths will not be pretty.

As soon as the train hints at slowing, we fling open the door. There isn't room for all of us on the platform. I let the twins sidle out first, while Teddy and I wait in the carriage doorway. The train takes a century to stop. Theoretically, I know it's only a minute, but the freezing wind and my fear of the guards is enough to make each second drag.

Then it happens. We jerk to a halt and I stumble and almost fall backwards into the baggage cart. But there's no time to readjust, because our twenty seconds are already ticking away.

‘Go!' says Teddy.

Clementine reaches for the pylon. She lurches out into the fog and for a terrible instant I think she is falling. But then she steadies herself and clambers around and out of sight. I let out a shaky breath; she's found the ladder.

Maisy follows. She's fast and light, but in my head I'm already counting down the seconds. The wind soaks my gloves with an icy damp, and I don't know if I'll even be able to grip the ladder when my turn comes. Fourteen, thirteen, twelve seconds to go . . .

Teddy waits for a precious three seconds until he leaps. I know it's not his fault; he can't move until the others are out of the way. But I'm still shouting at him to ‘Go, go, go!' by the time he hurls his body at the pylon.

And suddenly it's my turn. I throw myself off the platform. My gloves slip, but I manage to grab a handhold on the side of the pylon. I take a terrified huff of air and stiffen my muscles. Teddy hasn't moved far enough down the ladder yet; if I swing around now, we're going to collide.

There are five seconds left, then four, three, two . . .

I swing around to the back of the pole, into the space Teddy has vacated, with a second to spare. The top of the pylon jerks above us, spitting light along the silver cables. And then the train is gone, shooting off with a blast of fuel and alchemy.

‘Is everyone all right?' shouts Clementine, some­where down in the fog. I can't see her – in fact, I can't even see my own feet, let alone anyone further down the ladder.

‘Yes! We all made it,' I say.

‘All right,' Clementine says, ‘I'm going down.'

I count to ten before I begin my own descent. Hopefully that's enough time for the others to cover some ground. I'm afraid I might step on Teddy's fingers, or kick him in the head. That could be enough to make him fall. The back of my neck is itching again, worse than ever, and I find myself pondering the odds of spontaneously developing an Air proclivity if I slip off the ladder. It doesn't help that I'm favouring one arm, keeping weight off the shoulder that I dislocated in Rourton. The injury is largely healed but I'm afraid of jerking it out of place again.