City of Lies (24 page)

Goldie jammed her bruised knuckles against her mouth. Her legs were shaking uncontrollably. The ship rocked in the swell.

“I said, bring yer sister,” snarled Cord.

Toadspit blinked, as if he had only just realized that someone was talking to him. He raised a trembling hand. He pointed to the gap in the rail where the gangplank had been. “She fell,” he croaked. “The bullet—you missed me—and hit her. She fell—in the water. She’s—gone.”

His voice broke. A tear rolled down his face. He sank to his knees and began to sob. From somewhere in the clouds high overhead, a harsh voice echoed, “Go-o-o-ne. Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-ne.”

Goldie felt Mouse’s fingers slide quietly into hers. She stared at Toadspit, trying to see—

“No,” she whispered. “Not Bonnie.” And she too began to cry.

“Show me,” said Cord.

“There’s nothing to see,” mumbled Toadspit.

“I said,
show me!
” And Cord belted Toadspit across the head with the back of his hand. A trickle of blood seeped from under Toadspit’s bandage.

The three children stumbled along the deck at gunpoint to where Bonnie had stood a moment before. The cat crouched next to the covered dinghy, watching them. Cord scanned the deck, then bent down and peered suspiciously at a streak of blood on the boards.

“Could be yours,” he said to Toadspit.

“Don’t think so, Cord,” said Smudge, who was squinting over the rail at the water. “Look at that black thing floatin’
down there. It’s a shoe, a little ’un. Looks like the ones the girl was wearin’. Want me to fetch it up?”

“Nah, don’t bother.” Cord’s lips drew back from his teeth in a vicious smile. “So she’s dead, eh? Oh dear. What a pity.”

“My little sister,” whispered Toadspit. “My poor little sister.”

Cord straightened up, his smile gone, his face as tight as a wire. “Search ’em, Smudge,” he said. “Then take us back to the wharf. We don’t wanna keep Flense waitin’.”

Smudge searched the two boys. But when he came to Goldie he hesitated. “Hey, Cord. Is she still a princess?”

“Don’t be stupid,” hissed Cord. “Search ’er, or you’ll feel me fist.”

Smudge patted Goldie’s pockets gingerly and found Toadspit’s knife. His eye fell on the sword and he picked it up. “Hey, look what I got! If that demon cat comes near me I’m gunna slit its gullet.”

Cord whacked him across the ear. “Get below, ya moron. Start the engine. Bring us back to the wharf.”

“Ow!” said Smudge, looking reproachfully at the other man. “Ya didn’t need to do that.”

He disappeared below deck. A moment later there was a hiss of gas and the engine rumbled to life. Smudge came back up, still clutching the sword, and took the tiller. The
Piglet
began to turn.

Cord shoved the children up against the mainmast, then backed toward the rail, pointing his pistol at them. From
the clouds above, Goldie heard a mournful, fading cry. “Go-o-o-o-o-ne.”

She gripped Toadspit’s arm, as if she were having trouble standing up on her own. It was not so far from the truth. Her fingers tapped out a name.
Bonnie?

Below
, signed Toadspit.
Hiding
.

Goldie let out her breath in a long sigh. She had hoped desperately that it was a trick. But Toadspit had been so convincing that even suspicious Cord had believed him. And the shoe had worried her.…

Blood?
she signed.

Mine
.

Shoe?

Bonnie’s. Threw it
.

The ship bumped against the wharf. “Hey, Flense,” shouted Cord over his shoulder. “Come and give us a hand. And watch out for that stinkin’ bird. It’s still around somewhere.”

Guardian Hope scrambled over the rail, puffing and grumbling. “You took your time.
And
they nearly got away. Where’s—” She caught sight of Goldie and her mouth fell open. “
Golden Roth!
I should have known!”

She stomped forward until her furious face almost touched Goldie’s. “Still interfering in the Fugleman’s business, I see,” she hissed. “Well, this is the last time, I promise you that. The
very last time
!”

She glared at Toadspit too, and Mouse. “Where’s the other girl, Bonnie?” she snapped.

Cord pointed to the water. “I shot ’er.”

Guardian Hope’s face seemed to swell. “You idiot! What are they going to think when they find her with a bullet in her?”

Cord pretended not to hear the question. He took a splinter of wood from his pocket and began to pick his teeth.

“Well?” demanded Guardian Hope.

Cord’s eyes glittered. He spat on the deck, right next to Guardian Hope’s foot. “You don’t know these waters real good, do ya, Flense? There’s a shark nursery out there.” He nodded toward the mouth of the bay. “Me an’ me brothers used to fish it when we was snotties. Ya chuck in a bit of bait and next thing ya know they’re all round the boat. That girl’ll be nothin’ but bones by now.”

“
Will
she?” said Guardian Hope, with a thoughtful expression on her face. “Will she indeed?”

Goldie glanced at Toadspit. There was no need to say anything. They could both see what was being planned for them. They must escape, and they must do it quickly.

But escape was looking more and more unlikely. Guardian Hope tied the children to the mainmast, tugging at the knots to make sure they were secure.

“Smudge,” she said, “keep us next to the wharf. Cord, I have some new instructions for you.”

As Cord followed Guardian Hope to the rail, a familiar sound drifted to Goldie’s ears.

Drums. A bombardon. A trombone playing out of tune.

“It’s the band,” she whispered. “The Festival is still going.”

“What band?” breathed Toadspit.

“Look. There!”

The musicians were shuffling along the wharf toward the
Piglet
. Their playing was as bad as ever, but the crowd following them didn’t seem to care. Goldie saw someone throw half a dozen buns. Sweetapple dived after them, and so did a group of masked snotties. The music stopped. The bandmaster grabbed one of the snotties and shouted at him. The boy seemed to be arguing. Or maybe pleading.

Goldie felt Mouse stiffen beside her. “What?” she whispered.

Mouse shook his head. Nothing.

As the band drew level with the
Piglet
, Cord’s jaw twitched. He muttered something to Guardian Hope and leaped over the rail onto the wharf.

The bandmaster had been bouncing along with his mask pushed up on his forehead. Now he stopped in his tracks. Sweetapple bumped into him. Dodger bumped into Sweetapple. They began to complain—then they too saw Cord. The music faltered and died. The crowd melted away, as if people could see there was going to be trouble and didn’t
want any part in it. Only the snotties lingered curiously in the background, their masks turned toward the bandmaster.

He was staring at Cord with a look of terror on his face. Goldie remembered his desperate words the last time she saw him.
“You’ve signed my death warrant, and that of all my fellows!”

It was true, she realized. The musicians had been an important part of the diversion when she rescued Bonnie and Toadspit. They hadn’t
known
they were a diversion, not until it was too late. But who would believe that? Certainly not Cord.

In the back of Goldie’s mind, Frisia’s voice whispered,
A warrior always pays her debts
.

Cord pushed past Dodger and grabbed the bandmaster’s arm. The bandmaster sagged, as if all the air had gone out of him. With a yellow smile, Cord raised his pistol.…

“Hey, you,” shouted Goldie. The bandmaster’s head jerked in fright.

It’s still the Festival
, Goldie reminded herself.
Everything I say has to be back to front
.

“Thank you
so
much for helping me,” she cried through gritted teeth. “You were
so
kind. All that information you gave me.” She rolled her eyes in disgust. “It was
extremely
valuable. In fact, it’s got nothing to do with why we ended up here.”

The bandmaster’s mouth formed an O of surprise. Cord was taken aback too. Goldie could see his confusion.

The bandmaster recovered first. He straightened his coat and sneered at Goldie. “Pleased to have been able to help you, my dear. I, of course, am
quite
willing to betray my former colleagues. And I’m
terribly
sorry to see that you’ve got your comeuppance.”

Cord sucked his teeth thoughtfully. Guardian Hope leaned over the side of the ship, her face a picture of outrage. “What’s this? He
betrayed
us? And now he’s
boasting
about it? Give him a good whipping, Cord, for playing false with his betters. Then kill him.”

The bandmaster shot her a look of sheer loathing. But Cord spat on the dock and shook his head. “It’s just Festival talk, Flense. Don’t worry about it.” And he thumped the bandmaster on the arm in a more or less friendly fashion and turned away.

The bandmaster hesitated for just a second, then lunged after him, his chains rattling. “Going on a journey, Cord? We didn’t get much food this morning. Awful rubbish, most of it. I’d hate to give you some. A few bags of nasty little pastries for the trip, maybe? I didn’t smell rabbit in some of them. You always disliked rabbit, if I remember rightly.”

He glanced up at Goldie and she thought she saw the ghost of a wink.

“Nah, don’t want any,” said Cord, obviously pleased.

“Ho, boys!” shouted the bandmaster. “I don’t need a few of you to carry some provisions on board ship for me.”

The masked snotties surged forward in a mass, pushing each other out of the way. Old Snot, the bombardon player, and Dodger each took a bag from underneath their coats and reluctantly handed it over.

“Steal as many as you like, lads,” said the bandmaster to the snotties. “I’m sure Cord here won’t mind. He’s got a nature as sweet as a butterfly’s kiss.”

Cord bared his teeth. The snotties laughed but kept their fingers out of the bags.

Goldie could feel Mouse shaking beside her. Her blood surged in her veins. The bandmaster was up to something, she was sure of it. Perhaps there was something in the bags. A message. A weapon.

As the boys scrambled over the
Piglet
’s rail, the band struck up a jaunty tune. Guardian Hope glared at the musicians. “We’re wasting time!” she shouted.

No one took any notice of her. Cord showed the boys where to stow the bags. The band played louder. The boys began to dance.

Within seconds, the deck of the ship was swirling with noise and movement. There were snotties everywhere, shouting and leaping and dancing. Goldie couldn’t keep track of them. The cat slunk behind the covered dinghy, out of reach.

Guardian Hope’s face was blotchy with rage. “That’s
enough
!” she shouted. “Stop this nonsense or I’ll see you
all
whipped!”

Still they ignored her. Goldie saw her take a small pistol from her pocket and point it at the sky.

The shot, louder than a thunderflash, stopped the dancers in their tracks. The snotties cowered against the rail. Down on the wharf, the band members froze, their lips trembling on their instruments.

But before Guardian Hope could spit out the angry words that hovered on her lips, the air around the ship began to hum and swirl.

Smudge’s slab face lit up like a candle. “It’s a Big Lie!” he cried. “I can feel it. Someone’s gunna get a Big Lie!”

He was right. Goldie could feel it too. The Festival was still going and there were still Big Lies on the loose. No one had called
this
one, but it had come nonetheless.

“Who’s it for? Is it me?” cried Smudge. “Oh, Bald Thoke, please let it be me!”

Goldie could see the same longing in the eyes of Cord and the snotties. Only Guardian Hope looked annoyed by the interruption. “We haven’t got time—” she began.

The twisting, curling air swooped past her, wrenching whatever she was going to say next out of her mouth. The edge of the wharf sparkled. The bandmaster squeaked in surprise.

“Quick, Cord,” shouted Smudge. “Ask me a question.”

“Don’t be stupid,” muttered Cord. “It’s not you. It’s them.”

He pointed toward the musicians, who were bathed in a
swirl of flickering possibility. Sweetapple was standing on tiptoe, laughing and crying at the same time, “It’s us! It’s us!” Old Snot’s toothless mouth was trying to frame a question, but like most of the band, he was too overcome to speak.

Only Dodger had the wits to turn to the bandmaster and cry, “Who are we? Quick, before it goes.
Who are we?
”

The bandmaster was as stunned as the rest of them. “We’re—We’re—” he stammered. He swiveled his head this way and that, searching for inspiration. Goldie saw his eyes fall on Guardian Hope, who was also Flense, the woman who had had him whipped.…

He bared his teeth in a vengeful grin. “We’re hunters,” he cried. “Free and mighty hunters. And there”—he raised his baton and pointed straight at Guardian Hope—“
there
is our prey!”

With a loud crash, the shackles and chains fell from his ankles, and from the ankles of all his people. He grew taller, and more alert. Sweetapple’s limp disappeared. Dodger and the hairy trumpeter bristled with strength. Even Old Snot put down his drum and straightened up, as lithe and energetic as a twenty-year-old.

But that was not all. Having lived through a Big Lie herself, Goldie could see into the very heart of this one. She could see the faint haze around each of the hunters, which seemed to make them even taller and stronger, so that they
reminded her of the heroes from the
really
old stories. She could see the furs they wore, and the massive hounds that prowled around them like long-legged wisps of smoke.

Guardian Hope had changed too. She was bigger than the hounds, and her head tilted under a huge rack of antlers. She sniffed the air and snorted.

The bandmaster’s head shot around. He pointed toward the
Piglet
.

With a muscular grace, Sweetapple raised her trombone—which was looking more like a spear with every passing moment—and began to stalk toward the ship. Dodger followed, a few steps behind. Goldie held her breath.