Raiders' Ransom (3 page)

At least I still got Andy. Maybe not everything's ruined, cos me and Andy's still got all our plans to get on with.

But a couple of days later, when I can finally bring myself to go back home, I feel worse all over again. I push at the
still-open door of our house and go inside. The fire's out, which makes the whole house feel wrong, cos Granny always kept it chattering. And there are muddy footprints on the floor, which Granny would never have stood for.

Near the wall by the fireplace, there's a large stain, crusty and red on the gray flagstones. I remember what Hetty said, and I get a feeling inside, like I've been tossed about in a stormy sea. I run from that dark room into the street and stare out at the distant wave tops, sparkling with sunlight and tears. I can't believe Granny's not here. I keep thinking I'll hear her come out and start washing the step, like she does every morning. But she doesn't, and the step's all dirty.

I'm still stood staring when Mrs. Ainsty comes marching up, all rustle and bustle.

“Lilly Melkun! The very person I was searching for.”

And before I have a chance to run, she's got hold of my hand, with a grip like a crab, and she's got her doing-good look on her face.

“Now dear,” she says. “I've something very important to say to you. I've been talking with some of the other wives about what to do with you.”

Do with me?

“I can look after myself,” I say. I try and shake her off, but her grip's like iron.

“Oh my dear,” says Mrs. Ainsty. “You don't think we'd let the granddaughter of Captain Melkun run around like a wild thing?”

“I got my boat. And Cat.”

Mrs. Ainsty tuts.

“You don't seriously think you can carry on fishing, do you? This ain't your grandmother's day. If you spend your life wearing fisher's overalls and hanging around with fishermen, well, you won't have a reputation worth a penny.”

“I don't need a reputation.”

“And that just goes to show how much you need a guiding hand. Someone to look after you and set you on the right way. I know your grandmother indulged your whims — letting you go out fishing and all, but you're hardly a child anymore. Why, I've already been to see Susan Wheeler.”

“You never!” I cry.

Mrs. Ainsty looks at me all kindness and raised eyebrows.

“You don't have to thank me, dear. Of course I've been to see the matchmaker for you. And very helpful she was, too. You must be … twelve?”

“Thirteen.”

“So! Quite old enough to be married! I'm sure between Susan Wheeler, myself, and the other ladies, we can get you wed in no time at all. And after all, you have your seacat. He's a valuable dowry. I don't think we'll have any trouble getting the Hindles to accept you for their son.”

“Lun Hindle! But he's spent the last two years trying to get Cat taken from me!”

“Which just shows he'll accept the animal as a dowry.”

“But he's lazy. And stupid! And he's only got a boat cos his pa sorted him one.”

“That's enough!” snaps Mrs. Ainsty, looking cross. “Do you think you've got the pick of every man in the village? You'd do better than many if you marry into such a good family as the Hindles. So you'd better change your mind about Lun, as there'll be no one who'll want to listen to such vile comments when you're his wife!”

“I won't change my mind, cos it ain't never happening!” I cry, and I finally wrench my hand from hers. Then I'm running again. But this time it's away. Away from our house without Granny in it. Away from Mrs. Ainsty wanting to marry me off. Heading for the harbor, where my boat's waiting.

And that's how come I'm down there just when there's a great clattering of hooves and a soldier comes riding in.

Of course, I ain't the only one to see it. There's a great gang of folk already down at the harbor: fishers hard at work, trying to rescue what they can of sails and nets, hauling boat remains from the water. And the captains, in the ale-stained innards of the Old Moon, taking a bit of drink before they come out and start ordering folk around. Soon as the soldier gallops in, there's a bearded face peering out of one of the pub's windows, mouth round at the sight of the blue uniform, jingling with silver and braid, and the gleaming chestnut horse. Then the face disappears, and next second all the captains come out of the pub, puffing out their chests and muttering importantly. The fisherfolk stop their work, and
there's just the sound of the sea and the gulls flying overhead.

“Who's in charge here?” shouts the soldier.

There's a bit of shuffling from the flock of captains, then Captain Ainsty puffs himself forward.

“You can talk to me,” he says.

“I'm here on the orders of the commander of the Chichester garrison,” says the soldier, “to determine why your beacon was lit for no reason. As it caused no little panic down the coast!”

Everyone looks at everyone else in surprise. Captain Ainsty pulls his chest right up and flings his arm out to the smashed-up remains of our fishing fleet.

“No reason!” he cries, all outrage. “You call the destruction of our fishing fleet no reason?”

The soldier looks around, like he's noticed all the wreckage for the first time. He smiles, and it ain't a nice one.

“You're claiming the raiders came and destroyed your
boats?
And left all the other villages on the coast untouched? I find that rather odd.”

“The raiders came down upon us three days ago. Of course they wrought this terrible damage. Who else could it be?”

Everyone nods and mutters, but the soldier just smiles his nasty smile.

“I'd say I was looking right at the most likely perpetrators. After all, the raiders don't attack single villages and then flee. They'd have ravaged the coast and slaughtered the lot of you. Yet you claim your village alone was attacked, and you were all left alive.”

Something just boils up inside me at that. “My granny! They killed my granny!” I'm shouting. The soldier looks around at me, but his smile doesn't break, even for a moment.

“You expect me to believe the word of some urchin? I wouldn't be surprised if you did this all yourselves in the hope of compensation.”

“No! No! Never!” come the shouts.

“I'll make a report,” says the soldier coldly, “then we'll see what happens.”

John Greenstick steps forward from the fisherfolk and takes his cap from his head.

“Excusing your pardon, Your Honor,” he says. “But you've got to believe us. We're honest folk here, and loyal to the Prime Minister. And we need help. We'll starve if we can't get our boats sorted.”

“Aye, what's the Prime Minister going to do to help us?” shouts someone in the crowd.

The soldier's smile turns to a sneer.

“Isn't that just like you peasants? Sly and greedy, every one. All you want is your handouts, but you'll get nothing if it turns out you scuppered your own boats.”

And then everyone's in an uproar.

“It was raiders done the damage to our fleet!”

“We ain't scroungers!”

“What'll my children eat if we don't get nothing from His Majesty?”

“Shame on you! Shame on your hard heart.”

The soldier's horse starts to skitter about at all the shouting, and the soldier roars out, “Enough! Haven't you read His Majesty's new declaration on attacks? Haven't you understood it? Go and read the notice up at your church if you want to know what's coming to you.”

But no one needs to go up to the church, we've all got that notice by heart, all read it dozens of times since it got pinned up last month.

And at the bottom there's a big squiggly signature.

The soldier glares about at the crowd. Everyone's still mumbling and fizzling with anger, but the shouting quiets down; no one wants the Prime Minister to punish us, not on top of being raided.

“Well now,” says the soldier, “since that's cleared up, I will get on with my main business here.” He looks around. “Which way is it to the house of Mrs. Clare Denton?” A hush falls over us, like we all stop breathing at once. “Come on! I haven't got all day. I'm charged to lead Miss Alexandra Randall's escort back from her aunt's house to the Prime Minister's palace in Swindon. And we need to leave in good time.”

No one says anything. Captain Ainsty and John Greenstick sneak back into the gaggle. The soldier looks around at everyone, and you can see a dawning of something on his face.

“Is there some problem?” he barks.

Eventually Captain Ainsty pipes up.

“You can't see Mrs. Denton,” he says nervously, “because I hear the poor woman is laid up in bed with the hysterics … And you can't take little Alexandra Randall back to her father, because the raiders have her.”

My father! He's back!

Everything's in ruck and noise, servants and slaves running all over. In the kitchens they're breaking their backs to get the cooking done.

Coz Father's home, so we'll be having a feast!

The great doors of the main hall — facing east, facing the sea — is pushed open. I run outside; I want to see Father sailing in. But it seems like everyone who's been left behind — wives and concubines, old men and too young — is already out there on the main deckway. Five, six, seven deep against the railing. I try pushing, try jumping up. But the only person who even gives me a look is Ananda, skank wife of Enrique.

She just scowls out, “Stop pushing, Zeph, have some respect!”

“Respect you, pig features?” I say, then leg it before she can hit me.

She would never have spoke to me like that if Mother was still alive.

I go here and there behind the crowd, but no one's letting me through. And I need to see Father!

A thought comes in my head. It's bad, but it gets right in, not letting go.

“So what if it's forbidden?” it says. “Ain't you the son of the greatest Boss in all the Families?”

I make sure no one's checkin' me, then I pull open the north gate of the wind gallery. Just a crack. Just enough to squeeze through.

I shut it behind me, and I'm into the dim half-dark of the wind gallery. The spirits will punish me for sure — bad dreams, bad luck, bad skin. And I'll get a nice beating if Ims catches me. But who cares?

All four windgates are shut, the red spirit-flags hanging limp, but the willow lattice walls let in light through cracks in the weave. North, all I can see is the crowd on the deckway. South is the marshes, curving away into green. West is the carved wooden walls and high thatched roof of Father's hall, but east, toward the sea, is all specks of blue — dark sea below, light sky above. And there's a bit of red.

Red sails. Father's dragonboat!

I get quick to the northeast corner, press my eyes to the gaps. And now, through the blurry pattern of woven willow stems, I can see Father coming home.

It's quiet in the wind gallery, even with the whole Family right near me on the deckway. Only the
splash, splash
of water beneath the hall, lapping at the stilt-legs, and the wind spirits brushing and breathing against the wind-gallery walls. But I'm all right, they can't get inside unless the gates is opened.

This is a good spot. Through these little holes I can see everything: the seven islands that sit between the hall and the open sea; the sea channels — wide and sky-gleaming now the tide's full in; the reeds flicking waves of green across the marshes.

Most important, though, I can see Father's dragonboat. Red sail billowing, red flags fluttering, shields stacked at her prow. The foredeck's like a forest of swords; even from in here I can hear the cheers of the warriors.

Which means success!

Everyone on the deckway is cheering as well now. But I have to keep my mouth shut — I don't want Ims finding me. Or worse, the Windspeaker. He'd spike me for sure!