Raiders' Ransom (6 page)

What if he gets Andy? The raiders will kill him, just like they always kill militiamen.

“Cat,” I call. But he's nowhere. Not on the table, nor under it. Not climbing over the bookshelves, nor snoozing on top of the cabinets. And the window ain't open, so he can't have got out that way.

“Where are you?” I say crossly, and then I hear a muffled mewling. It's coming from behind the glass-fronted cupboard. I walk over and look inside, but he's not sat next to any of them boxes.

“Cat?” I call again, and get another mew. Sounding quite sorry for himself.

At one end of the cupboard there's a little gap between it and the wall of bookshelves. Just big enough so a person could squeeze in if they was trying to reach a book right at the end of the shelf. Easily big enough for Cat.

I step into the dark little space, which smells of wood and old paper, and straightaway I know where Cat is. Cos the cupboard ain't completely flush against the wall. There's a narrowing gap, no wider than my hand, and somehow Cat's got himself stuck in it. I can see his tail and his furry back legs. He's wriggling and trying to twist himself out, but he's just getting himself stuck tighter.

I crouch down, as best I can in the tiny space, and reach my arm behind the cabinet. But the tips of my fingers only brush his tail. I try pushing on the cupboard to see if I can move
it a bit. But it's so heavy, it might as well be made of stone.

I'm crouched into this corner, practically behind the cupboard, and wondering what to do, when the door opens. Not the door to the sitting room, the door from the hallway.

“If you wouldn't mind waiting in here, sir,” says Martha. “Mrs. Denton did say they wasn't to be disturbed …”

“No, no. It's really quite all right. I have no objection to waiting for a few moments.” It's a man's voice, but no one I recognize.

“Well I'll tell Mrs. Denton and His Majesty directly they come out.”

Then Martha shuts the door, leaving the man in here with me.

I can't exactly say why I don't tell him straight off I'm in the room. Maybe cos it looks like I'm hiding. Or maybe cos I don't want to admit how my seacat, who's meant to be so clever and special, has got himself stuck behind a cupboard. Anyway, whatever the reason, I just keep still and quiet, crouched between the cupboard and the bookshelf.

The man walks over to the door leading into the sitting room, and I get a look at him. First thing I notice is his hair — how short it is. Most men in our village have scraggly hair to at least below their ears. But his is so short he looks like he's been shaving his head as well as his chin. Next thing is his clothes. Cos they're nothing like I've seen here, either poor folk or rich. Fishers and farmers wear rough, practical stuff. Smocks and trousers, patched and darned on every
corner. And the rich have their bright-colored dresses and jackets, with frills and flounces all over. But this man's clothes are made of something smooth, clean, and pretty much all black, apart from small strips of color running along the seams. It's like he's got the money to have really good stuff, but just ain't bothered about showing off. And when I peer at his face, it ain't young and it ain't old, and his eyes look like he's got something on his mind.

At first, he doesn't act that strangely. Does just what anyone would, putting his ear to the door into the sitting room, poking around in the cabinets and pulling open drawers. Like he's looking for something. If he is, he doesn't find it, and I have to crouch even farther into the corner so he doesn't see me.

Then he does something that makes me poke my head up to try and see better. He reaches into the blackness of his strange dark clothes and pulls out what looks like a little flat box. When he opens it, one half of its inside looks like it's made of dark silver, and the other has little buttons in a square pattern. He lays the opened box on the table by the window, in a patch of sunlight, and it makes a little chiming noise, like it's happy to get in the sunshine. He looks around at that, like he's checking no one's heard, but luckily doesn't see me hid in the corner. The little box chimes three more times, and the man taps on the buttons. Then he holds it up to his head. Next thing, he's talking. To himself!

“Hello, are you alone?”

Then he pauses.

“No, but you can't be too careful.”

Pause.

“I know! Why on earth did that fool Medwin take the girl … No, hold on a minute. I'm not criticizing you. I'm sure you're doing what you can, but this is rapidly turning into a disaster.”

Pause.

“I had no idea Randall's daughter was going to be here! He hardly sees her, hardly even mentions her, so how could I have known she'd been sent away?”

Pause.

“Well, this is hardly going to plan.”

Pause.

“Don't panic yet. I'm in Eustace Denton's house, let's see where that gets us. I've already had a chance to take a quick look for it.”

Pause.

“Of course I won't! But maybe it isn't even in the house. Perhaps he hid it somewhere else in the village. If only he hadn't gone and died before he could get it to us.”

Pause.

“I'm afraid Medwin is
your
problem. See what you can do to bring him round.”

Long pause.

“I know you want to get out, but remember how important this is. We need to find it. Denton said he was sure it was
military; that was why we offered him asylum, why we're going to such lengths. Think what might happen if it falls into the wrong hands. Just a little bit longer, that's all we ask.”

I'm wondering if the man is crazed, or drunk, when Cat gives himself a shake and shudder and with a great howling crash shoots backward out of the gap behind the cabinet, knocking me over and sending us both sprawling out from the hidey-hole, onto the floor.

The man spins round, puts his little box away so quick you'd think it had never been, and says, “Well now. What have we here?”

“I was just trying to get my cat. I mean, he got stuck behind the cupboard, and I couldn't get him out.”

'Cept now Cat's washing his belly like nothing ever happened. The man frowns, and takes a step toward me.

“Were you spying on me?”

“No! I was just trying to get my cat. I didn't hear anything. I mean …”

The man smiles.

“I should think a little lassie like you would know when she needs to be sensible. When she needs to forget things? Let's see, how can I help you forget?”

I don't feel at all happy about that smile.

The man walks toward me, and there's nowhere for me to go but behind that cupboard. 'Cept it was hardly wide enough for Cat, let alone for me, to squeeze behind. I'm just about to open my mouth and start screaming when the door into
Mrs. Denton's sitting room springs open and there she is, with her brother looking red-faced and angry.

“What's happened? I heard a crash!” says Mrs. Denton, then stops, looking surprised to see the strange man in her study.

“Ambassador. What are you doing here?” says the Prime Minister.

The man in black turns and bows.

“Prime Minister. I was just waiting to speak with you. Mrs. Denton's woman showed me in here to wait, where I uncovered this little minx. A thief of some kind, I shouldn't wonder.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” says Mrs. Denton. “This is Lilly Melkun, a tragic orphan girl. I asked her to wait in here for me.”

I manage to stand up, holding Cat. I know there's all dust and fluff in my hair.

“Cat got stuck behind the cupboard,” I say.

“How typical of you, Clare!” snaps the Prime Minister. “Spending your care on some urchin while you let your own niece fall into God knows what danger.”

“That's not fair —” starts Mrs. Denton, but her brother just snaps his fingers at her.

“Jasper, I am glad you're here. I thought Greater Scotland's representative would be bound to have an opinion on how to deal with this traitor's nest of a village. I imagine the soldiers
will have rounded them up by now. I was planning to go and see how many of them to hang!”

“Archie, no!” cries Mrs. Denton, but she may as well not be here for all the notice he takes. And I don't want to be here, either! I have to find Andy, find his pa. I have to warn them!

My father puts down his cup, wine sloshing in the bottom. He looks angry.

“I gotta think on it, Zeph.”

My mouth goes dry. Everyone stops talking; all I can hear is the reed torches hissing, lighting the feast hall with their flickers and smoke. Father's been well pleased since he got back from the raid, and he's ordered feast after feast. I thought this'd be a good time to ask, but he ain't saying anything, just checkin' me. And so is everyone else at the high table.

Faz — father's Windspeaker — he's frowning, like he always does. Next to him, Ims has got worry on his crisscrossed scar face. He wants Father to say yes, I know it! Ever since I can remember, he's always been on my side.

Across from Ims is Roba, my brother. My half brother. My stinking, lowborn, older-by-seven-years brother. He don't
look too happy — but then, he never does if I'm anywhere near Father. And then there's Aileen, staring at me from her witch-green eyes. I don't know what she's thinking, but I bet it's nothing good for me.

I hold my breath, waiting for Father's answer. Then he grins.

“I thought on it, and you can come along! You're not far off being a warrior. You should start making your journeys.”

Lunden! I'm going to Lunden! I'm so chuffed, there's a big grin all over my face. Faz nearly smiles. Ims says, “Nice one!”

Then Aileen butts in.

“Do you really think he should go?” she says. “After all, he's only a boy. And Lunden's a dangerous place.”

My gut turns over. Ever since Father bought her, she's done nothing but try and turn him against me.

“I ain't a boy! I'm thirteen!” I say.

“Oh, so you're practically a man,” she says.

Roba can't stop himself smiling at that, and I get ready for a smack from Father. Then, everything shifts. Father don't hit me. He don't even take Aileen's side. He just shakes his head. At her!

“Zeph's right,” he says. “He ain't a child no longer. You must be thinking of your soft Scottish boys — Zeph's well old enough to go to Lunden.”

I can't believe it! By her face, Aileen can't believe it, either, and Roba looks well put out. Father punches my arm, but like a joke.

“Family boys is out fighting when Scottish lads are still weakening their brains in school.” He calls out to the whole
hall, “Ain't that right? We make men of our boys, while the Scots make women out of theirs!”

And everyone's cheering and laughing. Maybe Father is finally getting his brains back from that Scottish wench? Aileen don't say nothing, but her eyes show what she really thinks — how she's so much better than us for being Scottish. Well all that tech stuff and learning didn't stop her ending up a slave, did it?

But who cares about her? Today it feels like things are changing for me: Father's back; we're going to war with the English; I'm sitting here at the feast; I'll be going to Lunden; Aileen has been put in her place.

“That's sorted, then,” says Father, and he turns to the Windspeaker. “Hey, Faz, how about you bring our little guest of honor to see us?”

Faz smiles at that, showing teeth the same color as his bleached hair, then he pushes himself from the table and disappears. Off to the slave hall.

After a bit, Faz is back, towing the little English girl. She's still in her nightdress, but now the ropes is off her, and Faz is pulling her by one of her skinny arms. At the sight of the English girl, the warriors at the tables start shouting, laughing, banging their plates and knives together —
clang clang clang!
Her eyes get wide and frightened.

Saera had eyes like that. Toward the end, when she was so weak from the shivers she could hardly speak. “Don't let me die,” she whispered in a little croaking voice.

And I said, “You ain't gonna, I'll make sure of it.” But I couldn't keep my promise.

Faz stops in front of our table, and Father shouts out, “Let's hear it for Alexandra Randall! As fine a little doxy as ever came out of England, and all ready to start a war with!”

A great roar goes up, and a great battering of plates. The little English girl looks even more frightened, and she starts crying again. The cheering goes on and on, so it's hard to hear anything else. But I can see Aileen nagging at my father, and when the noise starts to die, he says, “All right, lady! Anything to shut you up!”

He waves at Faz. “Bring the little thing over here.”

Faz pulls the English girl round the table to Father. She's crying so hard she ain't even looking at anything, and her bare feet stumble and slip. Father grabs hold of her and lifts her onto his lap. Then she stops crying! She goes rigid, her pale eyes wide.