Salt (17 page)

Give them to me, Pearl said, using only half her strength.

She took the guns to the edge of the wharf and dropped them into the water. Then, coming back, she took a sideways peep at Hari and read what he meant to do. She left him instructing Tuck and went searching for food, and found a store of cheese and hard-bread in the office cupboard. She took some to Hari and made him eat while the three men fired up a steam engine and ran it to the shed, where they coupled it to the flat-bed truck.

They pulled away from Saltport in mid-afternoon, following the rail track leading to the mine. The spur track was half an hour away. The cadet called Candy changed the points, and the engine pulled the cannon towards the iron door. They stopped several hundred metres away, with the cliffs of the grey hill rising like a wall.

Hari, don’t break the door, Pearl said.

No. It’s their grave.

He felt it was Tarl’s grave as well – the Tarl who had carried him on his shoulders and taught him to survive in the burrows. He looked at the grey cliffs, searching for a weakness.

‘Arm the gun, Tuck. How many bolts will it fire?’

‘Twenty good ones,’ Tuck said. ‘Then weaker ones until we get the battery recharged.’

‘Shoot at the cliff, where the crack runs underneath the overhang.’

Tuck set Fat and Candy turning wheels. He sat behind the cannon as the muzzle came up, then read the range through an instrument on the side.

‘All right, fire,’ Hari said.

The cannon boomed deep in the breech; light flashed from the muzzle, and a fizzing bolt, blunt-headed and as long as a snake, mounted almost lazily towards the cliff. Halfway there it began to fall, bulging in the middle as though it had been fed. It struck below the overhang in a burst of light. Rocks the size of wool bales flew out. The cliff seemed to tremble, but the overhang held.

‘Again,’ Hari said.

This time the overhang fell with a roar and buried the archway leading to the door in the base of the cliff. Broken stones fanned out. They rattled and lay still.

‘Again.’

He kept Tuck shooting, lower on the cliff at first, then higher, and the fan of rocks increased until it pushed the lamp post flat and crushed the sentry box. The iron door was buried under tons of rock no one would ever shift.

The cadets stood waiting for orders. Tuck stood up, his face red from the cannon’s heat. He saluted.

Hari felt like telling them to start walking, wherever they liked, and never come back. Instead he said: Pearl, help me. I want to make them so they’ll never talk about Deep Salt.

They worked together, deep in the three men’s minds, turning aside from ugly things there, telling them there was no Deep Salt, there never had been – no iron door, no men dying in the dark. And they had never seen Hari and Pearl.

When we’re gone, Hari said, these are your orders, Tuck. You’ll take the cannon back to the wharf and roll it into the sea. Sink it. Then you’ll come back here, all three of you, and start your work. You’ll tear up the spur line leading to the hill. Take away the rails, take away the sleepers. You’ll make it look as if no line was ever here. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, that’s what you’ll do. Then you’ll go, and not remember, and you can walk forever if you like, but you’ll never come back to Saltport.

Tuck, Candy, Fat stood like statues.

Wait until you can’t see us any more.

He went to the flat-bed and shouldered the sack Pearl had filled with food. They turned their backs on the men, on the huge rock-fan, on the grey hill, and walked away. They went along the spur line, crossed the main line, and walked on cart tracks past deserted farms and empty fields. It was midnight when they reached the mangrove creek.

We’ll sleep here, Hari, Pearl said.

Yes, let’s sleep.

And tomorrow we can start for Stone Creek.

Hari shook his head. No, Pearl, he said.

She looked at him, alarmed.

There’s one more thing I’ve got to do, he said.

FOURTEEN

Again they sailed south. To Pearl it was as if they were falling into a pit. The coastal hills were bearded with bush, the western sky leaden. She felt a pressure from each side, squeezing the boat into a hole. She had wanted never to see the city again, with its dead port and ruined burrows and the cliffs where her family had died. She had wanted never to be anywhere close to Ottmar, who was connected in her mind with the deformed rats of Deep Salt; and, she admitted, wanted never to see Tarl. There was something in him hurt beyond cure, and a twisting that would grow even tighter and never unwind. Yet she knew why Hari had to see him one more time.

Clouds grew on the horizon like heads looking over a wall. For three days they filled with darkness, then began to roll towards the coast on a steady wind. Both she and Hari were used to the summer storms that lashed the city but had never faced one at sea. Rain drove at them like steel spikes as they sailed past the cliffs, allowing them no more than glimpses of darkened trees in the parks and houses fallen to black mounds with skeletons standing in them. They saw too, like a ghost, House Ottmar standing undamaged, with the flag on its roof stretching out in the wind. It did not seem to be the Ottmar flag.

They steered for Port, with heavy swells throwing and sliding them. Neither had the skill for this sort of sailing. The breakwater on the northern side tore the tiller out of Pearl’s hands as they went by. The boat scraped on rocks, then won free, gliding in still water and flapping its sail. They found a shallow ramp beyond the wharves and hauled the boat halfway out, emptied it of water, then pulled it above the high-tide mark. Port still seemed deserted, and in the storm there seemed little chance of anyone stealing the boat. They ran for the nearest building with their sack of food, found a dry room, and Hari collected scraps of wood and made a fire on a stone hearth. They warmed and dried themselves, then ate and drank.

Where are we going? Pearl said.

Into the burrows, if Tarl’s there. If he’s not, I don’t know. Wherever I can find him. Pearl, you don’t need to come.

I’m coming, she said.

They slept for an hour on the hard floor, then set out through the streets of Port. There were no people, no fires, no shouts or shrieks. The only sounds were the lashing of rain against walls and the gulping of water into drains. They went through Bawdhouse, past Keg and Keech. No people. Blood Burrow was as silent as death.

Hari climbed high into a ruin, but the rain was too thick for him to see far. Yet perhaps on the city walls there were pinpricks of light; and further off, almost invisible behind the grey shroud, pale yellow blooms that might be fires.

They saw their first people as they approached the wall – a man, woman and child walking head down into the rain. Hari made Pearl wait in a doorway. He stopped the man, held him lightly: ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked.

‘In the city. On the cliffs. Tonight is the signing.’

‘What signing?’

‘Man, where’ve you been? Everyone knows.’

‘I’ve been scavenging in the country. What signing?’ Hari said.

‘The clerks, with us. With the burrows. It’s a treaty.’

‘What about Ottmar?’

The man laughed, greedily delighted. His eyes glowed, and Hari let him break out of his hold.

‘Ottmar’s in a cage where he belongs.’

‘Captured?’

‘Tarl took him, with his dogs. There was a battle down in the city. The clerks beat Ottmar’s army, slaughtered the lot of them, but when they tried to get up on the cliffs they found us there with Ottmar’s cannons pointing in their faces and they’d had enough fighting by then, lost too many men. So they had to take their hats off and be polite to us. Hey, to us, burrows-men.’

He laughed again.

‘How did Tarl capture Ottmar?’

‘Just went in through a gate with his dogs when the armies were fighting. Us, Blood Burrows, going after him with our knives. We went up them paths like burrows rats, grabbed them officers and did for the lot.’ He slashed with his hand, cutting a throat. ‘But Tarl got Ottmar baled up with his dogs, wouldn’t let us kill him. He locked him in a cage – best place for the bugger. Him and his son.’

‘Kyle-Ott?’

‘Kyle-Ott. We’ll bring them out tonight and have some fun. That’s why I come back here to fetch my boy. I want him to see. See the signing too. Tarl and Keech sitting down with them clerks and making them eat crow.’

‘Keech is there?’

‘He come up behind us with his lot, and Keg’s lot too. And the Bawdhouse gals. He’s got more men than Blood Burrow, but we’ve got Ottmar. We’ve got Tarl. You better get up there if you want to see.’

‘I will,’ Hari said.

The man and his wife and child went off into the rain, with the boy grizzling until the man lifted him onto his shoulders.

Pearl, Hari said, I’ve got to go up there. And this time you can’t come.

Why not?

Because you’ve got white skin. You’re Company. They’ll kill you if they see you.

I’m not Company.

I know, Pearl. I know. But white skin and yellow hair. Pearl, it’s death. You’ll never get a chance to argue.

I’ll keep my hood up, Pearl said.

It’s not enough.

I’ll tie the draw-string tight. And look . . . She scooped up mud and rubbed it on her face. I can turn brown like you. I’ll do my hands and arms as well.

The rain will wash it off.

Well, soot. There’s plenty of soot. I’ll rub that in. Hari – Your eyes. Blue eyes.

I’ll keep them lowered. I’ll look down. Company women are good at that.

He looked at her, looked into her eyes, brighter blue now that mud darkened her face.

Hari, she said, you might need me.

I care about her more than Tarl, he thought. Yet he had to see his father, tell him that the box of salt was buried in the mine where it would never be found, and Deep Salt itself closed forever. And he wanted, if he could, to make Tarl happy, make him forget.

Pearl used water running from a roof to wash her face. Hari hunted for soot and found some on the underside of a sheet of tin used to shelter a cooking fire. She rubbed it on her hands and arms, then on her face, turning them closer to black than brown. Hari made her close her eyes and smeared soot on her eyelids.

Keep them closed. I’ll guide you. We’ll pretend you’re blind.

I’ll try.

The rain eased as they climbed to the city wall. It stopped altogether as they went through the gate, but the wind blew fiercely, whipping their cloaks about their legs, even though Mansion Hill stood between them and the sea. They climbed the path Pearl and Tealeaf had escaped down.

People, Pearl said.

From the burrows, Hari said.

They stood thick in the wide street of burned mansions: men, women, children, old and young, crippled and sick, all had come – and from every burrow: Blood and Keg and Keech and Basin and Bawdhouse. The burrows smell of bodies, unwashed clothes, of bad food and starvation and disease, brought tears to Hari’s eyes, but gave him too a flash of elation: We’ve won. Then he remembered the killing, the man miming the cutting of throats, and how a treaty must be made with the clerks, and knew there were no winners, nobody won. But surely, he thought, things will be better. The burrows needn’t starve any more.

He pushed his way through, shielding Pearl, and when men objected said, ‘I’m Tarl’s son, Hari. I’ve got a message for Tarl.’

They let him pass. Guards posted casually at the Ottmar mansion knew him and hailed him and pushed him through the gate.

The people on the lawns were mostly fighting men, from every burrow, with here and there a tight-knit squad of knife-women from Bawdhouse. Some had pulled charred planks from the fallen mansions and were coaxing fires alight in the wet wood and cooking food the clerks had sent up as a gesture of goodwill. Others lounged on sofas and chairs dragged from Ottmar’s mansion, not caring that they were sodden with rain. Beyond the crowd, by the cliff, the wall had been torn down between Ottmar’s park and the rock where Cowl the Liberator had thrown the Families to their deaths – and where, a hundred years later, Ottmar had also thrown his victims. The marble hand still stood, although its fingers had been blasted off by a hit from a bolt cannon. Only the thumb remained, pointing crookedly out to sea. An awning raised on poles at the back of the hand sheltered a table and four chairs. Groups of men stood about, Blood Burrows men, Keech men, with Bawdhouse women further away, keeping to themselves.

Off to one side men shouted and danced about an iron cage, throwing gnawed bones and handfuls of mud through the bars.

It’s Ottmar and Kyle-Ott, Pearl said.

Ottmar lay curled up in the centre of the cage, half clad in torn finery. He shivered and moaned, then gabbled something to himself – some litany of his former glory – and opened his eyes and looked about, and closed them again to force reality away. Kyle-Ott stood, gripping the bars. He looked about defiantly; he shouted too, cries of rage and contempt – but shivered like his father. His terror and disbelief were the same.

Pearl and Hari turned away. Ottmar had treated his enemies more cruelly than this, yet seeing him suffer turned him into a victim too, someone they should try to help. It bewildered them.

I don’t want to see what happens to them, Pearl whispered.

No. I’ll find Tarl. Then we’ll go.

They went around to the front of the awning. Keech was there – a short man, with his legs bowed almost in a circle, and a blind eye, whiter than milk, and one side of his face slipping into his neck from a childhood illness. His good eye was like a click-beetle, jumping about, finding everything.

Tarl stood with a smaller group, enclosed by them but seeming alone. Beyond him, in the growing dark, Dog and his pack lay on the grass, gnawing bones.

‘More light. We need fire. Bring some wood,’ Keech shouted.

Men ran up with charred doors and splintered planks and piled them in front of the awning, where others with burning brands coaxed them alight. One fire, two, then half a dozen burned between the awning and the marble hand.

Hari and Pearl retreated. He wanted to talk to Tarl unseen. They circled behind the awning again, passing the cage where a man forced Kyle-Ott back from the bars with a stream of urine, and approached the dog pack out of the dark.

Wait here, Pearl.

Hari stepped towards the pack cautiously.

Dog, he said.

Dog jerked as though someone had kicked him, then stood growling.

Dog, come here.

The animal saw him and his hackles rose, but Hari said: Easy, Dog, I’m your friend. Come here.

Dog approached carefully, and stopped a metre away, ignoring Hari’s proferred hand.

All right, Dog. I know you’re the leader. But I need to talk to Tarl. Go and get him.

Dog growled.

I’m his son, Dog. He wants to see me.

Dog seemed to think a moment. Then his half-risen hackles flattened. He turned and trotted away. The men about Tarl parted and let him through. Hari smiled at their deference. Dogs and burrows-men had once been food for each other.

Dog nudged Tarl’s hand with his nose and turned to face Hari, who could not read the message that passed between them but felt Tarl’s leap of joy. His father broke out of the group and ran towards him.

‘Hari.’

‘Tarl.’

They hugged each other.

‘Hari, where’ve you been? I thought you’d got yourself killed. I’ve been telling them you’d come back and bring a new weapon. Did you get it, Hari?’

‘No, Tarl. Now listen. There’s no weapon. No weapon you or anyone else can ever use. The salt is poisonous. It kills everyone. And everything. Animals, plants. It’ll kill the world if it gets loose. You can’t use it.’

‘Hari . . .’

‘Listen. I stole Ottmar’s salt and took it back to Deep Salt. We stole it, Pearl and me. We took it to the mine and left it there. Then we closed the mine. No one will ever find it again.’

‘But, Hari, I’ve got to have it. I’ve told them there’s a weapon coming. The clerks will be too strong for us. I’ve told Keech . . .’

Hari closed his eyes. He had never felt so close to his father, or so far away.

Tarl, he said. He went deep into Tarl’s mind, invading his father, hating what he had to do. Tarl had meant more to him than anyone, until Pearl.

Tarl, there’s no Deep Salt. You were never there. Say it, Tarl.

Tarl shook himself, as if he felt the poisonous light pricking his skin again.

‘There’s no Deep Salt. I was never there,’ he whispered.

That’s all, Tarl. I’m going now. Remember I’m your son. Remember I love you.

He withdrew from Tarl’s mind as if backing out of a room full of shadowy objects that had been familiar. Dog, standing beside Tarl, whimpered with puzzlement.

A cry came from behind them: ‘Tarl, is this the boy you promised us? The boy with the weapon?’

Keech walked towards them, comical on his bandy legs, but fierce, demanding in his face.

‘My son,’ Tarl whispered, nodding at Keech but not seeming to know where he was. He held Hari tightly by the arm.

‘Hari, is that your name? Tarl said you’d gone to find Ottmar’s secret weapon.’ He laughed. ‘That’s something I’ll believe in when I see it. Burrows men only need knives.’

‘Keech,’ Hari said, ‘I’ve heard of you. You followed Tarl, my father, up the hill. You would do well to follow him wherever he leads. But talk of a weapon – no, that was a tale to keep our burrows-men strong. We need no weapon, as you say, but our knives.’

Keech’s good eye held Hari’s face as tightly as a fist.

This man is dangerous, Hari thought.

‘So,’ Keech said, and turned to Tarl, ‘no weapon, eh? Well, I know shit when I hear it. I knew it was shit. But the men – the men who follow me – are not going to like it. Keech men don’t like Blood men using them like fools.’

Hari tried, gently at first, to go into Keech’s mind, but found a barrier there and, when he pushed harder, felt it thicken, settle in place, and felt, behind it, a force that seemed to reach for knowledge of what invaded it, the way horses reached sometimes, the way Dog reached.