Snowbone (14 page)

The sailor's mates scrabbled to obey. The landlord was only a little man, but if he was short on body, he was big on temper.

As Figgis watched, the sailors dragged their companion to the door. But before they could reach it, the door was opened and a cold blast of wind ushered in two new customers.

The smile froze on Figgis's lips.

They were a black-haired man and a blue-eyed lad.

hut the door, love! We're trying to keep it cozy in here.” The black-haired man and the blue-eyed lad strolled to the bar of the Hangman's Hood, ignoring the woman who had spoken. She shook her head and turned back to her friends.

“Slavers,” she whined. “Act like they own the place.”

Figgis, watching from the corner of the room, felt the world had stopped turning. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He could only watch.

As the black-haired man ordered drinks, the lad turned and studied the room. His cool gaze traveled from table to table, from face to face. And it seemed to Figgis that when it reached him, it lingered … but then it moved on.

“Blue Boy,” said the man.

The lad turned, took the offered tankard of ale, sidled over to a bar stool and eased himself on. The man joined him. Soon they were deep in conversation.

Figgis remained at the table but his thoughts had flown away, back to the glade and his murdered family. And now,
looking at the smug backs of the slavers, he wanted to stab them. He reached for the knife on his belt.

No.
Good sense stopped him just in time. “Not now,” he told himself. “Not here.”

He drained his glass and put on his jacket. Walked to the door and stepped out into the alley. Headed for the shadows. Fast, urgent footsteps. Manu appeared from a doorway. Figgis pounced on him like a dog on a bacon bone.

“They're in there!” he panted. “The man and the lad. Tell Snowbone. I'll follow them. See where they're hiding.”

The tavern door opened again. Figgis pushed Manu back against the wall. But it wasn't the slavers. It was the mouthy woman. She paused and reached into her bag. Swayed slightly. Unwrapped a chocolate caramel and slid it between her purple lips. Departed on unsteady heels.

“Go,” said Figgis, and Manu went.

Figgis stepped into the doorway and waited. An hour passed. Longer. People came and went, but not the ones Figgis wanted to see. And then, just as he was wondering whether the tavern had a back door, they emerged. Man and lad walked down the alley to the seafront, turned left and strode on.

Figgis followed, flitting from shadow to shadow. Through the streets, up the steps, twisting, turning, higher, higher. Out of town, over the headland—Figgis hoping and praying they wouldn't turn round, because there was nowhere to hide—and into a wildwood. The sun was rising; the trees were yellow with birdsong. But Figgis had no time to enjoy the dawn. He had to find the slavers' camp. Nothing else mattered.

And when, at last, he found it, Figgis studied the camp carefully. He counted the men as they emerged, yawning and gritty-eyed, from a bunkhouse. He noted every door, every
window—everything he could see. Then he raced back to Snowbone and the others, fierce, jubilant, sure he had all the information they would need to plan a perfect raid.

But he didn't see the traps hidden in the long grass. Didn't see the pit beyond the bunkhouse. Didn't see the arsenal of axes in the woodshed.

By the time he did, it was too late.

nowbone screwed up her eyes and studied the map Figgis was scratching into the dirt of the barn floor.

“So this is the cabin here,” said Figgis, “with the bunk-house behind. There's a shed here and an outhouse here—and I reckon that's the latrines, because the path to it was getting a right old hammering this morning.”

“Thrrrrr!”
said Two Teeth, holding his nose and fanning the air. “Farty-pants!”

The tiddlins giggled.

“He's right,” laughed Figgis. “The stink will knock you off your feet at twenty paces, so be careful! Especially you, Mouse!”

Mouse smiled, but Figgis could see she was worried. “It'll be all right,” he assured her. “Really, it will.”

Blackeye put his arm round Mouse and hugged her. “When do we hit them?”

“Tomorrow,” said Snowbone. “At dawn. They'll be sleeping. Won't see us coming.”

“We could go tonight,” said Fudge.

Snowbone shook her head. She was thinking about her eyesight. How shapes became blurry in the dark. “No,” she said. “We want to see what we're doing. It'll all be over in an hour. Back in time for breakfast!” She grinned. “We mustn't forget to raid their stores. Two Teeth, you can be in charge of that.”

Two Teeth saluted her. Snowbone's grin was as wide as a slice of melon.

“Tomorrow will be a great day,” she said, rising to her full height. “Friends, remember who we are fighting and why. Remember the fate that awaited us in the Nova Land. Remember our brothers and sisters, sold into slavery. Remember the ashen trees, toppled by ax and saw. Remember this moment. Remember we are right, and know this: because we are right, the Ancients will protect us.”

She punched her fist in the air and the tiddlins roared till the roof beams rattled.

“A cheer for Snowbone!” shouted Tigermane. “Hip, hip—”

“Hooray!”

Snowbone was swept from her feet and bounced around the barn on strong wooden shoulders. Everyone was delirious with excitement. Waiting, marching, searching: all these things were over. Tomorrow would bring revenge. Sweet, sweet revenge.

No one noticed Mouse slipping outside. She walked across the grass to a bench and sat down.
Why am I finding this so hard?
she thought.
Snowbone's right. Slavers bring nothing but death and misery to our people. So why do I feel so bad about tomorrow?

She gazed back at the barn and thought of Blackeye.
If anything happens to him … No! I won't think that way.

Then Mouse noticed something. The grass was freckled with tiny white flowers. They were so small, she hadn't seen them when she walked to the bench and she had crushed them underfoot. Dozens of broken petals marked her path.

Mouse, pained beyond measure, hung her head and cried.

awn, the next day.

Snowbone crouched behind an oak tree and assessed the situation. To her left, Blackeye. To her right, Figgis. Beyond them, the other tiddlins—Mouse included— watching, waiting.

Snowbone was holding a long rush torch, soaked in oil. She turned to Blackeye and nodded. He reached into his bag and pulled out a metal pot. Carefully, he placed it on the ground before her and lifted the lid. Inside lay smoldering embers, red as dragon's eyes. Snowbone thrust the torch into the embers and instantly it was ablaze. She winced. Working with fire was terrifying, but it had to be done.

Figgis too had an oil-soaked torch. Snowbone used her own to light it and then Figgis passed the flame on. Down the line it went, until thirty torches had been lit. Then Snowbone raised her hand high in the air and the raid began.

Snowbone ran to the cabin and threw her torch onto the thatched roof. It landed with a dull thud and instantly began
its work. Following her lead, tiddlins were all over the camp now, hurtling torches, running for cover, taking up firing positions. The cabin roof was blazing. The bunkhouse roof was smoldering. The air was surrendering to smoke.

Then someone started ringing a bell. Shouts tumbled through the morning. The cabin door opened and—
poom!—
Snowbone's pistol exploded. The blue-eyed lad fell against the door frame, blood pouring from a wound in his arm. He staggered back inside. Slammed the door hard behind him.

Snowbone whooped in triumph. Figgis saw her eyes: wild, ferocious, cat-bright.

The cabin door opened again. A hand threw something out.
Boof!
Choking yellow smoke poured from an exploded smoke bomb. The tiddlins couldn't see a thing.
Boof!
A second bomb. Green smoke joined the yellow. The camp was disappearing.

The tiddlins were thrown into confusion. They looked for Snowbone, Blackeye, Figgis. But they had vanished in the smoke, and the tiddlins were lost, trapped in their own private terror. Listening to the boots of the slavers as they came running, armed with axes.

Snowbone felt the earth move beneath her. Saw the smoke eddy in the oncoming wind of an attacker. Heard the bellow of anger as the giant came out of nowhere, swung his ax and—
shooo
!—the blade thudded into the ground beside her. She dropped her pistol in fright.
Shoo!
The blade struck her arm, splintering her wooden flesh. She scrabbled for her pistol, fingers fishing in the wet earth.
Shoo!
The blade fell a third time, taking her foot clean off. Snowbone felt her whole body reel under the impact. She fell on her face, floundered like a fish,
fought for breath. But her fingers found the pistol and, as the giant raised his ax again, she flipped onto her back and fired:
poom!

The giant dropped like a dead elephant. Blood and bone met earth and stone, and the mountainous man breathed no more.

Snowbone looked around. The camouflage smoke had cleared, revealing a desperate struggle. The ground was littered with bodies: slavers and tiddlins, tangled together. Figgis was pulling someone out of the burning bunkhouse. Fudge and Tigermane were trapped in a tree net. Blackeye was over by the cabin, defiantly trading blows with the black-haired man. But Snowbone could see he was tiring and, as she watched, the blue-eyed lad came up behind him, dangling an ax from his one good arm.

“BLACKEYE!”
she yelled.
“BEHIND YOU!”

But it was too late. The ax scythed through the air and Blackeye's legs collapsed under him.

Help us.

Voices. Desperate wooden voices, crying for help, somewhere in the camp.

Snowbone heard them and tried to get up. Then she remembered her foot. Her boot was lying close by. It was empty; the foot had vanished into thin air. She inspected the stump of her leg. It was sticky with sap and seemed to be vibrating—so fast, she couldn't see the movement itself, just the shimmer it made. And she could feel a strange tingle. Her body seemed tense, as if it were waiting for something.