Museum of Thieves (17 page)

He broke off. Goldie heard the tramp of heavy shoes.

‘Go!’ hissed Herro Dan. ‘Go now!’

This time, the children obeyed him. Toadspit snapped his knife shut, and he and Goldie leaped to their feet and ran. They ran silently, heads down, slipping in and out of the tents and wagons, trying to keep something between themselves and the tramping feet.

There was a shout off to one side. Without turning around, they ran faster, no longer worrying about the noise. Goldie’s feet pounded in the mud; her heart hiccuped with fear. They were nearly at the edge of the camp. If they could just reach the long grass, they could disappear into it—

‘Hey! Where yoo tink yoo goink?’

Goldie stopped so abruptly that she almost fell over. A soldier had stepped out from behind one of the wagons, directly in their path. He was dressed like someone from the depths of history, with baggy knee-breeches and stockings, and a long-sleeved coat of such a deep grey that it seemed to suck all the light out of the air. His old-fashioned musket was pointed at Toadspit’s head.

A second soldier came jogging up behind them. He stared at the children, his eyes blue and hard. ‘Leedle spice, hey?’ he said.

His accent was so heavy that it took Goldie a moment to work out what he had said. When she realised that he thought they were spies, her heart seemed to shrivel within her.

‘Who senchoo?’ said the first soldier, poking Toadspit with the end of his musket. ‘You wit de odder spy? De old man?’

Toadspit flinched but said nothing. The soldier leaned towards them and winked, as if he was going to tell them a wonderful secret. His face was filthy and his skin was red and peeling. He stank of tobacco and stale sweat.

‘We gonna shoot dat old man soon,’ he said. ‘But I don’t tink we wait for dat. I tink we shoochoo now.’

He wasn’t lying. Goldie could hear it in his voice. Could see it in his face. He cared nothing for human life, this man. He was going to shoot them, right now. Unless she could find some way of stopping him . . .

He turned the barrel of his musket towards her. ‘Who’s gonna go ferst?’ he said. ‘De leedle gel—’ The barrel shifted back to Toadspit. ‘Or de leedle boy?’

Goldie was trembling so hard that she thought she might shake to pieces. But at the same time, her mind was racing. These soldiers looked as if they had spent their whole lives fighting. What did they know about children? Not much, probably. So if she acted younger than she was, and a bit stupid . . .

The soldier sighted down the barrel.

Goldie giggled.

It was such an odd sound in the circumstances that both the soldiers and Toadspit stared at her in astonishment. She giggled again, trying to sound as brainless as possible.

‘Ooh, you gave me a fright,’ she said. ‘Look at those big guns! They’re so scary! You must be so brave, being soldiers. I wish
I
was a soldier. Don’t you wish you were a soldier, Toadspit? Aren’t they wonderful? Aren’t they
scary
?’

She grabbed Toadspit’s hand in both of hers, as if she was clinging to him in a girly sort of way. Her fingers flicked against his skin.
‘Concealment by Sham.’

Toadspit’s eyes widened the tiniest amount. Then his face split in a foolish grin. ‘If
I
was a soldier,’ he said loudly, ‘I’d be scary too. I’d march!’ He swung his arms and thumped his feet up and down. ‘I’d fight!’ He aimed an imaginary gun at Goldie. ‘
Boom!
’ he shouted. ‘You’re dead!’

One of the soldiers lowered his musket slightly and laughed. ‘Goot boy. Yoo shoot yore sister. Yoo proper solja!’

The second man was still watching them suspiciously. ‘Whachoo doink here?’ he growled. ‘Dis is army camp, not skool ground.’

‘We lost our dog and we’re looking for him,’ said Goldie. She blinked up at the man. ‘Have you seen him? He’s small and white. And he’s very fat. Isn’t he, Toadspit?’

‘He’s a roly-poly,’ said Toadspit.

‘Our pa says he’d make a good roast dinner,’ said Goldie. ‘But he’s only joking. No one would hurt Broo. He’s so little and sweet. And harmless.’

The soldiers looked at each other. Goldie could almost see the thought passing between them.
Little fat dog. Little fat ROAST dog. Hmm.

They only hesitated for a moment. ‘We help yoo find him,’ said the first man. ‘We like dogs.’

‘We like dogs
very
much,’ said the second man. He licked his lips and they both laughed.

‘Ooh,
thank
you!’ said Goldie. ‘I don’t think he’s far away. We could call him and see if he comes.’

‘Yoo do dat,’ said the second soldier. ‘And when he comes, we welcome him goot.’ He loosened the knife in his belt.

Goldie took a deep breath. ‘Broo-oo!’ she called. ‘Where are you?’

‘Broo, you naughty boy!’ shouted Toadspit. ‘Come here at once!’

‘Come and save us from the scary soldiers!’ giggled Goldie.

The soldiers laughed their ugly laugh. The first man slipped his knife out of its sheath and ran his thumb along the edge. ‘Leedle do-og,’ he shouted. ‘Kom here quick! We got a treat for yoo!’

Goldie saw a flicker of movement in the long grass. Her arm felt as heavy as lead, but with a huge effort she raised it and pointed in the wrong direction.

‘Oh, look!’ she said. ‘
There
he is.’

Both soldiers turned, laughing—

There was a roar of fury, and out of the grass behind them charged Broo. He was as black as night and as big as a lion. His eyes were red and his great teeth gnashed the air.

The soldiers swung around and saw him. The first one shouted and tried to aim his musket, but Broo was already upon him, bearing him to the ground, his teeth at the soldier’s throat.

The second man’s face was white under the dirt. He backed away, his hands shaking, his fingers tightening on the trigger . . .

There was a rattle of wings, and the air around him was suddenly alive with black feathers and a cruel, curved beak. The soldier screamed and dropped his musket.

Broo raised his head. There was blood on his muzzle. ‘RRR-U-UN!’ he growled.

Goldie and Toadspit ran.

.

ou should
not
have gone through the Dirty Gate!’

Sinew had been pacing up and down the office. Now he stopped and glared at Goldie and Toadspit. ‘You could’ve been killed! And not just you, but Broo and Morg as well. They’re not bulletproof, you know. You
shouldn’t
have gone!’

‘Of course they should not,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘They were brave, and very clever at the end. But at the beginning they did not show a scrap of wisdom between them.’

Goldie blushed. It was true. She and Toadspit were lucky to have escaped with their lives. She half-wished that Olga Ciavolga would scold her, but the old woman merely said, ‘It is done now. And so we must decide. What next to do?’

‘Herro D-Dan said Sinew has to g-go to the Pro- tector,’ said Goldie. She hadn’t stopped shivering since she and Toadspit had dragged the Dirty Gate shut behind them.

‘And the Protector has to stop G-Guardian Hope and Guardian C-Comfort making their floor p-plan,’ said Toadspit, who was shivering just as hard.

Sinew nodded impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, we should’ve taken the Blessed Guardians more seriously right from the beginning. They’re not here at the moment but I’m sure they’ll be back before long. I’ll go to the Protector. But what do we do about Dan?’

‘And Broo,’ said Goldie. ‘And Morg. Do you think they’ll be all right?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ said Sinew. His expression softened. ‘They can look after themselves in most circumstances. I expect we’ll see them back here soon enough. As for Dan . . .’ He ran his hand over his face. ‘Perhaps I should try and get him out.’

‘After what has happened,’ said Olga Ciavolga, ‘the soldiers will be even more on their guard. And Dan’s leg is broken. You would have little hope of stealing him without being caught.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of stealing him,’ said Sinew. ‘I was thinking of buying him.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin. ‘Blood and gold, that’s what those soldiers love more than anything. We won’t give them blood if we can help it, but we have gold sovereigns enough to turn their heads. I could have Dan safely back with us by nightfall.’

‘I think not,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘You would only stir things up further.’

‘But—’

‘No!’ The old woman’s face was pale with worry, but she held up her hand. ‘We shall do what Dan tells us. You go to the Protector and ask her to stop the Guardians and get them out of the museum. I think if she can do this, then the war rooms will calm down a little and Dan will be safe.’

‘What if the Protector
can’t
stop them?’ asked Goldie.

‘Then,’ said Olga Ciavolga, ‘we must do it ourselves.’

Sinew pulled on his coatee and left for the Protectorate. Toadspit returned to the back rooms to wait for Broo and Morg.

Goldie didn’t want to go with him. ‘Can I stay here with you?’ she said to Olga Ciavolga.

‘Very well,’ said the old woman. ‘But you must remain close. And if the Guardians come back, you must hide immediately.’

She sat down at the desk and began to write in a large book. The midday sun shone through the office window. Goldie leaned against one of the bookcases and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her smock until she found her compass.

She took it out and ran her fingers over the metal casing. It was hard to believe how much her life had changed since she had come to the museum. She had longed to be free and now she was. And although the museum contained many terrors, she would rather face them all, one after the other, than go back to the way things used to be.

There were different sorts of fear, she realised that now. There was the awful fear of having a musket held to your head, or having black oily water try to snatch you into its depths. There was nothing easy about that fear. It made your heart nearly tear itself out of your chest, and weakened the long bones in your legs so that you could barely stand. It made you want to vomit with fright.

But there was another sort of fear, the fear that you would never be allowed to be who you really were. The fear that your true self would have to stay squashed up, like a caged bird, for the rest of your life.
That
fear was worse than any soldier.

She put the compass back in her pocket and took out the blue enamel brooch. She stroked the little bird’s wings.
I’m not really free
, she thought,
not while Ma and Pa are locked up in the House of Repentance . . .

Somewhere nearby, heavy feet trod across wooden floors. Olga Ciavolga threw down her pen. ‘Quickly, child! Hide!’

Goldie scrambled into the space under the desk and pressed herself against the wood. Outside the office the feet stamped to a halt.

‘The Guardians have returned,’ murmured Olga Ciavolga out of the corner of her mouth. ‘And they have brought many others with them.’

‘What are they doing?’ whispered Goldie.

‘I do not know, but they carry coils of rope and wooden planks. I do not like the look of it. Stay here. Do not make a sound.’

Olga Ciavolga hurried out of the office. Goldie heard her say loudly, ‘What is the meaning of this? What do you think you are doing?’

‘We are on the Seven’s business,’ said a voice that Goldie recognised as Guardian Hope’s. ‘So you had best keep out of our way, old woman.’ Her voice rose. ‘Pay attention, under-colleagues! I want this done quickly and I want it done
properly. You, you and you. Hammer duty.’

There was a rustle of robes and a shuffling of feet. Goldie pressed herself close to the floor and peeped around the corner of the desk.

She couldn’t see Olga Ciavolga, but the corridor was full of young Guardians. They seemed to be laying planks in a horizontal line along the wall at waist height, each one touching the one that came before it.

Goldie heard a cry of outrage, and Olga Ciavolga strode into sight, her eyes blazing. ‘I do not believe it! You are trying to stop the rooms moving! You
fools
, you will kill us all!’

‘We are simply following the orders of the Fugleman,’ said Guardian Hope.

‘Be
damned
to the Fugleman!’ said Olga Ciavolga. There was a gasp of horror from the Guardians, but the old woman took no notice. ‘Your master has no authority here! The museum answers only to the Protector!’

Guardian Hope shook her head pityingly. ‘My master answers to the Seven Gods. They are greater than any earthly authority.’

She crooked her finger and two of the young Guardians hurried to her side. ‘Get rid of this
obstacle
,’ she snapped. ‘Lock her in the office.’

Goldie ducked back beneath the desk. She could hear Olga Ciavolga struggling, then the door banged shut and the key turned in the lock. A moment later, the hammering began.

It seemed to Goldie that, when the first blow fell, the museum cried with outrage, just as Olga Ciavolga had done, but a hundred thousand times greater. She found herself holding her breath, waiting for what would come next.

A second hammer blow fell – then a third.

The whole museum
shuddered
.

‘Quickly!’ whispered Olga Ciavolga. ‘Help me, child!’

Goldie scrambled out from underneath the desk and put her hand on the wall. The wild music
exploded
around her. She tried to sing, but the music drowned out her voice. She sang louder, and louder still, until at last she could hear herself. From somewhere deep within the museum, Toadspit’s voice joined with hers and Olga Ciavolga’s.

I wonder if he can guess what the hammering is
, she thought.
I wonder if Broo and Morg are back yet, and if they’re all right—

And then she was swept away by the maelstrom, and there was no time or space to think about anything. The wild music crashed in upon her from every side. Her voice rode it like a tiny boat on a monstrous ocean. She could feel herself bobbing and spinning and nearly sinking, over and over again.

At one point, both Olga Ciavolga and Toadspit ran out of breath at the same time. The music surged up wilder than ever. Goldie clung to it by a thread of sound. She could no longer see the office. She could no longer hear anything except those deep, terrible notes.

But just when she thought she couldn’t hold on for a second longer, Olga Ciavolga’s voice rang out again. Goldie grabbed it like a lifeline. Then Toadspit was back too, unseen but singing for all he was worth. Gradually the wild music wove itself to their song and began to settle.

Olga Ciavolga took her hand off the wall. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. ‘We have held it for now,’ she said. ‘But I fear it will not last.’

Outside the door, the hammers rang. The museum
twitched
like a giant tormented by swamp flies.

‘Can’t they
feel
it?’ said Goldie. ‘Can’t they hear the wild music?’

‘Apparently not,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘But even if they did, I fear they would continue. There is wickedness behind this.’

She took her kerchief out of her pocket and tied it around her neck. Then she hurried over to the desk and began to pull out the drawers one by one.

‘If the war rooms were on the move before,’ she said, ‘they will be seething now. Sinew was right after all. We must get Dan out before it is too late.’

She scooped a handful of gold sovereigns out of each drawer and dropped them into her pockets. Goldie looked at the locked door. ‘How will we get out of here?’

‘Pff!’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘Those imbeciles know nothing about this place!’

She patted her bulging pockets, then strode over to the corner of the room and sank to her knees with a grunt. She lifted the edge of the carpet. Underneath it was a trapdoor.

‘This tunnel will take us to the back rooms,’ she said. ‘We have not used it for many years, so it will be full of dust and spiders.’ She looked hard at Goldie. ‘But I do not imagine that a girl who has been through the Dirty Gate will be stopped by a few spiders.’

Olga Ciavolga was right. There
were
spiders in the tunnel, and not just a few. Goldie couldn’t see them, but the strands of broken webs clung to her face, and whenever the hammering paused she thought she could hear brittle legs scuttling up and down the walls.