Museum of Thieves (18 page)

Her skin crawled and she pushed the webs away with a shudder. A little way ahead of her, Olga Ciavolga’s dry old voice was like an anchor in the darkness.

‘The people of Jewel,’ said Olga Ciavolga, ‘treat their children like delicate flowers. They think they will not survive without constant protection. But there are parts of the world where young boys and girls spend weeks at a time with no company except a herd of goats. They chase away wolves. They take care of themselves, and they take care of the herd.’

She stopped. Goldie could hear the hammers, behind her now, rapping and tapping like someone knocking at a distant door.

‘Fools!’ muttered Olga Ciavolga. ‘Imbeciles!’

She began to shuffle forward again. ‘And so, when hard times come – as they always do in the end – those children are resourceful and brave. If they have to walk from one end of the country to the other, carrying their baby brothers and sisters, they will do it. If they have to hide during the day and travel at night to avoid soldiers, they will do it. They do not give up easily.’

The tunnel took a sharp right-hand turn, and for a moment the old woman’s voice was lost. Something dropped onto Goldie’s arm, and she opened her mouth to yelp –
and thought of those children carrying their baby brothers and sisters through the night
– and closed her mouth and kept going.

She rounded the corner in time to hear Olga Ciavolga murmur, ‘Of course, I am not saying that it is a
good
thing to give children such heavy responsibilities. They must be allowed to have a childhood. But they must also be allowed to find their courage and their wisdom, and learn when to stand and when to run away. After all, if they are not permitted to climb the trees, how will they ever see the great and wonderful world that lies before them – aha, we are here!’

She stopped short and began to fumble with a latch in the roof of the tunnel. There was a shout, then someone grabbed the trapdoor and dragged it open from above. Toadspit peered down at them, Morg on his shoulder.

‘What’s happening?’ he said. ‘Why did you use the tunnel? What’s that hammering sound? Why is—?’

A huge dark head nudged him aside. ‘Someone is doing bad things to the museum,’ rumbled the gravelly voice of the brizzlehound. ‘Can I go and kill them?’

.

lga Ciavolga would not let them go through the Dirty Gate with her. Toadspit protested, but Goldie could tell that he was as relieved as she was.

‘You must wait for Sinew,’ the old woman said. ‘When he comes, tell him where I have gone. Tell him I will return as soon as possible, and Dan with me.’

‘What if they—’ Goldie bit her lip. ‘What if they shoot you?’

‘I understand the minds of these soldiers,’ said Olga Ciavolga. ‘I do not think they will hurt me. And if the Protector acts quickly to stop the Blessed Guardians, the war rooms will calm down and the soldiers will become less dangerous.’

‘Why will you not let
me
stop the Blessed Guardians?’ complained Broo. ‘I would not kill them if you did not want me to. I would merely pick them up and chew them a little. And when I put them down again, they would run away.’

‘And then they would come back with nets and guns,’ said Olga Ciavolga, ‘to capture the last living brizzlehound. No, my dear, they do not know of your existence, and that is as it should be. We will leave this particular battle to the Protector.’

She scratched Broo behind the ear, and stroked Morg’s black feathers. Then she smiled at Goldie and Toadspit. ‘You are bold children and your hearts are good,’ she said. ‘But you must both learn to think before you act. Whatever happens, remember that there is always a choice. Think of the consequences, and then do what you must.’

She turned away
–
and turned back again. ‘Tell Sinew he is not to come after me, whatever happens. He is needed here.’

Then, with a whisk of coloured skirts and a clink of coins, she was gone.

Goldie sat on the second step of Harry Mount, kicking her heels against the wood. Three steps further up, Toadspit was playing with his folding knife, palming it and making it disappear. Broo paced the floor below them with long, rippling strides.

‘Can I borrow your wire?’ said Goldie, after she had watched Toadspit for a while.

Toadspit shrugged and handed over the wire that he had used to open the Dirty Gate. Goldie took the scissors and a small padlock out of her pocket.

She liked picking locks. Olga Ciavolga had been pleased with how quickly she had learned it. ‘But you must practise whenever you have the chance,’ the old woman had said. ‘There are many locks in this city and some of them would test even me. One day your life might depend upon your ability to open them.’

Goldie slipped one blade of the scissors into the padlock’s keyhole and turned it slightly. Then she poked the wire into the hole above the scissor blade. When she pressed upwards she could feel the five little barrels that made up the lock. She pushed at the first one and, after a moment or two, heard a tiny
click
.

She got the second barrel out of the way, too, and the third. But by then the air was growing hotter, as if the whole museum was sickening with a fever, and it was too hard to concentrate.

‘Here,’ she said, giving Toadspit back the wire and jumping to her feet. ‘Let’s go and see what’s happening.’

Toadspit stood up slowly, as if he had been thinking. ‘You know what I reckon? The Guardians are trying to get into the back rooms. Why else would they be nailing the museum down? They’re trying to find the Staff Only door.’

Goldie nodded. That made sense. ‘But why?’ she said. ‘What do they want?’

‘I don’t know.’

Broo growled softly. ‘They will GRRRRNOT come to the back rooms. I will not LET them. Even when they are in the fRRRRRont rooms they make the air smell bad.’ The hackles on his back rose so that he looked even bigger than usual. ‘And they GRRRRRHURT the museum!’

‘Don’t worry, Sinew and the Protector will stop them,’ said Goldie, hoping she was right.

The two children wandered through the unsettled rooms, with Morg huddled on Toadspit’s shoulder and Broo padding a little way ahead. Every now and again the museum
shuddered
, and Goldie and Toadspit stopped and sang. Before long their throats and their tempers were ragged.

Only Broo seemed unaffected by the waiting. His nostrils quivered, and he growled deep in his chest, but at the same time there was something patient about him, as if he was a coiled spring that could wait and wait until the moment came for action. And the Seven Gods help whoever stood in his way then.

‘Broo,’ said Goldie, who was not feeling at all patient, and wanted something else to think about, ‘how do you decide when to be big and when to be little?’

Broo cocked his head. ‘I do not decide, any more than humans decide when to be angry or when to be happy
.
The big and the little decide for me. Sometimes it is a surprise, even to me.’

‘Which do you like better?’ said Goldie.

The brizzlehound looked thoughtful. ‘It is agreeable to chase mice and pretend that there is no greater danger in the world. But it is also agreeable to leap upon an enemy and gnaw his bones . . . Do I have to choose? I do not think I can.’

Goldie was going to ask more, but just then the museum
shuddered
again. By the time they had sung to it, in increasingly hoarse voices, she had forgotten her question.

They were passing one of the stranded ships in Rough Tom when Broo pricked up his ears. A second later, Goldie heard a rumbling sound in the distance. A street-rig horn wailed like a lost child.

‘That’s the Shark!’ said Toadspit. ‘Do you reckon Herro Dan’s back?’

Broo shook his head. ‘
I
would not howl so miserably if a friend had just returned from beyond the Dirty Gate.’

‘But you’re not the Shark,’ said Toadspit. ‘Herro Dan
might
be back. And Olga Ciavolga too! Let’s go and see.’

Goldie didn’t move. ‘Olga Ciavolga told us to wait for Sinew.’

‘Yes, but she didn’t say
where
.’

‘She didn’t mean chasing all over the place.’

‘What are you talking about? We’ve already
been
all over the place! Sinew will find us wherever we are.’

Goldie knew that Toadspit was right. But the heat and the worry had worn her temper to shreds, and suddenly she didn’t want to take another step. ‘Well I’m not going.’

‘Well I am!’

‘I don’t think you should. I think we should stay together.’

Toadspit glowered at her. ‘Who cares what you think?’

‘Do not quarrel,’ said Broo. ‘If it concerns you,
I
will go.’ And he bounded away.

With the brizzlehound gone, the waiting was even harder. The two children leaned against the hull of the ship, avoiding each other’s eyes. Goldie felt as if every nerve in her body was stretched to breaking point.

‘I hope Olga Ciavolga’s all right,’ she said.

Toadspit let out a huff of irritation. ‘Of course she’s all right. Don’t be stupid!’

‘Who are you calling stupid?’

‘I can’t see anyone else round here, so it must be you.’

Goldie pushed herself away from the ship and glared at him. ‘
You’re
the stupid one!’

‘I’m not!’

‘You are!’

‘If you hadn’t come here,’ said Toadspit, ‘none of this would’ve happened.’

‘This hasn’t got anything to do with me! If you haven’t worked that out by now, you’re even dumber than I thought!’

‘I should set Morg onto you. She’d like a couple of juicy eyes. Plop. Plop.’

‘Oh, come on, you think I’m scared of Morg? Here, Morgy, come and sit on
my
shoulder. I’m much nicer than him!’

‘She doesn’t like you. She’d only like you if you were
dead
, wouldn’t you, Mor—’

He broke off, the blood draining from his face. Far away, in the depths of the museum, Goldie heard something groan, as if a high wind was rising.

‘A-a-a-a-ah!’ Morg launched herself from Toadspit’s shoulder. At almost the same moment, the wind hit them. It wasn’t one of the Great Winds, but it was strong enough to snatch the slaughterbird out of the air and blow her past them like a bundle of black rags.

Goldie staggered against Toadspit and they clutched each other, trying to stay upright. The wind wailed around their ears like a warning – and then it was gone.

In the sudden silence, the two children stared at each other in horror, their argument forgotten. They both knew what the wind had tried to tell them.

Something had happened to Olga Ciavolga.