Snowbone (26 page)

“No. You didn't. But never mind that now,” said Filizar. “I need to get you out of there.”

He looked closely at the cage. It had no door.

“I think there's a lever up there,” said Blackeye, pointing to the far end of the building. “I can just about see it.”

“I can't manage those stairs,” said Filizar.

“You can fetch help,” said Tigermane.

“I can't reach the bolts on the doors,” said Filizar. “And besides, they'll see you as slaves.”

“Wait!” said Manu suddenly. He had just realized the cage
had no roof. “I have an idea. Do you think you could get me up there?”

He pointed upwards. His friends saw a row of parallel metal bars high in the roof rafters, running from one end of the room to the other.

“We can try,” said Figgis.

Figgis took hold of Blackeye's hands and stood facing him. He told the girls to do the same, then the pairs stood side by side. Manu lay on top of their arms and the tiddlins began to bounce him.

“One—two—three—
yup!
”

Manu was hurled into the air. He scrabbled with his arms, but he wasn't high enough. He fell back down and the friends caught him.

“Again,” said Snowbone.

“One—two—three—
yup!
”

Manu flew higher. The first bar was tantalizingly close. He had almost reached it … when he fell back down again.

“This time,” said Snowbone. “Come on! We can do this!”

The friends gathered their energy. Tightened their grips.

“One—two—three—
YAAAAA
”

Manu was tossed like a pancake. He went up so fast, he thought he'd splat against the ceiling. But there was the bar, blocking his way. He reached out his hands … and as his fingers found metal, he felt such a rush of excitement, he thought his head would blow off. But he held on, measuring his weight, adjusting his grip, and then he began to swing. Backwards and forwards, gathering momentum, till his body went full circle round the bar once, twice, three times—and he let go.

He soared through the air like a swallow, turned a somersault as he cleared the bars of the cage, caught the next bar along and did it all over again. Down the entire length of the room he went, from bar to bar, looping-the-loop, his feet never touching the ground. And then, when he reached the final bar, he somersaulted onto the platform at the top of the stairs, pushed up the lever, slid down the stair rail, backflipped over to his friends and finished with a flourish.

“When this is all over,” said Figgis admiringly, “you should join a circus.”

“I'd like that!” Manu said with a grin.

The cage creaked and groaned as the machinery lifted it skywards.

“Let's get out of here,” said Snowbone. “We've got more work to do.”

And with a slide of a door bolt, they returned to the night and the stars.

nowbone lit her torch and passed it to Blackeye so he could light his. Their eyes met. Just a glance, but it was enough. Now they knew: they were both thinking the same thing.
Last time we did this …

But this time would be different. This time they weren't attacking people—they were attacking property. The buildings were empty. It was still dark. No one had arrived for work yet. This was a symbolic act. They were crippling the machinery of slavery.

Torches lit, the friends dispersed. To the storehouses, to the sheds, to the marketplace. Only the log cabins would be spared. In theory. In practice, they might burn too. One stray spark carried on the wind would be enough. But Snowbone was prepared to take the risk. The workers would be roused long before that happened.

The torches touched timber. A roof here, a door there. The cheap wood was dry and thin and burned easily. Soon flickers of flame were appearing everywhere, like fireflies dancing on a
lake. Snowbone caught the first taint of smoke in the air. She smiled and breathed deeper.

BOOM!
The tiny crackling fire she had started exploded into life. It had found oil: a whole tank of it. Snowbone backed off as a shower of sparks illuminated the night sky.

“Yes!” she cried, punching the air. “Give me more!” She had unleashed a monster. A writhing red demon that would suck the flesh from this hideous place and spit out the bones.

BOOM!
A second explosion, over by the birthing factory. She had to go. The workers would come running. They mustn't find her.

But she wanted to watch! She wanted to soak up every smell, every sound, every taste—because it
was
a taste now. A rich, smoky, tongue-tingler of a taste.
Oh!
She licked her lips and longed for more.

Then she heard something. Running feet, coming closer. She turned. Squinted. Couldn't see.

A bell. A man. A shadow, shifting. Flames. Smoke, wind-drifting.

She had to hide, but where?
The watchtower!

It was untouched by fire. Snowbone ran over, threw open the door and began to climb. Her feet pounded the wooden steps as she took them two at a time, spiraling round and round, higher and higher. When she reached the top, she ran over to the balustrade and looked down.

It was like being in the volcano again. There was a sea of fire all around, with people running, shouting, panicking. But everything was so smoky, she couldn't be sure what she was seeing. She screwed up her eyes and tried to focus.

Oh!
Suddenly she felt so woozy, she thought she was going to fall. She stepped back, swaying on her feet. What was
going on? She'd never felt like this before. So hot. So dizzy. Waves of nausea were washing over her. She was going to faint. She was going to be sick.

She staggered back to the balustrade and clung to it. Closed her eyes. Hoped this thing would go away.

But it didn't. It got worse. There was a snowstorm in her head. A fury of flakes, swirling, whirling around. She was in a bubble, a glass bubble, and someone was shaking it. Shaking her.
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

And then it happened.

A single bolt of bright, white pain hit her between the eyes. Hit her so hard, her legs crumbled beneath her. With a wail of pure anguish, she fell to the floor in a tight curl of agony. She began to whimper, “Go away. Go away. Please.”

And it did. Not immediately, but gradually she became aware that the pain was subsiding.

Cautiously, Snowbone opened her eyes.

Black. Nothing but black.

She was blind.

iggis ran through the market with his torch, touching walls, doors, fences. Wherever he went, destruction would follow. But he had something more on his mind. Something that everyone else seemed to have forgotten.
Eggs!
There was a warehouse full of them, Manu had said so. If the warehouse was set alight with the doors locked, the eggs would hatch but the babies would burn. Thousands of them. He had to set them free.

He stopped and looked around, getting his bearings, trying to remember what Manu had said.
A warehouse, west of the tower.
He ran on and there it was: tall, wooden, with sliding metal doors.

BOOM!
The first explosion, somewhere on site. Figgis grinned.
It's beginning!
He ran to the warehouse, took hold of the handle, lifted and pushed.
Rrrrrrrr.
The door was well oiled. Blissfully quiet. He opened it fully, then entered the building. Perhaps there was a door at the far end? Side doors? He'd need to open them all.

Figgis walked between the aisles of crates. So many eggs!

Had they all come from Ashenpeake? Apparently so. When he held his torch high, he saw ASHENPEAKE stamped on them in red paint.
They can't all be new
, he thought.
Some of these must have been here for years.

BOOM!
Figgis jumped. “Blessed be!” he said. “That was close. A little
too
close for my jingle-jangle nerves. Ah now, what's that? It wouldn't be a door, would it?”

He hurried down to the far end of the warehouse and—
rrrrrrrrr
—the door slid back without him even touching it. And there, silhouetted in the doorway, was a man holding a long iron bar, his face nothing but shadow.

“What's going on here?” growled the man.

He came forward menacingly, until the torchlight flickered on his face. And Figgis stared in horror at the familiar black hair and the dark, dead eyes.

“Aieee!”
he wailed. “You're a ghost!”

The man said nothing, just kept coming forward. Figgis could hear a bell ringing somewhere outside. There were shouts, cries, screams. But here, in the warehouse, there was nothing. Nothing. Just the beating of his own terrified heart.

“Bless us and save us!” he moaned, desperately wanting to run but unable to. “You're dead.
Dead!
We left you back at the camp, with a bullet in your body. I saw you fall. You're dead.”

The black-haired man paused. “You were there?” Calm, steady, deadly now. “Left me for dead, did you? Well, the dead can rise.” And with that, he swung the iron bar and smashed it into Figgis's body.

Dooof.
The force of the blow lifted Figgis clean off his feet and threw him sideways into the crates. The torch fell from his hand, but he was too winded to care.

Dooof.
The black-haired man thumped Figgis again. “That one's for me!” he shouted. “And this one's for Blue Boy.”

Oh! Figgis pulled himself into a ball and weathered the blows. There was no pain outside, on his body. But inside …
Ah!
His breath was coming in short, savage gasps that hurt like crazy.
I can't keep taking this
, he told himself.
The damage it's doing. The shock of it.

And with that thought:
whoosh.
He was back on Ashenpeake Island. Back at the barn after that disastrous raid. Looking at the ten tiddlins who didn't speak, didn't move, didn't care as their battered bodies began to Move On. And then he saw Mouse. Sweet, darling Mouse, who wanted to live a full and happy life, and Move On gently and grow in peace, undisturbed for evermore. And then he was back in the forest. In the sacred grove. Looking at his murdered family. And he felt his anger growing inside him, straining like a dog on a leash.

Figgis's eyes were closed but his other senses were working perfectly. He could smell smoke and hear the crackle of flames close by. The fallen torch was burning the crates; soon the eggs would be out and hatching. He could hear labored breathing. The black-haired man had tired himself. Then came a grunt and footsteps. Weary footsteps, walking away.

And slowly, very slowly, Figgis uncurled … and then he was on his feet and running, seeing nothing but the loathsome back of the black-haired man.
Eee-ya!
Figgis flew through the air and landed square on the slaver, forcing him to the ground, laughing crazily as he felt the solid mass of flesh and blood beneath him. This was no ghost!

Figgis clambered off, grabbed the man by his jacket and spun him over in the dust. The man was dazed. His eyes were blinking, trying to focus.

Figgis took a deep breath. “Forgive me, Mouse,” he said, “but I have to do this, for the sake of my family.” He curled his fingers into a fist and set his anger free.