The Harvest Tide Project (23 page)

‘Well, to be honest, Mr Groach, they have been taken off the project. Once the problem of the blooming was cracked, their services were no longer required. The project has moved onto the final stage. It is more a matter of physiology rather than botany now.’

Groach felt a tension in the place, and he took a closer look around the room. Most of the men and women here were young, and the experiments that were taking place
were not those that he had been used to. Dead animals were being dissected: sheep, budgies, an ox – something he had never done, nor any of his friends.

He watched as a woman opened up a donkey’s belly,
cutting
through creamy yellow fat, pushing it aside to slice into the filmy membrane that covered the coiled intestines. The creature was not long dead, but the guts released a pungent smell when the woman pierced them, her hands delving into the slick, snake-like organs. He turned away as she started using a bone-saw to cut through the ribcage to get at the lungs. The original project had not needed animals for their experiments. This was something different.

‘What kind of work are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘The effects of the esh on breathing,’ the man replied, clapping his hands together with a smile.

‘The effects are simple,’ Groach said through gritted teeth. ‘It
stops
you from breathing.’

He wandered over to the large cupboard where they grew their fungi and bacteria.

‘Can I help you with anything?’ the older man enquired.

‘No, thank you. I just need to gather a few things. Then I think I’ll go to my room.’

‘I can’t let you take anything from the laboratory.’

Groach turned to him, some sealed test tubes in his hand.

‘You can’t tell me what to do. I don’t know who you are, or what you’re doing here, but I’ve worked here for years. I’ll take whatever I please.’

‘I am the Groundsmaster, and I say you will not take
anything
from here without the Prime Ministrate’s authority.’

Groach hesitated. The new Groundsmaster was someone who had never worked here before. Then the others really
were gone. He did not want to think about what Namen might have done to them to keep this project secret. Perhaps they had figured out what it was all for and had refused to carry on. It was all too easy to imagine what could have happened.

‘All right, then. I’ll do the work here. Excuse me.’

Stepping past the Groundsmaster, he walked over to one of the barred windows and sat down at the table there. The older man watched him for a while, and then went back to dissecting a donkey. The sky was bright against the horizon, the sun was setting and the ground below was in shadow. He could not see Draegar. Whatever happened now, he was not going to be able to get out of the building tonight. These new faces were loyal to Namen. They would not help him escape, and would probably warn the soldiers if they caught him trying. Groach took a piece of vellum and scribbled something on it. Separating out two of the test tubes, he wrapped the note around one, pulled out a large
handkerchief
and tied it around each one in turn so that both were well cushioned. The window was open. He checked that he was not being watched, and then pushed the bundle out between the bars. There was a soft thud below. Standing up, he ran his hands through his thinning hair and sighed. He was a prisoner once more.

Draegar watched the small bundle drop to the ground, and looked up in time to see Groach put his hands to his head at the upstairs window. He cautiously checked the narrow street in both directions, then crossed and picked up the tightly wrapped package. Opening it, he found two test tubes and a note.

‘I cannot get out. My friends are not here. The place is full of strangers,’ the note read. ‘In these containers is a fungus that will eat the crumble cones. Sprinkle some of the spores in each of the barges.

‘Good luck. Shessil.

‘P.S. Don’t get any on clothes, shoes or any other soft material. This stuff has a big appetite.’

Draegar carefully placed the test tubes in one of his bags. He gazed up at the window again, hoping to catch sight of Groach, but the botanist was gone. He toyed with the idea of trying to go in after his new companion, but knew it was no use. He had to return to the docks or Groach’s sacrifice would be in vain.

Taya, Lorkrin and Hilspeth wandered through the melee, men with wheelbarrows and wagons and cranes clattered past them, paying them no attention. The Myunans had shed their tribal colours to appear as human children, and Taya had even changed her hair to a shorter, more Noranian style. There were more than a dozen barges against the docks themselves, being loaded up, with at least as many again waiting out in the river to take their places. In the foggy, dim light of evening, the buildings on both sides of the water were losing their detail, taking on a murky grey brown colour that melded them all into angular, featureless blocks. Stepping over mooring ropes and steering clear of
gangplanks
, the three investigated the docks, peering into the holds of the boats, and taking note of the soldiers who
overlooked
the proceedings.

They were watching more wagons arriving when a squad
of troops passed them by. One of the soldiers stopped
suddenly
, staring at them.

‘Flivel, get in formation!’ the Forward-Batterer shouted at him, but the infantryman did not move.

Hilspeth stared back at him, sure that she remembered him from somewhere. With a mounting sense of dread, it came to her. Flivel, the soldier from the courtroom. The one with bad grammar.

‘That’s the hag that cost me a hundred drokes,’ he snarled. ‘The one that was friends with that little rat who killed Grulk. What are you doing here, hag?’

He looked at the two Myunans and light dawned in his eyes.

‘Hey, isn’t that the pair who …’

‘Run!’ Hilspeth screamed and shoved the two Myunans in front of her.

They turned and sprinted away as fast as their legs could carry them. As they passed a wagon, Lorkrin slapped the catches on the tailgate, and glanced back to watch as a pile of crumble cones tumbled into the path of the soldiers,
causing
the first two to stumble and fall over. But horns sounded behind them – the alarm was being raised. Taya and Lorkrin were almost invisible in the crowd, as everyone was taller than them and Hilspeth hurried to keep up, while staying as low as she could. The soldiers were hampered by the busy teams of workmen, but they were gaining on the fugitives.

‘In here!’ called Taya, ducking into a warehouse. They darted in among piles of tall jars, searching frantically for a way out on the other side. But the windows were boarded up and the doors were locked. They stopped to catch their breath behind a stack of jars, Lorkrin climbing up to peer over the top at the door they had come in.

‘They haven’t followed us,’ he panted. ‘I don’t think they saw us come in.’

‘It won’t take them long to figure out where we went,’ Taya whispered. ‘We’ll be trapped in here when they do.’

‘We could turn into something nasty. Scare them off,’ he suggested hopefully.

‘Oh, grow up!’ his sister snapped. ‘That’d get us killed for sure.’

Hilspeth turned her attention to the roof.

‘Do you think we could climb out of here?’ she asked. ‘Those skylights don’t seem to be locked. It would be better than going back out the way we came in.’

They found stairs leading to a walkway that overlooked the floor of the warehouse. From there, Taya was able to stand on Hilspeth’s shoulders and unlatch one of the skylights. Below them, three soldiers wandered in the doorway and started to search among the jars. Taya nodded down at them, pointing them out to the others, then she pulled herself up and out onto the roof as quietly as she could. Lorkrin followed, and once out, he slunched his feet and ankles and hooked them around a post near the edge of the opening. Hanging
head-first
through the skylight, he stretched far enough for Hilspeth to grab him and begin to climb up, using him as a makeshift rope-ladder. From the floor below, they heard a shout, and a crossbow bolt suddenly shot past Hilspeth as she and Taya pulled Lorkrin out. Looking frantically around, they saw a walkway leading to the roof of the next warehouse.

‘They’re not following us,’ Taya said.

‘They’ll try to surround us,’ Hilspeth called back as she ran. ‘We need to find a way down. If we get stuck up here, they’ll catch us for sure.’

Sprinting across the walkway, they scrambled up the gabled roof and slid down to the ledge on the other side. From there, they dropped onto the rooftop of a
neighbouring
factory. Dodging among the tall chimneys, they ran to the far end and found themselves confronted by a sheer drop to the street.

‘We can make this,’ Taya cried between breaths.

‘How?’ Hilspeth asked in despair. There was no way down that she could see.

‘We slunch and drop, then you land on us. We’ll soften your landing.’

‘Are you mad? You’ll be killed!’

‘We’re Myunans,’ Lorkrin reminded her. ‘Trust us.’

He and Taya jumped together and landed with a thump in a shapeless pile. Hilspeth moaned, and glanced behind her to see soldiers emerge from a skylight in the roof behind her. Gritting her teeth, she lunged off the ledge, falling kicking and screaming to the street below. She landed on her back on the soft cushion provided by the bodies of the Myunans and had the air knocked from her lungs. Lorkrin and Taya slipped from under her and struggled back to their normal forms.

‘You could do with losing some weight,’ Lorkrin wheezed.

They helped the scentonomist to her feet; she was gasping for breath. Clutching her chest, she pointed at an alley across from them. People were starting to gather to see what this unusual threesome was up to. Over their heads came the shouting of soldiers barging their way through. Taya led the others down the alley and through to the street beyond. They came face to face with Right-Speartrooper Flivel. Reaching into her waistcoat, Hilspeth grabbed the first bottle
that came to hand and sprayed the contents in the soldier’s face. He dropped his spear and staggered to one side, then fell over. In puzzlement, she looked at the label. It was essence of popelflower, the smell of which brought back childhood memories, but in large quantities caused
complete
loss of balance.

Flivel made to get to his feet again, but once up, he swayed uncertainly and toppled right over again. Hilspeth pushed him over once more as he got his feet under him, and then she ran. Lorkrin gave him an extra shove for good measure as he passed him. They did not get very far. As they watched, people moved off the street to clear the way for three soldiers who were charging towards them.

‘Aw, bowels.’

Lorkrin turned around again and ran headlong into a Parsinor-shaped wall.

‘You didn’t make it to Brodfan, then,’ Draegar growled.

He stepped past the Myunans and into the path of the
soldiers
, stamping Flivel into the ground. The first man threw himself at the Parsinor, who brought his elbow up and slammed it into the man’s throat, knocking him flat on his back. The second made an overhead swing with a halberd and Draegar swivelled to one side, letting the weapon bury itself in the ground, before holding it down with one foot and snapping the back of his left fist into the man’s face, sending him skidding back on his bottom. The third faltered, seeing his comrades beaten so easily and, as he hesitated, Draegar hooked his foot under the halberd and kicked it at him, striking him in the forehead with its shaft. The man crumpled to the ground and lay still.

‘Wow,’ gasped Lorkrin.

‘You’ve just made things a lot more complicated,’ Draegar told Hilspeth and the two Myunans as he led them down a narrow alley and out of the sight of the people on the street. ‘Just when I don’t need to be noticed, you force me to start trouble with the Noranians. Now they will be looking for Parsinors, and I have work to do on the docks.’

18 Q
UIET
P
RAYERS IN
R
UTLEDGE

The barges were moored on either side of the bases of the three eb-towers, which floated in the River Gullin, and dwarfed every other construction in Noran. Built into these enormous eb-trees were light but formidable fortresses. At regular intervals up the trunks were armoured structures with battlements that housed the government. Turrets sat on every major branch of the trees. The lower levels were
occupied
by the military; catapults, crossbows and archers’ posts bristled from the battlements. From these positions, they could lob missiles far over the walls that surrounded the centre of the city, and the land could be watched to the
horizon
. Above and behind these defences, the politicians and generals languished in the luxurious rooms that squatted amongst the highest reaches of the trees. The structures were made of the same fireproof wood as the trees
themselves
, and each level was connected by twin spiral
staircases
as well as ladders and slide poles.

The floating base of each tree was the size of a small field, its rough nest of roots paved with cobbles to make way for vehicles and troops. Walls ran around the edge to provide
extra security. Chains thicker than Draegar’s arms anchored the trees in place in the deeper water of the river, with heavy ropes mooring them to the docks, and even sturdier lengths of cable attached to the middle of the trees to hold them steady in high winds. Stout wooden bridges led out to the gates of the three fortresses and each was heavily guarded.

Security was tight around the barges. Soldiers stood watch as dock workers carried crates of crumble cones on board. Even so, it was relatively easy for someone to get aboard … if they could make themselves look like a crate. Lorkrin was carried on board and placed at the foot of a pile of boxes. To anyone looking at or touching him, he was for all intents and purposes, a wooden crate.

His eyes opened in two corners to check that it was safe for him to act, but before he could move, a guard appeared nearby and walked up to stand over him. It was the one who had chased them, Flivel. Lorkrin closed the eye nearest the man and held his breath, waiting for the moment when a knife or a sword descended on him. Flivel placed a booted foot up on Lorkrin’s back and leaned on it, looking around. Lorkrin’s fertile imagination went wild. Whatever this man was going to do to him, he didn’t want any witnesses. Lorkrin was about to lunge back and start screaming, when Flivel lifted his ornacrid armour and began scratching his backside. Failing to reach the offending itch, he changed feet, Lorkrin wincing as the heel came down on what would have been his head. After a furious bout of scratching, the guard put his foot down, straightened his armour, took a last furtive look around, and walked back the way he had come.

Lorkrin let out his breath with a relieved sigh. Unfolding his arms, he held up the test tube and tapped a few of the
spores into the open crates beside him. Then he shuffled to the side of the hold, hauled himself up on the gunwale, and lowered his cube-shaped body into the water. He knew that on the quay on the other side of the river, Taya was doing the same thing. Against his better judgment, Draegar had been convinced that the two Myunans were his best hope of getting the spores into the shipment of crumble cones. Still in his square shape, Lorkrin swam awkwardly to the wall and slipped out, joining the stack of crates waiting to be loaded aboard the next barge along.

Groach sat at a table, scribbling some notes down and trying to look busy. In fact, he was listening intently to the
conversations
taking place around the room. He realised that these people knew far more about the aims of the Harvest Tide Project than he had, and had been recruited as much for their natures as they had for their knowledge. They knew people were going to die as a result of their work and they did not care. The fact that they were planning to cause a
disaster
simply made it more exciting for them.

‘I think the Karthars will be affected first,’ one voice
commented
. ‘They are more used to a higher climate, thinner air. They will be breathing deeper.’

‘I disagree,’ another put in. ‘For the very reason that they need less air.’

‘It doesn’t matter either way,’ a third muttered. ‘As long as they are standing in the way when the tide comes in.’

‘What’s this I hear about the Karthars landing on the coast?’ the first asked.

‘That’s the plan. The whole army is landing on Braskhia …
they want to trounce the Braskhiams once and for all. That’s the whole point. The Prime Ministrate wants to bring them right onto the coast before we let the tide loose.’

‘But the Braskhiams don’t want to fight. How does he know the Karthars will take the bait?’

‘Because he planned it that way, you peasant. He’s been using Karthar esh-boats to attack Braskhiam ships, and Braskhiam vessels to attack Karthar ships. He wants to set them at each other’s throats. The Karthar navy invades Braskhia, and that’s when we launch. Then our army steps in and Noran ends up ruling both of them.’

Groach stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, and made his way over to a plans chest where the maps were kept. He took one out that showed the positions of all the esh-bound bubule plains on this side of the world.
Examining
it, he confirmed what he had already guessed. There were no bubules off the Karthar coast facing Noran. The only plains that could be safely reached by the Noranian fleet were off the coast of Braskhia. If Namen wanted to use the Harvest Tide against the Karthars, he would have to do it on Braskhia’s doorstep. Thousands lived on the farms and in the fishing villages along the coast. He was bringing his
enemies
to Braskhia so that he could destroy them and cripple the Braskhiams at the same time. Crush the Karthar fleet, and drag a weakened Braskhia into the Noranian Empire, where he could have all their science and technology for himself.

Groach thumped the top of the plans chest with his fist and strode over to the Groundsmaster.

‘I want to see the Prime Ministrate. Right now.’

‘Do you indeed? We’ll send a message to him. I’m sure he’ll come running.’

The Groundsmaster waved to the guard standing at the door.

‘Tell Mungret that Mr Groach has summoned the Prime Ministrate.’ He smiled at Groach. ‘And tell him that we will be ready for the tests on the prisoners in the morning.’ Gro

ach heard this, and one glance at the dissection tables made his blood run cold. Turning away, he stared at the floor for a time.

‘I’m going to my room,’ he said, eventually. ‘Good night.’

It was not long after dawn, and Mungret was sitting at his desk in the office adjoined to the Prime Ministrate’s quarters. Stacks of papers were neatly laid out all around him on the desk, on side tables and in folders on shelves. Paperwork was what Mungret did best, and he was happiest when left alone to comb through facts and figures that had little to do with dealing with individual people. He was not a people person, and resented having to cope with problems he could not solve with a pen. There was a knock on the door, and he tutted as he dipped his quill in a jar of water and dabbed it dry.

‘Enter,’ he said with a sigh.

The door opened, and the Whipholder in charge of security at the docks came in, followed by an embarrassed-looking soldier wearing only his armour and one boot. Mungret blinked once, then raised his gaze to the officer.

‘The Prime Ministrate wanted to be informed of any unusual goings on during the loading of the barges.’ The Whipholder returned the stare.

‘I don’t think half-naked soldiers was what he had in
mind,’ Mungret snapped, picking up his quill again. ‘Hardly worth wasting his time for, is it?’

‘That’s just the thing,’ the officer replied firmly. ‘Right-Speartrooper Flivel here was on duty on the docks. He was fully clothed when he went on shift. He claims his clothes dissolved.’

‘Dissolved?’

‘Rotted and fell to pieces, while he was wearing them.’

Mungret put his pen down again and took another look at the soldier. Flivel was standing to attention by the side of his officer, but his hands kept wandering to cover his bare
backside
, his nakedness hidden at the front by his armour.

‘I presume this was not as the result of careless laundry,’ the clerk observed.

‘My troops take good care of their uniforms,’ the officer growled. He did not like the Prime Ministrate’s secretary, not many of the soldiers did.

‘Have you another explanation?’ Mungret enquired.

‘We’re not sure, but the only odd thing reported was that every barge had one more crate leaving the docks than they had on their inventories. Also, a Parsinor attacked some of our men earlier today. We have search parties out looking for him now.’

Mungret stood up and walked to the window, the way he had seen Rak Ek Namen do so many times when he was deep in thought. He watched the brightening sky for a few moments.

‘There was one of those desert dwellers with the Myunans who kidnapped the botanist,’ he muttered. ‘Alert your troops. I want every Parsinor in the city rounded up and held for questioning. Have the barges left?’

‘Yes, they left before first light.’

‘Get a message to the Whipholder on the boats. Have him check every vessel for anything out of the ordinary. There’s something going on here. I’ll inform the Prime Ministrate.’

Picking up some papers, he dismissed the soldiers and
followed
them out the door. He made his way down one of the staircases that wound around the trunk of the eb-tower, and climbed into a coach. Waving the driver on as he swung the door shut, he sat back in the cabin and closed his eyes. It was too early in the morning for pondering serious problems and, as usual, he had not got enough sleep that night.

It did not take long for the coach to cover the distance to the Harvest Tide Project, and once out of the vehicle, the secretary ran up the steps to the door. He was met by the
Groundsmaster
, who was wringing his hands with worry. There was a
messenger
there waiting with him. He saluted Mungret.

‘Just had a pigeon from the barges, sir. They report the cargo has been destroyed.’

Mungret felt a tightness in his chest.

‘What did you say?’

‘The cargo’s been destroyed, sir. They said something rotted it. Not just the crumble cones, either. The squad who found them said the guards and crew were naked. Not a shred of clothing between them. They reckon that
whatever
ate the cones ate their clothes too. Couldn’t get them to come out of hiding at first – they were too embarrassed. Cargo’s been reduced to slurry.’

Mungret struggled for breath, wheezing painfully.

‘Have any crumble cones got through?’ he gasped.

‘With that lot gone, it’ll just be the ones on the six barges that left early yesterday.’

Mungret shook his head and sat down. It was a fraction of what was needed, but it would have to be enough. They had no more time; the Karthars were approaching the coast as they spoke. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were shaking. The thought of having to tell the Prime
Ministrate
clenched his lungs like two fists.