The Silver Door (10 page)

‘Why, Cap!' cried Four-Eyes with obvious relish. ‘I thought you said—'

‘Gone?' roared Bones at the same moment. ‘Gone an' left us?' And he began to howl like a beast.

The piteous sound pierced Rye's heart. He covered his ears, but he could not escape it.

The howling still had not stopped when Four-Eyes strode back to the wagon in triumph. Scourers trailed behind him, carrying the jell and the bloodhog skull he had traded for a sack of tarny roots, some salted goat meat, a bunch of traveller's weed and a promise to keep silent about the Den's vanished visitors.

It went on while Rye, Sonia and Dirk, huddled in hiding, heard the hiss of steam and felt the wagon floor shuddering beneath them as the monstrous vehicle began to move.

And it was still ringing in their ears as the wagon puffed away from the Den and turned onto the track to the Diggings, carrying them with it.

T
he trader roared with laughter. ‘So what do you say to all that?' he boomed over the chugging roar of the wagon. ‘Suspicious strangers in the Den, and Cap willing to do anything to keep the story quiet! On the very day that old Bones drags home the finest bloodhog skull I've ever seen! What a piece of luck!'

Rye, Sonia and Dirk tensed in their dark corner. Who was the man talking to?

Rye felt for the crystal in the bag around his neck. Masking the crystal's light carefully with his fingers, he pressed it against the pile of sacks rising in front of him.

A window appeared around the crystal and there was Four-Eyes sitting in his throne-like seat. He was quite alone. His shoulders were shaking. The eyes in the back of his head streamed with tears of laughter.

A shiver ran down Rye's spine.

‘A smoked whine, my dear?' the man chortled at last, mopping his face with a purple silk handkerchief, then reaching round to dab at the second pair of eyes as well. ‘Why not? We're celebrating!'

He dug into a bag on his lap and dropped something spiky onto the floor by the padlocked metal box. There was an excited chittering sound, a twitching nose appeared from behind the box, and the scrap was snatched away. There was the sound of ravenous crunching.

‘He is talking to his clink!' Rye whispered, and heard Sonia and Dirk, who by now were both looking over his shoulder, breathe out in relief.

‘I agree with you, Snaffle dear!' Four-Eyes cried merrily. ‘Your master is a genius! We'll be able to trade that skull for a fortune at the Diggings! Not to mention that we still have those ducks in the back. Should we offer them to the Diggings guards as well?'

The nose reappeared at the box's corner, and the clink gave a squeak.

‘You're quite right, of course!' Four-Eyes nodded. ‘They'd only eat them—feathers and all, most likely—which would be a pity, in some ways. Still, Snaffle my dear, we must be practical. Who else would have the means to pay us so much?'

Rye felt Sonia stiffen and heard Dirk swear under his breath. He gritted his teeth, trying not to think of Bones, and Bones' great hopes for the three ‘magic
ones' who had brought him nothing but grief.

The trader wriggled in his seat, arching his back as if to ease aching muscles. The clink chattered, and again Four-Eyes nodded as if he understood exactly what it was saying.

‘Just a slight cramp—nothing to worry about, my dear. But I'm tired, I admit. I sometimes wonder if I'm getting too old for this business. Still, the skull was worth it.'

He took his left hand from the wheel and tapped the metal box with satisfaction. ‘Not to mention that the Den scourings brought the jell in our crock right up to the brim! That will please them at the Diggings. Especially now, when I hear …'

He leaned slightly towards the clink and lowered his voice as if speaking to it in confidence. Rye had to strain to hear him. ‘Especially now, Snaffle, when I hear whisperings that something big is about to happen at the Harbour. Something
rather
important to the Master, I gather, and therefore not on any account to fail. But hush! Not a word!'

He began to raise a finger to his lips, but stopped midway, put his head on one side, and stroked his chin instead.

The clink snuffled.

‘That's just what I was thinking,' Four-Eyes murmured. ‘Mysterious strangers in the Scour … and so-called wizards appearing in the Saltings … It could be chance, but it could also be connected with
the rumours about the Harbour. The Master has his enemies, we all know that. Which means, Snaffle …”

He hunched forward, tapping the wheel with his fingertips. The eyes in the back of his head rolled upwards till only the whites showed. The sight was so horrible that Rye had to bite his lips to stop himself from exclaiming in disgust.

‘Which means,' Four-Eyes went on slowly, ‘that the Master's people would pay very well to hear what I've sworn to keep secret.'

Absent-mindedly he tossed a second smoked whine to the clink, and popped one into his own mouth as well.

‘Really most unfortunate,' he mumbled, chewing rapidly. ‘I should have thought of it before. Oh, now I've given myself a headache!'

He groaned and rubbed his forehead. ‘Most unfortunate,' he repeated. ‘But bargains are bargains. There's no going back on them, Snaffle. Sharp trading is one thing, but my word is my bond.'

He bent over the wheel, staring pensively at the smoke puffing from his vehicle's funnel. Slowly the eyes in the back of his head returned to normal.

‘And on second thoughts, my pet,' he murmured, plucking a fragment of whine wing from his bottom lip, ‘it might be just as well if we know nothing about events that concern the Master. In fact, to be on the safe side, we might take a little holiday after this run—get ourselves out of the way for a few weeks, till the
Harbour affair is settled one way or another. What do you say?'

Tiny claws scrabbled on the wagon floor and the clink chirruped.

‘I'm glad you agree, my dear,' Four-Eyes said tenderly. ‘No, don't ask me for any more treats. Smoked whines are very salty. Next you'll be wanting a drink, and we need every drop of our water for the engine. Why don't you get some sleep while you can? I'll relax, too. Diggings in two hours.'

He settled himself more comfortably in his seat and began to hum tunelessly. Slowly the eyes in the back of his head closed.

Rye returned the crystal to the little brown bag and turned to his companions.

Sonia's face was so pale that it glimmered in the dimness like an oval of floating white smoke. Without a word she slumped back on the heap of empty sacks, looking completely exhausted.

But Rye and Dirk, once they had settled down beside her, were too full of what they had heard to keep silent. They began at once to whisper to one another, confident that the humming trader would not hear them over the chugging and rattling of the wagon.

‘If Olt's brother is the one sending the skimmers to Weld, this big event the trader spoke of could be some new plan of attack,' said Rye.

Dirk grimaced. ‘It could be. We will find out soon enough. The thing I would like to know is why jell is
so precious here. By the Wall, the trader keeps it in that locked box, as if it was gold! But jell is nothing! Its only use is as a dye, and a very little goes a long way.'

‘A dye for cloth, you mean?' Sonia murmured.

‘Yes, and a very cheap, common dye at that,' said Dirk, turning to look at her. ‘Why do you think the Keep soldiers' leggings are red? Or the Keep orphans' uniforms, come to that?'

‘Olt's flags and banners were red too,' Rye put in.

‘Of course.' Dirk shrugged. ‘There is jell in plenty in the west. While I was staying in Fleet I often saw workers come across it when they were digging deep.'

Sonia blinked at him sleepily. ‘So in Weld, and in the west of Dorne, jell is not highly valued because it is plentiful and used only to dye cloth. But here it is very highly valued, so it is either not so plentiful—which does not seem to be the case—or it is used for something else.'

‘I cannot think what,' Dirk said, shaking his head. ‘You cannot eat jell, or build with it, or use it as fuel—all those things, and dozens of others, have been tried.'

‘Yet the Master wants every scrap he can get,' Rye said. ‘He must have discovered another use for it!'

‘Then he has succeeded where thousands before him have failed,' Dirk muttered. ‘By the Wall, it is a mystery! I would love to know the truth of it.'

‘No doubt we will, when we reach the Harbour,' Rye said uneasily.

Sonia yawned. Her eyelids were drooping. Framed by her close-fitting cap, her face looked small and pinched. ‘I am sorry,' she mumbled. ‘I am … so tired. I don't recall ever having been so tired in my whole life before.'

‘It is all that thinking, Sonia!' Dirk teased gently, and Rye noted with surprise that there was real affection in his brother's voice. It seemed that Sonia's eager support of the plan to steal the ducks had made Dirk think of her as a friend at last, instead of as a nuisance.

‘In fact, we should all get some rest,' Dirk went on. ‘The sound of the wagon slowing and stopping will wake us when we reach the Diggings.'

Rye leaned back against the pile of smelly sacks. It was exquisite relief to close his eyes. He was just drifting deliciously into sleep when he felt a tickling sensation on the tip of his little finger. He woke with a start, realising that the armour shell was slowly sliding off.

He caught the shell just in time to stop it falling to the ground, and held it tightly, appalled at his own carelessness. He had become so used to the shell that he had almost forgotten he was wearing it. But as he had begun falling asleep it had sensed that he felt safe—safe for the first time since the attack of the giant bird—and it had loosened accordingly.

Vowing to take more care in future, Rye pushed the shell back into the little bag hanging around his neck. After a moment's thought, he took off the speed ring and added it to the bag as well, just to be on the safe side.

As he lay back again, his hand curved protectively over the bag, he reminded himself that he had still not discovered the purpose of two of the powers inside it. The crystal, the ring, the hood, the serpent scale, the red feather and the snail shell had all revealed their strengths. But the paper-wrapped sweet and the tiny key remained mysteries.

And what of the ninth power?

Nine powers to aid you in your quest …

But there were only eight objects in the bag. Sonia was convinced that the Fellan Edelle had meant that the crystal possessed two powers—the power to light the darkness and the power to see through solid objects. Yet for some reason this answer did not quite satisfy Rye.

He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander. The wagon ground on along the track, shuddering and roaring like a beast. A memory of riding to Fleet in FitzFee's cart slid into Rye's mind. The only sounds on that journey beyond the golden Door had been the clip-clopping of the old mare's hooves on the road and the sound of FitzFee and his little daughter singing. It had been far more pleasant than this.

Dirk and Sonia were already asleep, and despite
the noise of the wagon, the prickliness of the sacks at his back and the loud, monotonous humming of the trader at the wheel, Rye soon joined them.

They slept the sleep of exhaustion and relief, secure in the knowledge that hours must pass before they would have to wake.

They did not hear the soft rasping as four lumpy sacks labelled
Nanny's Pride Tarny Roots
were slit open from the inside. They did not hear the tiny sounds of four small, chunky figures sliding out of their long confinement, standing up in the darkness, and stretching cramped limbs.

They did not hear Four-Eyes the trader's brief struggle as a white pad reeking of something sweet was clapped over his mouth and nose from behind. And they did not stir as one of the small figures took the wheel of the wagon while Four-Eyes' slumped body was dragged from the driver's seat.

It all happened in moments. The noises of the wagon did not alter. Snaffle the clink, fast asleep behind the metal box, did not stir.

And so it was that when strong hands seized Rye, Sonia and Dirk, they were taken completely by surprise.

R
ye had been dreaming of Bones when he woke to terror. Dazed, still haunted by the image of Bones howling at the lowering sky, he at first could not believe that he was really feeling the knifepoint grazing his throat. There was a strange, sickly sweet smell in the air. It made his head spin.

The wagon slowed and stopped, its roar giving way to a sullen hissing. Rye tried to move and instantly an arm tightened around his shoulders.

‘Do not stir!' a harsh female voice rasped in his ear. ‘Sit like a rock if you value your life.'

‘Will I throw Four-Eyes out, Bird?' a man growled from the front of the wagon.

‘No, Bean!' Rye's captor barked. ‘We might need him yet. Stay at the wheel and keep the fire stoked. We won't be stopping for long.'

So the trader's wagon had been taken over. Rye
hoped desperately that the invaders were starving scourers bent on stealing Four-Eyes' stock. If that was it, he, Sonia and Dirk had a chance.

But what if the Master had somehow found out that three strangers from the Saltings were aboard the wagon? What if the invaders were soldiers, sent to take them prisoner?

Rye could not turn to look at Dirk, but Sonia's face was swimming in the dimness straight ahead of him. A bearded man squatted behind her, holding her tightly. The blade of a bone knife gleamed at her throat.

Sonia's eyes were huge with fear. Her lips were slightly parted. She was staring at Rye's neck—at the knifepoint hovering under his chin.

The woman called Bird moved uneasily. ‘Shut your witch's eyes!' she hissed at Sonia. ‘Shut them or your friend here will regret it!'

She moved the knifepoint a fraction. Sonia hastily did as she was told.

Rye thought of the little brown bag of powers. It was there, lying against his chest, under his shirt, well below his captor's arm. If only he could get to it—get his hands on the armour shell! But the black eyes of Sonia's captor were fixed on him, watching for the slightest movement.

‘Chub!' Bird snapped. ‘Is the big one safe yet?'

‘Yes,' a frightened female voice replied from behind them. ‘But he only stopped struggling just now, Bird. He's strong as a bloodhog!'

‘Come and see to the witch,' Bird ordered. ‘Make haste!'

The sickly sweet smell suddenly became much stronger as a dark-clad figure carrying a pad of white cloth moved in front of Rye and bent over Sonia.

With a choking cry Rye tried to hurl himself forward, but Bird was ready for him. She held him with a grip of iron, and her knife hand remained steady.

‘Do that again and you'll cut your own throat,' she snarled. ‘The witch hasn't been harmed. Myrmon isn't a poison. It'll make her sleep, that's all.'

The dark figure straightened. As it sidled out of the way Rye saw that Sonia had slumped sideways, and that her bearded captor was easing her down onto the floor.

‘That will put a stop to her mischief,' Bird said fiercely.

‘She … is not a witch!' panted Rye. He could feel blood running down his neck and realised that the knife had pierced his skin. He could not have cared less.

Bird snorted. ‘So you say. But I've got eyes in my head, and ears as well. You're the three Bones of the Den called magic, and I'd believe Bones a thousand times over before I'd believe you. Folk call him mad, but they forget how he fought the Master in his time. My old granny doesn't forget, though. She's told us of those days often.'

So the invaders were not soldiers. They were
against the Master, not for him!

‘We—we are no friends of the Master, Bird,' Rye burst out. ‘We are your allies! Let us go! Steal what you like from the trader's wagon—we will never tell a soul, I swear!'

It was as if he had not spoken. ‘Itch, help Chub drag the giant out,' Bird said to the man crouching beside Sonia. ‘Then Bean can get us moving again.'

They were going to leave Dirk, drugged and helpless, alone in the Scour!

‘No!' Rye begged. ‘Please—'

‘Quiet!' Bird snapped.

As Itch crawled to his feet, Rye realised with a shock that he was very short indeed—no taller than a Weld child of eight or nine. In fact, he looked like FitzFee! He had the same strong build. He even carried a heavy bow on his belt, as FitzFee did.

And Chub, the wielder of the reeking white cloth, might well be just like him, Rye realised now. Chub had also seemed short, but at the time Rye had been too afraid for Sonia to think about what that might mean.

Rye's heart leaped. Could it be that Itch and Chub were related to FitzFee? Were they cousins, perhaps, who had fled to the east to escape Olt? If so …

He decided to take a chance. ‘Does the name FitzFee mean anything to you?' he asked loudly.

Itch's face went blank. Rye felt Bird stiffen in shock, and heard Chub gasp loudly in the shadows to
his right. Plainly they all recognised the name. Hope flared in him.

‘FitzFee is our friend,' he hurried on. ‘FitzFee would tell you—'

‘Hold your tongue or lose it, sorcerer!' Bird burst out, her voice shaking. ‘We know your tricks!'

Rye froze. What had happened? What had he done? His captor was panting. Her hand was trembling, and the knifepoint was scratching Rye's skin, stinging and burning.

‘Go, Itch!' Bird ordered. ‘I can deal with him.'

‘Bird, there
is
a cage of ducks here, just like they said!' Chub squeaked from the other side of the wagon. ‘Live ducks! Six of them!'

Rye felt Bird tense, but she did not hesitate. ‘It can't be helped,' she snapped. ‘Put them out with the giant. And get rid of that pad of myrmon, Chub, for pity's sake! You'll have us all fainting, next.'

Silently Itch moved out of Rye's view. Now! Rye thought. Very slowly, concentrating on not moving his shoulders, he began to edge his hand up towards the little brown bag.

He heard bumping and panting as Chub and Itch heaved boxes and sacks out onto the track to clear a path, then dragged Dirk's body away. A few moments later, feet came padding back and there was a scraping sound as the duck cage was moved and lifted. The ducks quacked sleepily as they, too, were carried out.

Bird's hand had stopped trembling but she was
still breathing rapidly, and her body was rigid with tension. With agonising slowness Rye moved his fingers upwards.

‘Ready, Bean!' he heard Chub call.

With a clank, a hiss and a creak the wagon began to move, very slowly at first and then a little faster. Pebbles shifted and cracked under the mighty rollers. The puffing, roaring sound began. The speed increased. The metal walls rattled, and the floor began to vibrate.

Bird breathed out. Her body relaxed a little. Plainly she had feared that Bean would not be able to make the monstrous vehicle start again. Rye gave a little grunt and lurched very slightly, as if the shuddering of the wagon had thrown him off balance. At the same time, he slid his hand up and pushed it inside his shirt so that the bag of powers was under his fingers.

‘Good work, Bean!' Bird shouted over the noise of the wagon. ‘Now, Chub and Itch, clear everything else out! Everything but the jell safe and that black coat and cap I chose before.'

‘There's some g-good stuff here, B-Bird!' a male voice with a slight stammer complained.
Itch
, Rye thought, trying to loosen the neck of the little bag with his fingertips.

‘Yes, Bird!' Chub cried shrilly. ‘Some of our own good tarny roots and goat meat, for a start! And the biggest bloodhog skull you've ever—'

‘Keep your minds on what we're doing, for pity's
sake!' Bird shouted, her voice sharp with irritation. ‘The wagon's got to look the part or they'll get suspicious. The plan's risky enough as it is!'

Chub and Itch made no more protests. Fresh air, dust and steam wafted into the wagon as the hide curtain was pulled aside. Rattling, dragging sounds began, followed by dull thuds as goods were tossed out of the open doorway onto the side of the track.

Rye had managed to get the tip of one finger through the neck of the bag. He held his breath and pushed deeper, feeling for the armour shell.

And suddenly the front of his shirt lit up like a lantern! His finger had touched the light crystal, and the crystal had responded instantly. Even muffled by the fabric of the bag, its beam was startlingly bright in the dimness.

Rye jerked his hand back, but it was too late. Bird's yell of shock was already ringing in his ears. Appalled, he heard Chub and Itch come running and heard Bean bellowing questions from the driver's seat. He heard Bird gabbling orders, felt his arms caught and held. He felt Bird drag the little brown bag from under his shirt and with a snarl of disgust wrench it from his neck, snapping the red cord in two.

The next moment, the woman was pounding towards the front of the wagon and it was Itch who was dragging back his head and threatening him with the knife. Then Bird was back, planting herself in front of Rye so that he saw her for the first time.

She was shorter than Itch and Chub, with powerful shoulders and a mass of tightly curling brown hair. Her square, determined face was bleached and sweating, and she was rubbing the palms of her hands on her black goatskin jacket as if she had been touching something poisonous or disgusting.

‘There, the foul thing has gone,' she panted.

‘No!'
Rye barely recognised his own voice as the word burst from his lips.

As Bird grinned, gleeful at his dismay, white-hot anger blazed through him. ‘You stupid, grinning barbarian!' he shouted. ‘Do you know what you have done? You have thrown away your one chance of freedom from the Master!'

With fierce, pointless satisfaction he saw the woman's face twitch, and the grin fade.

‘We were no threat to you!' he raged on. ‘But you left my brother, drugged and helpless, in the Scour. And now you have robbed me of the only means I had to get back to him in time to save him!'

Hot tears were spilling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. Furiously he dashed them away.

Bird wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and exchanged glances with the silent Chub and Itch.

‘Finish clearing the wagon,' she ordered.

‘But Bird—' Rye heard Chub say doubtfully.

‘Go!' Bird snapped. ‘I'll be in no danger. Look at him! Now that his sorcerer's bag of tricks has gone
he's nothing but a blubbering boy.'

Nothing she said could have dried Rye's tears more quickly. At that moment he felt such hatred for her that he could have lunged forward and strangled her with his bare hands.

Perhaps she saw this in his eyes, for as Itch released him she quickly crouched by Sonia's side, the knife in her hand.

‘Touch me and the witch dies,' she said evenly.

Rye's rage flickered and burned out, leaving him cold as ashes. He set his lips, and nodded.

‘Listen to me, Spy,' Bird said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘It's not our fault that you chose to stow away in Four-Eyes' wagon tonight. We were already here when you came. Our plan was underway, and there was no turning back for us. We had no reason to trust you and couldn't risk your interference. We did what we had to do.'

Rye kept silent. Did the woman think he was going to agree with her? Over the chugging of the wagon he could hear Chub and Itch disposing of the last of the trader's stock. So much food, he thought. Enough to keep the people of the Den for a year or more.

‘You have lost a brother, but so have Bean and I,' Bird went on evenly. ‘Two weeks ago, Bell was taken as a slave to the Diggings. Chub's husband and Itch's twin sisters were taken also, and sixteen others of our clan. Today we received their message telling us where
in the Diggings they were. Tonight we are going to get them back.'

Rye felt a flicker of unwilling sympathy. He fought it down.

‘We were going to put all three of you out of the wagon, but when I saw you I realised we could use you,' Bird said. ‘If you agree to help us, and our plan succeeds, you will be back with your brother before dawn.'

‘By then he will be dead,' Rye answered, his lips barely moving. ‘A bloodhog will have taken him.'

‘Possibly,' Bird agreed coolly. ‘But bloodhogs aren't as common as they once were. It's more likely that he will be lying exactly where we left him—thirsty and sore, but alive. We'll give you food and water, then you can go your way and we'll go ours.'

‘And if I don't agree to help you?'

‘Then I'll kill the witch before your eyes, and then kill you.'

Rye stared at her. She returned his gaze unflinchingly.

He found himself doubting that she would carry out her threat. He was almost sure she would not. But he knew he could not take the risk. Bird was desperate. It seemed to him that even she did not know what she would do if he refused her.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘What do you want me to do?'