Borderlands (12 page)

Laverna takes a look at Maisy, then gestures for us to lie her on the nearest couch. ‘Let's have a look, dearie.'

A few other smugglers emerge through the trapdoor, throwing us curious looks. The youngest is a scrappy child, no older than three or four. He looks very much like Quirin – large eyes, a hooked nose – but with a shock of black hair instead of red. Perhaps Laverna and Quirin are his parents.

We wait in silence as Laverna examines Maisy. She pokes and prods, then draws a pouch of dried leaves from her pocket. She brushes one across the wound, then holds it up to the light. The leaf shimmers oddly, shifting from olive green to yellow. She frowns.

‘What?' Clementine says, unable to contain her­self. ‘What does that mean?'

Laverna turns to her. ‘Infection,' she says. ‘But if you give me . . .' She pauses to think. ‘Two days and some sunshine, I reckon she'll be right.'

Silver shakes her head. ‘Storm's comin' tonight, my friend. Go outside – you'll taste it on the air.'

Laverna glances at our crew. ‘Three days, then. But I'd still bet the girl'll live, unless someone's been swapping my water for whiskey.' She glances at our crew. ‘Who're these ones, then?'

‘Visitors,' Silver says. ‘I brought 'em. They owe me a favour.'

The other smugglers stare at us. A couple cross their arms, as though not particularly happy with this turn of events. Still, no one speaks.

Quirin takes a step forward. ‘We don't need more clan members,' he says. His voice reminds me of the riverbed, coarse with grit. ‘We've seen too many tagalongs lately, and none of them has proven his worth.'

I glance across at Teddy, unsure whether to feel hopeful or not. If Quirin decides he doesn't want us, will he just let us go? Or will he find some other, darker way to call upon our debt? I suddenly remember tales from when I was a tiny child. Bedtime stories full of wicked goblins and evil smugglers, who stole children from their beds for the darkest of alchemy . . .

‘King was hoardin' Curiefer,' Silver says. ‘These ones blew it up.'

Murmurs ripple around the room. One man gives me a nod of respect, as though to acknowledge our work. But others just scowl and shake their heads, or rest distrustful fingers on the pistols at their belts.

Quirin raises a hand, and the smugglers hush. ‘Our people aren't afraid of kings. We've already turned away one teenage vigilante this week – I see no reason to saddle ourselves with four more of them.'

‘You've seen another teenager out here?' I blurt. ‘I mean, sir?'

Quirin's lip twists. ‘Better learn to speak when spoken to, girl.'

I bow my head in apology. But my heart patters, and my nails dig like fire into my palms. Lukas. He has to mean Lukas. How many other teenagers are running around the borderlands on their own? But why would Lukas want to join –

‘Other boy was out of his mind,' Silver says, waving a dismissive hand. ‘This lot's different. Girl's an illusionist, for one thing, and they've made it all the way from Rourton. I want a chance to test 'em properly.'

Quirin stares at her. Then he nods. ‘All right. I'll give you one week, Silver. But you'll keep them on your boat, and they'll be your responsibility.'

I frown at Silver, confused. Back when I first met her, she said she'd lied about her name – that ‘Silver' was just a reference to a smuggling job. But if her own clan's leader calls her that, surely that means it
is
her real name. That means she lied to me about lying to me . . . and I believed her.

The implications turn my stomach. Suddenly I think of Hackel – of his lies, his doublecrossing. This cabin looks like a quaint little cottage, but it might as well be a nest of spiders. What are we doing trusting smugglers? Silver isn't just a harmless old woman. She knows how to twist the truth. We'd be fools to trust anything she tells us.

Yet until Maisy is cured, we remain at her mercy.

Silver breaks the silence. ‘Come on, my friends. My usual shipmates are off on smugglin' jobs, so you'll ride with me on the
Nightsong
.' She gives a crooked smile. ‘And I'd judge we'll get along nicely indeed.'

The
Nightsong
's interior is darker than its sister boat. The wallpaper is a mottled brown, stained by years of damp and leaks. One of the pipes provides a constant drip, so someone's rigged a bucket on a string to catch its dribbles. No couches here: just a scattering of rough wooden chairs.

‘Cosy,' Teddy remarks.

Silver doesn't look too pleased. ‘Only been a smuggler ten years, my friend. I ain't earned the comforts of a leader like Quirin.'

‘Is Laverna his wife?' I say.

Silver crosses to the stove, where she cranks a mechanical handle. Then she lights a match and tosses it into the bowels of the metal pot. ‘Sure is. Latest in a long string of wives. She's only been with this clan a few years.'

‘Where's she from?'

Silver shrugs. ‘Ain't polite to ask these things. When you get to be a smuggler, my friend, you leave your old life behind. Everyone here's got a past . . . something they fled from. Somethin' awful, I'd judge. But if you ask no questions, you'll hear no lies.' She rummages around in a cupboard, and pulls out an old glass jar. ‘Tea?'

I want to say ‘no' – to distrust everything this old woman offers me. For all I know, it could be poisoned: another way to ensure our obedience. But I'm parched and exhausted, and my body cries out for relief. I exchange a glance with Teddy, who shrugs.

‘What kind of tea?' he says.

‘Peppermint,' Silver says. When no one speaks up, she shrugs and dumps a fistful of dried peppermint leaves into the water. Another rummage produces a sugar box, and she deposits a tablespoon of the clumpy white granules into the mix.

‘Tell you what,' she says. ‘I'll put on enough for all of us, eh, and you'll make up your minds when it's ready.'

Five minutes later, the cabin whiffs of peppermint tea. My stomach rumbles. When Silver offers her cracked collection of teacups around, none of us has the strength to refuse. I sit on the nearest chair, cradling the warm cup in my hands. The tea is strong and sweet, and I'm reassured when Silver takes a swig from her own cup.

Finally, when we're all seated, I ask the question that's been burning a hole in my belly. ‘Quirin said there was another boy. A teenage vigilante in the borderlands, trying to join your clan.'

Silver takes a sip of tea, then says, ‘True.'

‘Did you see him? What did he look like?'

‘Lost someone, eh?'

I give a half-shrug, half-nod.

‘Well, this boy was . . . mad,' Silver says. ‘Wanted to recruit us for his fight against the king. Told us the soldiers near the Valley were plotting somethin' awful, and my people'd be shafted if we didn't stop it.' She snorts. ‘As if we'd be afraid of soldiers.'

I fight to keep my voice steady. ‘This boy . . . he would have been about eighteen? With dark hair?'

Silver gives me a hard look. ‘Yep, he was at that. But now, my friend, I'd judge it's my turn to do the questioning.'

I glance across at Teddy, then Clementine. The latter sits meekly in a corner on her own, clutching an untouched cup of tea. I know she wants to be with Maisy – that she doesn't trust these smugglers to look after her – but what choice do we have? Laverna insisted that we all leave with Silver, and so here we are. No Lukas. No Maisy. A broken crew.

‘Now,' Silver says, leaning forward. ‘I'm just dyin' to know more about my new little friends. All the way from Rourton, eh?'

I give a cautious nod.

‘Headin' for the Valley?'

‘Well, not the Valley itself, exactly,' Teddy says. ‘The land beyond the Valley. I mean, we're not gonna spend our whole lives frolicking on some grassy hillside.'

‘But you've made it all the way to the borderlands? With hunters on your trail?'

‘That's right.'

‘How?'

I frown. ‘What do you mean,
how
?'

‘Well, if you don't mind me sayin' so, you should be dead.' Silver leans even further forward, strumming a finger on the edge of her cup. ‘Very, very dead.'

‘We had foxaries,' I say. ‘And we followed your people's song.'

‘You ain't hired smugglers to help you find your route?'

My heartbeat quickens. We can't mention Hackel. What if Silver knew him? What if she discovers that he tried to sell us out . . . that there's a ridiculous price on our heads? She'll round up her clan, clap us in irons and drag us off to the soldiers' camp for a tidy profit of her own. I want to glance across at Teddy, to ask him silently to answer for me, but that would be a dead giveaway that I'm not being honest.

‘Look,' I say, mouth dry, ‘we were just lucky, all right? We hitched a ride on a train to cross the mountains, and the foxaries made it all a lot easier.'

‘But you all survived the journey,' Silver says. ‘Well, ain't that just a rosy little bedtime tale.'

‘We didn't all survive,' Teddy says.

‘Oh?'

‘We had a crew leader. Radnor. He's the bloke who put our crew together, who led us out of the city. I don't reckon we'd be here if it weren't for him. He's the one who came up with this whole escape plan.'

‘How'd he die?' Silver says.

Teddy looks down at his hands, clearly pained. I know he and Radnor were friends; in fact, Teddy saved Radnor's life when they were children. It must be hard for him to talk about this so bluntly.

‘He got injured by a hunter,' I say, when the silence stretches too long. ‘And we were trapped in a river, and I couldn't keep a grip on him . . .'

‘Washed away?' Silver guesses.

I nod. ‘Over a waterfall.'

It's funny how things can hit you. I haven't thought about Radnor for days – I guess we've been too busy trying to survive. And I've never spoken directly of his death before. None of us has. It makes it feel so much more real. And suddenly, now, there is nothing but guilt. I'm the one who had a grip on him. I'm the one who held him, as his shoulder poured blood into that river.

I'm the one who let him go.

Silver stares at me, a strange expression on her face. ‘You're feelin' guilty for his death, I'd judge.'

Teddy looks up, startled. ‘What? Danika, it wasn't your fault.'

I shake my head. I want to change the topic, but my tongue feels like a clump of wool in my mouth. There's just the gnaw in my stomach and the growl in the back of my skull – the growl that says
yes, yes, yes
. I feel responsible. Of course I do.

‘We were practically drowning in that river,' Teddy says. ‘It wasn't your fault, Danika. No one could have kept hold of him – not in the middle of all that.'

‘Teddy's right,' Clementine says. It's the first thing she's said since we boarded the
Nightsong
, and her voice startles me a little. ‘It wasn't your fault.'

Silver still wears that strange expression, like she's trying to suss me out. She rises, crosses the room and places her teacup on the seat. Three more steps carry her to the trapdoor. Then she stops, as if she's made up her mind about something. She turns back to face me.

‘I know a lot about guilt, my friend,' Silver says. ‘Don't you let it eat you up – because it's a hungry beast. Once you let it get a lick of you, it won't stop till it's gnawed you to the bones.'

She meets my gaze for a second. Then she turns to face the trapdoor and descends into the dark.

We eat dinner on the deck of the
Nightsong
. It's the first proper meal I've eaten in who knows how long, and I don't know whether to take it slowly or stuff myself silly. Fried fish, boiled crabs, roots mashed with spices and roseberry sauce . . .

‘You know how I said I'd nick these smugglers' pants if they betrayed us?' Teddy says, mouth bulging with fish and bread. ‘I've changed my mind. I'd nick their pantries instead.'

‘Count me in,' Clementine says, to my surprise. She licks her fingers clean, one by one; apparently the wilderness has finally shattered any pretence of richie manners.

As I watch, my mind wanders to Maisy. I hope Laverna is looking after her. It's all too easy to picture her alone in a dark bunkroom, while the smugglers feast and drink and laugh beneath the evening sky.

‘What happened?' I say. ‘When the hunters caught you?'

Teddy swallows his bread. ‘Woke up with two of 'em in our camp. Maisy tried to grab a match, so the Air bloke slashed her up with a slice of wind.'

I wince at the image. A vicious blast, ripping through flesh . . .

‘Clementine was right behind him, though,' Teddy adds, ‘so she knocked him out with a branch across the skull. That's when the Water bloke came at me, but I don't reckon he'd been in many street fights 'cause I broke his arms with a trick I've known since I was twelve. Then we grabbed our packs and hightailed it out of there.'

I'm so startled by the image of Clementine walloping a man across the skull that it takes me a moment to respond. ‘They caught you, though?'

Teddy nods. ‘Maisy was too hurt to get far. I smashed a rock into the Reptile bloke's shin – but next thing I know, I'm trussed in the air like a pig on a spit.'

There is a long pause. I take a spoonful of mashed roots and swallow, but the food is suddenly tasteless. I should have been there. I was the one who left them without a guard.

‘Do you ever wonder . . .?' Clementine begins, then trails off.

‘What?' Teddy says.

‘Whether we're doing the right thing. Heading for the Valley, I mean.'

I glance at Teddy, who shrugs. ‘Don't see where else we could've gone,' he says. ‘I mean, it'd be nice to hang out in Gunning or something for a while, but the hunters would've caught us.'

Clementine's gaze is on her knees. ‘It's just . . . I was always so fixated on the Valley. That's where I was going to take Maisy, whether she liked it or not. That's how I was going to save her.'

‘Save her?' Teddy says.

But Clementine isn't listening. ‘I was the one who dreamed up this scheme,' she says. ‘You wouldn't think it, would you? You'd think it would be Maisy. She's the smart one. She's the dreamer. She's always longed to see the world.'

‘Oh, come off it!' Teddy puts his plate down on the deck. ‘You're smart too, I reckon, in your own –'

‘No, I'm not.' Clementine's voice is suddenly brittle. ‘Not like Maisy. She's spent her whole life dreaming of distant places. I used to mock her for it. Told her to take her nose out of a book and enjoy the real world. I'd drag her to tea parties, to dress fittings, to have our nails painted.'

She lets out a breath. ‘And then the bombs fell.'

My fingers tighten on my dinner plate. I know the twins' mother burned that night – killed in the same bombing that destroyed my own family. But while I was turfed onto the streets, Maisy and ­Clementine were left with a distant father to pick up the pieces.

‘After we lost our mother,' Clementine says, ‘our father changed. I . . . I begged him to take us away – to take us to the Valley. We would be safe there, like in Maisy's storybooks. No one else would have to die.'

‘But he wouldn't take you?'

‘Of course not,' Clementine says. ‘He laughed at me. Said that life was perfect in Rourton – that we were rich, privileged, spoilt. He said that the king's laws provided more opportunities than they cut off. He was making a fortune, so why should he leave?'

‘And then . . .?'

Clementine looks down. ‘Maisy.'

She doesn't need to explain. I already know what happened to Maisy. One of their father's business contacts began to stalk her, to grab her, to force kisses upon her. To barter for her hand in marriage. And shy little Maisy was scared even deeper into her shell.

Teddy, though, is yet to hear the story. He glances between us, confused. Clementine opens her mouth, then closes it. She looks at me for help, as though words have failed her.

I turn to Teddy. ‘Their father was going to sell Maisy off in marriage. To a man who . . . scared her.'

Teddy looks taken aback, before his lips settle into a thin line. He gives a nod of understanding. After all, he grew up on the streets. For all his joking, Teddy knows the darker side of humanity.

‘I'd already lost one family member,' Clementine whispers. ‘I wasn't going to let it happen again.'

Teddy nods again, slowly. ‘But now Maisy's hurt, so you reckon you made the wrong choice?'

‘Yes. I mean, no. No! We had to leave – I couldn't leave her there with that . . . that creep. But now we're all in danger, all the time, and –'

I open my mouth to respond, but Teddy beats me to it. He rises and steps closer to Clementine, his expression oddly intense. ‘Listen to me.' He waits until she looks up and meets his gaze. ‘You saved her. There was nowhere else safe to go.'

‘We could have tried south or west or –'

‘Those hunters were on our trail as soon as we left Rourton,' Teddy says. ‘I reckon we signed up for exile that night. Nowhere in Taladia's gonna be safe for us now.'

‘But we don't even know what lies ahead.'

‘No, we don't,' Teddy says. ‘But we know what lies behind. And I dunno about you, but I'm damn well glad to be free of it.'

Clementine stares at him for a long moment. Slowly, she nods. I glance between them, a little startled by the emotion in their eyes.

When Teddy retreats to his own chair, he forces a laugh. ‘And hey – if we hadn't come this way, we never would've tried these river crabs.' He pats his belly. ‘Wouldn't want to miss a feast like this, would you?'

As the evening fades to night, the smuggler boats come alive with lantern light. Silver emerges from the cabin with a large jug of cordial, which tastes of berries and lemons. It hits me for the first time that these smugglers must be quite wealthy. Fruit isn't cheap in Taladia, and although roseberries grow wild around here, lemons certainly don't. I should have guessed it earlier; the alchemy charms around Silver's neck would cost more than my family's old apartment block.

‘Storm'll hit inside the hour, I'd judge,' she says, craning her neck up to study the sky. ‘We're in for a nasty night.'

As it turns out, an hour is overly generous. The wind picks up just twenty minutes later, and soon we're slamming the windows and dragging our chairs back inside. Curtains flap wildly as I close my chosen window, and I get whacked in the face a few times by hysterical velvet. I hear banging doors on the other boats and a few panicked shouts.

‘Doesn't sound good,' Teddy says quietly to me. ‘Those smugglers must spend half their lives on boats – they wouldn't freak unless it was serious.'

Silver curses under her breath. ‘Storm's comin' in too quickly,' she mutters. ‘I don't like this.'

‘What do you mean, too quickly?'
Clementine says. ‘It's a storm, isn't it? It just comes and goes, like –'

‘This ain't natural,' Silver says. ‘To poke up a storm like this . . . well, some fool's messin' with things that shouldn't be touched. I've lived on these waters for a decade, my friend, and I know how to judge the storms. They only move this fast when somethin' unnatural's in the air.'

I stare at her, confused. ‘Unnatural?'

Silver looks up at me, an odd mania in her eyes. ‘Borderlands are a strange place. This ain't just natural wetland – it's alchemy what tainted it, and sometimes alchemy goes wrong.' She takes a deep breath. ‘The land round here's temperamental, and someone's lit a fire in the damn thing's belly.'

‘What do you –?'

The cabin door flies open, cutting off my question. Quirin strides into the room with a curse already on his lips. ‘Silver, we're in trouble. It's a bellyacher.'

‘Think I don't know that?' Silver snaps. ‘Wind shouldn't be actin' up for another half hour, at least.'

‘What's a bellyacher?' I say.

‘Alchemically charged storm,' Silver says. She doesn't look pleased by my interruption, but seems to realise this will go smoother if we're better informed. ‘We call 'em bellyachers 'cause they happen when the borderlands've been . . . provoked. Like the land's got a bellyache.'

Clementine scoffs. ‘It's a lump of land. It doesn't have feelings.'

‘Maybe,' Silver says, ‘maybe not. Want to argue the point with that storm out there, or help ready this boat to survive it?'

Quirin paces through the cabin. ‘A bellyacher doesn't just happen on its own. Someone's messing with dangerous magic – some kind of alchemy that's best left alone . . .' He turns to face us, accusation in his eyes. ‘Those soldiers aren't sitting by the Valley for no reason. Your king's playing at something very foolish, and very deadly.'

Clementine looks affronted. ‘
Our
king? Excuse me, but I don't think it's fair to blame us for what the king gets up to. Last time I checked, we were the ones who blew up his airbase.'

Teddy elbows her. ‘Don't remind him,' he whispers. ‘The bloke already reckons we're crazed vigilantes.'

Silver turns to Quirin, face grim. ‘This'll be a rough one, I'd judge. We'd best aim for Green Lagoon.'

The captain shakes his head. ‘We'll never make it. Storm's coming from the east, and we'd have to turn south. Easier to go with the wind, not across it.'

Silver gives a bitter laugh. ‘We can't stay out here on the rivers. Want to be trapped between islands when the surges start?'

Quirin's dark eyes meet Silver's green. There's a moment of silence, as if they're silently communicating. I recognise that look. It's the look of two people who have survived a lot together – who can read each other's feelings in a glance. I'm starting to feel something similar with my crewmates, especially Teddy.

‘You're right,' Quirin says. ‘If we don't reach the lagoon, we'll go down.' He runs a hand over his chin, and – just for a moment – the look on his face is despairing. Then he shakes his head and gives a firm nod. ‘Right. I'll let the others know.'

He turns for the door. As he places one hand on the doorknob, he pauses and turns back to us. ‘Oh, and Silver? I want the
Nightsong
to take the lead.'

The door wrenches open with a shriek of wind. Rain splatters in through the cabin and across our bodies; Clementine gasps in surprise and shields her face with her hands. Then the wind catches the door and it slams with a bang to rival a pistol.

‘We're taking the lead?' I say. ‘Why? I thought you'd only been a smuggler for ten years – aren't there are more experienced captains on the other boats?'

Silver's gaze lingers on the door. ‘Quirin'll keep his family on the
Forgotten
, I'd judge. Laverna, of course, and the kid. First boat gets the brunt of the storm, and others'll follow in our wake. He won't want his family taking the hit.'

‘What about the other boat?' Clementine says.
‘The
Merchant's Daughter
?'

Silver shakes her head. ‘Been needin' repairs for weeks, that one. Normally Carrilla fixes the boats when they need a patch-up, but she's gone north to offload a litter of foxary pups. We were waitin' for her to get back before –'

There's a strange howl out in the dark. Teddy, Clementine and I all jump in alarm, but Silver just gives us a reassuring scoff. ‘Nothin' to worry over yet, my friends. Just the
Merchant's Daughter
startin' up. Kenton always feeds her the wrong vial – good smuggler, but he don't know his toes from his elbows when it comes to alchemy.'

Silver heads to the front of the cabin, where a pedestal of knobs and equipment gleams in bronze. She hauls back a pair of velvet curtains, and I suck down a sharp breath at what lies beneath. An entire wall of cogs and levers, tubes and buttons. They shine with an odd sort of light, despite their placement in the gloom of the cabin. When she tugs a tiny copper lever, a cluster of bright alchemy lamps flares at the front of the boat. They dapple light across the river, like headlights on a carriage.

Silver pulls out a wooden chest filled with small glass vials of liquid and smoke. She considers her options, then selects a vial and holds it up to the light. She looks oddly distracted, running her fingers down the vial like it's a loved one's shoulder.