Snowbone (10 page)

“Seven hundred and thirty-two flagons, Kilim!” said Tarn, the slaver boss, as she put down her pen. “In less than two weeks! That's quite some haul. And there's been no opposition.”

“There was that bloke two days ago,” replied the black-haired man.

“Yes, I know,” said Tarn. “But it was nothing you couldn't handle. You were just a bit careless, weren't you, Buttress?”

The giant, slumped in the corner, heard the mocking tone and grunted. His hand moved protectively to his wounded stomach.

“We shouldn't be working like that,” said Kilim. “On our own, without backup. Word's spreading. We won't get away with it forever. They'll come after us.”

“Who will?” said Tarn with a sneer.

“Someone,” said Kilim.

“Who? The people here are such primitives! There's no army and barely a constabulary. Blue Boy, can you think of anyone?”

The blue-eyed lad shook his head. Then he settled himself more comfortably in his bunk and closed his extraordinary eyes.

“See?” said Tarn. “Even Blue Boy can't think of anyone. Kilim, this is Ashenpeake. These people have allowed a slave trade to flourish on their island for more years than I can remember. They have accepted our money and turned a blind eye. And do you know why? Because they are meek, dull creatures. They might have a reputation for fighting, but I've never seen proof. A cornered cat has more spirit! They won't wage war over their Ancestors, however precious they are. They don't fight for the future—they certainly won't fight for the past.”

“Someone will come,” said Kilim quietly. “I feel it in my bones.”

“You'll feel
this!”
said Tarn, and—
sssss!
—a knife sliced through the air and embedded itself into the wall behind him.

Kilim slowly opened his eyes, hardly daring to move in case Tarn threw a second.

But she didn't. She just smiled, stretched and ran her fingers through her long, long hair. “Sometimes, Kilim,” she purred, “you talk too much.”

nowbone's army traveled south, guided by Figgis. Wherever they went, they asked the local people if they had seen the slavers, but the Ashenpeakers shook their heads and the tiddlins marched on.

Every night the party made camp and Figgis made a fire. The tiddlins were still wary of flames, but Figgis said life on the road was hard enough without forgoing tea. And the tiddlins had to admit that sitting round the fire while Figgis told late-night tales was an undeniable pleasure. Figgis told them many things: how Ashenpeakers were born; how a wooden body worked; how children became adults; what moving on meant. He also talked about the beginning of time and the magical Ancients; how they walked over the land, all-powerful, creating the first Ashenpeakers and the nine clans.

Snowbone listened spellbound, her gray eyes never leaving the tinker's face. Afterward, she repeated the important facts over and over again before she fell asleep.

The snow arrived at the end of the first week. Fat flakes fell
from the bulging sky and soon the countryside was transformed into a shimmering, diamond-dusted world. The temperature plummeted, but the tiddlins were unaware of it. They marched on merrily, never complaining, eager to find the slavers. Their sturdy little legs never faltered, and their legendary stamina kept them going. Hour after hour. Mile after mile.

But Manu suffered badly. Mouse had made him a thick fur jacket, but still the winter chilled his bones. He had never known such weather. Balaa was a tropical island, never cold. As a young boy, he had read about snow in his storybooks and longed to see it. He had dreamed of snowflakes and icicles and frost-frozen ponds. But now, trudging through the slush with the cold biting his nose and nipping his ears, he was sorry that snow had ever been invented.

Surprisingly, Figgis felt the cold too. He knew that was impossible—he was wooden. But still he shivered and coughed. By day, he walked with a blanket draped round his shoulders. At night, he slept like a hedgehog, curled up in a tight ball. But his biggest concern was his arm. It wasn't growing back as it should. Every morning he looked for some sign of growth and was disappointed. Figgis said nothing, but everyone could see the worry, whittling at his face like a penknife.

Snowbone realized it was a problem. Not just for Figgis but for all of them. “I need a sign,” she said to herself. “Something that will tell me what to do.”

And, two days later, there
was
a sign. It was tall, wooden and standing by the crossroads at Wimberry Tump.

It was late afternoon. The sun had slipped from the sky. Snow white was fading to shadow gray, and the travelers were looking for somewhere to spend the night. Anywhere dry would
do. But there was nothing to be seen except an ox cart, coming down the lane toward them.

“Excuse me, sir,” said Tigermane to its driver as it drew near. “We're looking for somewhere to stay for the night. A barn? An outbuilding?”

The carter gazed down and Tigermane couldn't help smiling. His great, round face was such a curious caramel color, his head looked like an enormous pickled onion.

“There's a farm farther on down the road,” said the carter without stopping his wagon. “They'll help you.”

“Just one more thing!” said Tigermane. “We're trying to find some slavers. A black-haired man? A blue-eyed lad?”

The carter's lip curled. “They came this way couple of days ago,” he said. “Ten, maybe twelve men—and a woman. She was a nasty creature, for all her fine looks. Very rude. They had a wagon.”

“Which way did they go?” said Tigermane.

“On to Wimberry Tump,” he said, waving his arm in the direction he'd come from. “Then left at the crossroads to Puddle.” With a curt nod, the carter clicked his reins and continued on his way.

“This is fantastic news!” said Snowbone. “Good work, Tigermane.”

They marched on to Wimberry Tump. Any thought of shelter for the night had gone, squished like the snow beneath their boots. Soon they saw the crossroads with its wooden sign: Puddle, Hayricks, Bogey Bridge, Pennyfold.

“Left!” cried Snowbone, and, like a flock of birds wheeling in the air, the entire party turned left onto the Puddle road.

But something made Mouse look behind and there, still standing by the signpost, was Figgis.

“Wait!” she cried in her loudest voice. She ran back. “Figgis? What's the matter?”

Figgis looked down into Mouse's concerned little face and smiled. If there was a nicer tiddlin than this one, he'd like to meet it. He pointed at the sign with his remaining hand. “You see that? Bogey Bridge? My aunt lives there.”

“That's nice,” said Mouse. She didn't know what else to say.

Luckily, the others returned and Snowbone took over.

“What's the matter?”

“It's Figgis's aunt,” said Mouse. “She lives in Bogey Bridge.”

“So?”

“I have to go to her,” said Figgis, unconsciously cradling the stump of his arm.

“You can't,” said Snowbone. “Not now. We're getting close.”

“I must,” said Figgis. “My arm isn't right.
I'm
not right.”

Snowbone wavered. “I know. I can see that. But I don't want to lose them. Figgis, we
can't
lose them now.”

Figgis heard the despair in her voice. And when he looked into her eyes, he saw tears. Sharp, unwanted tears, just for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

“We won't lose the slavers,” said Manu. “If we can find them once, we can find them again. And Figgis isn't the only one who would benefit from a hot meal and a dry bed.”

It had gone very quiet. Everyone was watching Snowbone, waiting for her decision. She felt pulled. Torn. Split like the crossroads sign. Head going one way, heart going another, feet going nowhere.

“We'll go to Bogey Bridge,” she said at last. “Lead the way, Figgis.”

Figgis nodded and started down the road, with Mouse beside
him. The tiddlins followed, noisily wondering what Figgis's aunt might have for supper. Snowbone trudged on in silence, thinking.

“You did the right thing,” said Manu, joining her. “They're happy now. And when they're happy, they'll follow you anywhere.”

Snowbone smiled. “That's worth remembering,” she said. “I can't win this fight on my own.”

“No,” said Manu, “you can't.” And they walked on together while the snow fell like feathers all around.

ight had fallen by the time the travelers reached Bogey Bridge, but the village lights were warm and welcoming, and they easily found the right house. It was beside the bridge and so smothered in snow, it looked part of the same structure, as if the bridge builder had finished the arches and ended with a flourish, sweeping the stone upwards into the peak of a roof and the tilt of a chimney

Figgis knocked on the front door. While they waited for an answer, he turned to the company. “She's a little sharp,” he said, “but don't let it fool you. She has a heart of gold.”

The door opened with a tumble of snow and there, with her hands on hips, stood Figgis's aunt Butterbur Baxter-Figgis. She arched an eyebrow. “Well now,” she said. “Figgis Hurley-Figgis! I thought you'd forgotten me.” Her face relaxed into a half-smile. “Come in. All of you.”

The tiddlins didn't know how thirty bodies managed to fit inside Butterbur's sitting room, but they did. The room seemed to expand to fit them. And curiously, Butterbur seemed to possess endless crockery and an inexhaustible supply of blueberry
muffins. She went back and forth, from kitchen to sitting room, so many times that Snowbone thought she would wear a hole in the carpet. But eventually she poured herself a cup of tea and claimed the one remaining armchair.

“A merry band,” she said, scanning the tiddlins over the rim of her teacup. “You're not well,” she added, looking at Figgis.

The tinker shook his head.

“I'll see to you when I've finished my tea,” said Butterbur. “You'll stay a few days?”

“If we may,” said Figgis.

“Of course you may,” said Butterbur. “You are my sister's boy and these are your friends. Do you expect me to turn you out into the snow?”

“No,” said Figgis, smiling.

“Of course not,” said Butterbur. Suddenly she pointed at someone across the room. “You there, with the teeth.”

Two Teeth leaped to his feet as if he had been stung in the pants.

“Pull that rope beside you.”

Two Teeth pulled the bell rope. Nothing seemed to happen, but seconds later a young girl appeared, wearing a starched white apron.

“We have guests, Fern,” said Butterbur. “Show them to their rooms, there's a good girl.”

The maid bobbed and held the door open wide. “Follow me,” she said prettily, and the tiddlins filed out of the room. Only Figgis remained.

“Come,” said Butterbur.

Suddenly Snowbone appeared from behind the sofa.

“Not you,” she added.

Snowbone smiled impishly. “Where he goes, I go,” she said.

“Not in my house, you don't,” said Butterbur. “Go on! Join the others upstairs.”

“No.”

Butterbur drew in a dangerous breath.
“Go on,”
she said again.

“No.”

Tall and small, they faced each other like cats on a barn roof. Figgis could feel the air crackling between them.