Snowbone (18 page)

Stellan expertly landed the
Stormrunner
on a sun-baked beach. The feather blades slowly stopped rotating and, with their downdraft gone, Snowbone felt the tremendous heat. Not in a warming of the body, as a human would feel it, but in the density of the atmosphere. She had to breathe more deeply. And she was amazed that such a climate change could exist only two days away from cold Ashenpeake.

“Right,” said Skua. “Let's get a fire goin', then we can have a barbecue!”

He threw a rope ladder over the side of the machine, climbed down, ran to the water's edge, kicked off his boots, pulled out his gun and waded in.
Poom!
He fired into the water.
Poom! Poom! Poom!
Within minutes, he returned with two dozen flame fishes.

“These'll do for starters.” He grinned. “And if we want more”—he waved his gun wildly—“we'll go and get 'em!”

∗  ∗  ∗

Night had fallen by the time the fish were cooked. The travelers sat beneath a magical moon, enjoying the tranquil night. The waves rolled in … kissed the beach … scattered their sequins … withdrew … then rolled in again. Beyond the throw of the firelight, the helmet crabs scuttled back and forth across the sand, defending their territories. In the palm trees, firebirds paraded their plumage in a passionate display of challenge and courtship. In the air, bats hung like washing, heavy, black and strangely solid. No flitting or fluttering for them, just a languid, deadly downbeat of wings, a sigh over the sea, a moth on the tongue. So quiet, the night might never notice they were there.

“Isn't this fabulous,” sighed Tigermane. “I wish Two Teeth and Fudge were here to see it.”

“I wonder what they're doing now?” said Manu.

“I reckon they'll be sitting at Butterbur's kitchen table, eating,” said Blackeye. “Cream cakes, buttered toast, blueberry muffins, treacle tart.”

“Wildwood pie, with gravy and carrots,” said Manu.

“Peaches in syrup,” said Tigermane, “and toffee-baked apples.
Mmm!
”

“Will you listen to yourselves!” laughed Figgis. “If it's food you want, we're not doing too badly. These fish are magnificent.”

“But you can't beat something sweet, can you?” said Black-eye. “Even Skua would agree with that.”

“I would,” said Skua. “I'm very fond of pudding.”

Snowbone said nothing. She was brooding, her gray eyes full of fire glints. But she couldn't keep the peace for long. She turned to Skua. “What is it you want us to do?” she said suddenly.

Skua lifted a wine flask to his lips, drank and burped. “I want you to fetch me somethin',” he said.

“What?”

“The Tongue of Torbijn.”

Snowbone stared at him warily. “The Tongue of Torbijn? What is it? A jewel? A statue?”

“No, it is a tongue,” said Skua. “It's a relic.”

“What's a relic?” asked Tigermane.

“It's a bit of somethin',” said Skua. “Somethin' that's magical or holy. In this case, it's a bit of a man. A very special man.”

“Torbijn,” said Snowbone.

“Exactly,” said Skua.

“What was special about him?” asked Blackeye. “Did he have magical powers?”

“No, he didn't,” said Skua. “That's what makes it inter-estin'. He wasn't a wizard or a medicine man or anythin' like that. He was a mapmaker.” He took another glug of wine, savoring the moment and Snowbone's irritation, then continued. “His maps are still around. I've got a couple on board. Use 'em all the time. Anyway, he came here—let's see now—two hundred years ago, just doing his job. And, accordin' to the legend, he fell down a pit and died. But the natives found him because his tongue kept talkin'. Torbijn was dead, but still his voice was cryin' out:
Help! Help!
It was a miracle. So the natives cut out his tongue and kept it. Preserved it some'ow. And that was when the real magic began to show itself. Because they discovered that anyone who held the tongue in his hand could make a wish and it would come true. Just one wish, mind! A few people tried to make a second and they disappeared.”

“What do you mean, they disappeared?” said Snowbone.

“Just that. They disappeared.
Pooof!
Vanished into thin air.”

“Who told you all this?” said Manu.

“An old star sailor I met in a bar in Kyrle. He'd tried to find the Tongue himself once.”

“What stopped him?” said Snowbone. “The natives?”

“No!” laughed Skua. “The Finoans are long gone. The island is uninhabited.”

“What's your wish?”

Skua spun round, his face strangely savage in the firelight. “What's that?”

“I was just thinking,” said Figgis. “If you want this Tongue—and I can clearly see that you do—you must have a wish in mind.”

“If I do,” growled Skua, “it's none o' your business.” He said no more, but the air crackled between them like an incoming storm.

“Why don't you fetch it yourself?” said Snowbone.

“It's not an easy task for a human,” said Skua. “You'll see why. But for an Ashenpeaker”—he waved his hand dismissively— “no problem! You can have it back here in a few hours and we can be on our way.”

Snowbone fell silent. She had a bad feeling about this. Skua wasn't telling them the whole story, she was sure of that. But what alternative did they have? Bad deal or not, Figgis had agreed. If they didn't fetch the Tongue, Skua would abandon them on the island. And all the time they were deciding, the
Esmerelda
and That Woman were getting farther and farther away.

“Do you know where this Tongue is?” she said at last.

“I do,” said Skua with a wine-soaked grin. “I have a map right here.”

arly the next morning, Snowbone and Blackeye left the beach and entered the jungle, following Skua's map. It was a strange place, quite different from the forests on Ashenpeake. Everything was damp and drooping but full of life. Spiders, snakes, lizards, birds … butterflies of every color imaginable. And there were bigger beasts, no doubt. Predators, hiding in the undergrowth. Snowbone was convinced they were being followed.

“I can hear something,” she whispered. “Behind us. Can you see anything?”

“No,” said Blackeye. “But I can feel something.”

“Keep walking,” said Snowbone, “then turn round suddenly.”

Blackeye nodded and walked on. Then he whipped round—and something dived for cover. Blackeye breathed a sigh of relief. “Come out, Manu.”

Manu emerged from the bushes, with leaves sticking out of his hair. “That was a rotten trick,” he said. “Sending me to fill water flasks, then sneaking off while I was gone.”

“We knew you'd want to come with us,” said Blackeye. “But you heard what Skua said.”

“Yes, I did. He said the task wasn't easy for humans. But he didn't say it was impossible. And besides, you might need me.”

As it turned out, they didn't. But someone else did. And for that person, Manu would mean the difference between life and death.

The day became even hotter. Manu was beaded in sweat. All three drank constantly from their water flasks, which were soon empty.

“There's a pool marked here on the map,” said Snowbone. “It's a little out of our way but not much. What do you think?”

“I say yes,” said Manu. “My mouth is as dry as an elephant's ear.”

Blackeye agreed. “There doesn't seem to be anything nearer. The pool must be beyond that ridge of trees.”

They started to battle through the dense undergrowth. The tiddlins pushed on happily, but Manu began to realize what Skua had meant. Thorns tore at his flesh. Sticky burs caught in his hair. Insects bit him before he'd even noticed they were there. And he was hot. So hot.

Snowbone reached the trees first.

“Oh!” she said. “It's gorgeous!”

And so it was. The pool was unbelievably beautiful—deep, azure blue and ringed with a necklace of water lilies. Above it, the air danced with dragonflies; around it, the land was filled with flowers. But what flowers! The blooms weren't on stems, like roses or bluebells. They lay flat against the ground, their gorgeous petals spread out like rugs in a bazaar. There were so
many of them, it would be impossible to reach the water without treading on some.

“Sorry, flowers,” said Snowbone. She began to thread her way through the blooms.

Blackeye and Manu swayed after her, delighting in the heady scent and longing for the azure water.

Shlooop!
Snowbone heard something behind her. A sound like a toad snatching a fly with its tongue, but louder. Much louder. And when she turned to look, Manu was gone. Where he had been standing: a towering, trumpet-shaped bloom, red as blood, taller than a man, with something inside it, wriggling.

“Spittin' spiders!” cried Blackeye. “They're flytraps! Giant flytraps! They'll eat him a—”

Shlooop!

Blackeye said no more. Snowbone stared in horror at the puke-yellow plant that had just snatched him. She didn't dare move in case she was taken too.

“Do something!” she urged herself. “Do something!” But what? Run? Fetch help? Scream? It was all happening so fast … and yet so slow. Time had no meaning anymore.

Blackeye was kicking the inside of the flower. Snowbone could see the petals bulging to the shape of his boots, but it wouldn't let him go. Manu was fighting too. His hand punched out of the trumpet—then sank back down. Snowbone heard a muffled cry, then nothing more.

“Oh!” she cried uselessly. “Oh!” She was hopping from foot to foot, waving her hands in the air, desperately wishing she knew what to do.

Thooooooooooo—ca—thoo!
Without warning, the puke-yellow plant spat out Blackeye. He sailed through the air and landed—
pdoosh!
—in the azure pool.

“What did you do?” Snowbone asked urgently as Blackeye dragged himself out of the water.

“Nothing,” he said. “I kicked it. Punched it. Nothing special.”

“But Manu's doing that!” said Snowbone. “Why won't it let him go?
Oh!”
Her hands flew to her face as she realized.

“It's eating him!” cried Blackeye.

“We must do something!”

“I've got a knife,” said Blackeye. “It's in my bag, over by the trees.”

“So have I!” said Snowbone. “Oh, why aren't I wearing it?”

“Can you get to them?” said Blackeye. “You're nearer than I am.”

“I'll try,” said Snowbone.

She began to tiptoe between the plants, her brow furrowing in concentration. She was doing well, so she dared to go faster. But she didn't see the root and suddenly she was falling …
Ooof!
She landed so close to one of the flowers, she could see its petals curling, as if they were sniffing her out. She hardly dared to breathe.

“Get up,” urged Blackeye from the pool. “Go on!”

She picked herself up and crept toward the bags. Reached them. Delved inside. Brought out the knives and waved them triumphantly at Blackeye.

“Find a branch!” he shouted. “See if you can trip the traps!”

Snowbone nodded and picked up a fallen bough. She approached the nearest flower and touched it, right in the middle.

Shlooop!
The flower sprang closed.

“It works!” she cried. She went from flower to flower, clearing
a path toward Manu. Blackeye gingerly crept in from the opposite direction, and they arrived at the same time.

Snowbone handed him a knife and together they hacked at the base of the blood-red plant. But the petals that looked so soft and velvety were tough as leather. The tiddlins poked and stabbed, but they couldn't be punctured.

“Manu!” cried Snowbone. “Are you still there?”

“Of course he's still there!” said Blackeye. “Where else would he be, you daft lump?”

“You know what I mean,” snapped Snowbone. “Manu! Are you there?”

“Mmmmm!” The trumpet bulged as Manu kicked frantically inside.

“We're trying to reach you!” shouted Blackeye, beavering away with his knife. “Hold on!”

And then, scarily, the flytrap began to quiver. It shook uncontrollably, like a pan boiling over on a stove, and, with a cough and spit—
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!—
Manu was ejected from the flower. He flew through the air like a football and—
thuud!
—hit the ground hard and lay there, dazed.