Snowbone (22 page)

It was hard being a leader. Being tough all the time, making decisions, ordering people around … She didn't mean to be bossy, but she had to push sometimes or things would never get done. Did the others realize that?

So many questions! No wonder she had headaches.

“
here it is!” cried Blackeye. “There's the Nova Land!”

The tiddlins peered into the distance and were disappointed. There was nothing but a muddy mark on the horizon. But in time it grew sharper and soon they could see the new land: flat, wide, gray. And then, out of the bleak landscape, rose a town.
Farrago!
Ten years ago, it had been nothing but half a dozen huts and one dirt track. Now the skyline was a jumble of towers, spires, buttresses and gables. Farrago was growing so fast, the official town boundary lay somewhere in the middle of the ever-expanding sprawl. It was more than a boomtown. It was a phenomenon. A wonder. A hot, seething metropolis with the worst reputation in the civilized world.

Hanging over the rails of the flying machine, the tiddlins could see it all, spread out before them like a picnic feast. They could see the harbor, curved like the jawbone of a whale, and packed so tightly with ships that a sailor could walk from one side to the other without getting his feet wet. And behind the harbor, the old town: a riot of rooftops, scored with alleyways.

But the
Stormrunner
was veering left, away from the sea,
heading for the airfield. Soon Stellan had landed her in one of the bays.

“Well!” said Snowbone. “Here we are!” she rubbed her hands together, eager for action. “Now, first things first—we need to find That Woman. So what I would suggest is this: Manu, you take the right side of the airfield. Blackeye, take the left. Figgis, take the middle. Ask anyone and everyone whether they've seen the
Esmerelda.
We'll wait for you here.”

Manu asked everyone, but the reply was always the same:
no.
Just when he was losing hope, he found a gnarly old man sitting on a barrel, smoking a long clay pipe. And when Manu asked him, “Have you any news of a machine called the
Es-merelda
?” the old man said, “Aye, I do.”

“Really?” said Manu.

“Aye,” said the old man again. He spat out a long gray gob of spittle. “Comes in from Ashenpeake yesterday. I knows the captain—Scuttle, he's called—and we're standing at this very spot when a merchant comes over and asks him if he'd care to pick up a load of timber. So Scuttle says aye, he would, and he's gone within two shakes of a dog's tail.”

“He had a passenger on board,” said Manu.

“Aye, that's right,” said the old man. “Good-looking creature. I have her name.” He thought hard.
“Tarn.
Aye, that's it.
Tarn.”

“Did she go with him?”

“Nay, lad! Why would she want to go to the Northern Wilderness?”

Manu shrugged. He had no idea what the Northern Wilderness was like. He thanked the old man and sprinted back to tell the others. But when he reached the
Stormrunner
,
he found his way blocked. A gang of star sailors were crowding round the boarding ramp, noisy as a flock of gulls.

“You're too late for the reward,” said one. “They've taken 'em.”

“What?” said Manu.

“Those runaway slaves that were hiding on board. They've taken them.”

Manu raced up the ramp. Scanned the deck. Found Filizar, crouching in a corner, curled up, shaking.

“I tried to stop them,” said Filizar. “I tried but—”

“Shh!
You're all right now,” said Manu. His brother's forehead was cut and bleeding. He wiped it gently. “Who were they?”

“I don't know,” said Filizar.

“Slave catchers,” said Skua, coming up behind. “They pick up runaways and sell 'em on.”

Down below, the clamor suddenly grew louder. There were shouts now and footsteps on the ramp.

“Didn't you try to stop them?” said Manu.

Skua said nothing, just smirked.

“You told them,”
gasped Manu.

“What's happening?” said Figgis with Blackeye beside him. “We had to battle to get back on board! There were sailors grabbing us here and pulling us there.” He suddenly noticed Filizar. “What's going on? Where are Snowbone and Tiger-mane?”

“Gone,” said Skua. He pulled a moneybag out of his pocket, tossed it in the air and caught it again. “And they ain't coming back.”

“You treacherous, loathsome rat of a man,” snarled Manu—and he flung himself at the star sailor.

Skua caught hold of Manu's fists and threw him aside like a doll.

“Nice try,” he sneered.

Manu scrabbled to his feet. He tried to attack again, but Figgis stepped in and held him back.

“Leave him,” said Figgis.

Skua was sauntering off down the ramp.

“I hope you rot in chains for this,” shouted Manu after him. “You're nothing but scum on the pond of humanity.”

“Leave him,” said Figgis again. “We have other concerns.”

Manu pulled himself free from Figgis's grip. “You're right,” he said. He reached down to Filizar. “Come on,” he said. “We're going.”

“Where?” said Blackeye.

“Anywhere,” said Manu, taking his brother onto his back. “Somewhere you and Figgis can't be found. Oh, why weren't we more careful? I told Snowbone it was risky.”

“What was?”

“Coming here, where most Ashenpeakers are slaves,” said Manu. “She knew the danger but chose to ignore it.” He shook his head helplessly. “We've got to go. Now.”

And with Manu leading the way, they disappeared into the dirty back streets of Farrago.

he slave wagon bumped along the rough road, with Snowbone and Tigermane rolling around in the back of it. They couldn't jump out; they had iron shackles on their ankles and a chain securing them to the wagon floor.

“That Skua!” said Snowbone. “I'd like to skewer
him
, on a sharp pole over a hot fire, double-dealing roach that he is.” For the umpteenth time, she bent down and examined the shackles. “But there's one thing I don't understand. If he was being paid, why didn't he wait till Blackeye and Figgis were back?”

“Too risky,” said Tigermane. “Can you imagine the fight with all of us there? No, better to be paid for two than lose four.”

“I can't believe I let them get us,” said Snowbone angrily.

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” said Tigermane. “You didn't see it coming.”

“But I
did
see it coming!” said Snowbone. “I knew it was dangerous to come here.”

“Well, we
all
knew that,” said Tigermane. “We came anyway! But for it to happen so soon … None of us saw that. And once a net is over you, there's nothing you can do.”

“I should have fought harder.”

“If you'd done that, they would have hurt Filizar. Forget it. It's over.”

Snowbone fell silent. They listened to the wheels rumbling along the road and the wind whipping the canvas cover.

“Where do you think they're taking us?” she said at last.

“I have no idea,” said Tigermane. “But I think we're about to find out.”

The wagon was slowing. Then it stopped and lurched as the slave catchers jumped down. Next came voices—easily heard through the canvas—as a price was agreed on. Then a flap was opened and the girls saw the ruddy faces of their captors peering in.

“Time to go,” said one. He took a key from his belt and unlocked a padlock, freeing the chain that passed through the shackles. “Out,” he growled.

The girls emerged, blinking, into bright sunshine—and found themselves in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing to be seen in any direction. No trees, no bushes, no houses, nothing. Just the road they'd come in on. Snowbone felt her heart sinking. They couldn't escape from here. There was nowhere to escape to.

With a grunt, one of the slave catchers dropped to his knees and removed the shackles. Then he joined his mate on the wagon, turned the mule in the dust and they started back for Farrago. The girls were left with a great barn of a man, as wide as he was tall, with a thick thatch of black hair.

“My name is Dunamis,” he said.
“Mister
Dunamis to you. I am the master here. Come.”

He started walking and the girls followed. Snowbone couldn't help staring at the master's enormous body. He was
wearing nothing but boots, a vest and a huge pair of baggy shorts—definitely not enough to contain the mounds of lumpy, bumpy flesh that covered his bones. At first, Snowbone was hypnotized by his backside. The canvas shorts were straining and bulging as the blubber rearranged itself inside them. Then her eyes descended to his legs. The white flesh was rippling with each heavy step, like two pillars of porridge. Snow-bone felt her stomach churn. She wondered whether she could ever face breakfast again.

Suddenly Dunamis veered left and the girls saw why: the ground ahead fell away into a vast quarry. The air was thick with dust and clamor: the tinking of pickaxes, the
poom
of explosives, the rattle of dislodged stones. The quarrysides were crawling with workers. They clambered over the stones like spiders, breaking off pieces here; hurling them down there; carrying loads on their backs in wicker baskets. Way down below, Snowbone could see several rows of wooden barracks. She assumed that was where the workers lived.

Dunamis was still lumbering on, leading them down into the bowels of that terrible place. Snowbone looked at the workers as she passed. They were covered in dust, but she could tell they were Ashenpeake slaves—adults mostly, but plenty of youngsters too, struggling under massive loads. Snowbone was quivering with anger at the injustice of it all.

“This will be stopped,” she muttered. “I will make sure of that.”

Dunamis took the girls to a shed, where he gave them a pickax and a basket each. Then he pointed a fat finger at the quarryside and said, “There's a space there, see? You chip off the stone, fill your basket and bring it down here to the wagons. Empty it, go back up and start again. You understand?”

The girls nodded.

“I didn't hear you,” said Dunamis.

He leaned in so close, the girls could smell what he'd had for dinner. Broccoli and beans.

“Yes, Mister Dunamis,” they chorused.

Dunamis grunted in satisfaction, and the girls turned and began the steep climb into slavery.

The day seemed to go on forever. The girls were strong, with great reserves of stamina, but as the sun snailed across the sky, they felt a creeping tiredness in their limbs. They were panting, grunting, moving slowly, but still they toiled on. They had to. Dunamis and his overseers were watching.

Snowbone realized they were in no great danger as long as they stayed where they were. Far away to their left, things were much scarier. Men were dislodging enormous boulders, which hurtled down the quarryside with terrifying force. Anything in their path was squished like a fly. Snowbone hoped the men didn't come any closer.

But although the girls weren't in any danger, they were suffering. Snowbone studied her arms. They were pitted and chipped. Her fingertips were rough and splintery. Her joints were stiffening. She reckoned the heat and dust were drying her out.