Snowbone (9 page)

Snowbone walked to the tide line and gazed out to sea. She took a deep breath of salty air … held it … sighed it away. This was where she belonged. Black Sand Bay was the only life she had known. The great bowl of the sky above, the blue
below. The wind on her face, the taste of salt on her tongue. She had absorbed the ocean into her body. The salt had seeped into her wooden limbs. The grain on her skin was the swirling of sand. Her eyes were the gray of gull wings. Her hair was the silvery spinning of foam. Her heart was a pirate ship, set to plunder.

She loved this place. She didn't want to leave it. But she had no choice. “I shall return,” she promised, and the wind snatched her words and tossed them into the waves.

ithin the hour, the camp was dismantled, packed and shouldered. With a nod from Snowbone, suddenly they were off, with their bundles on their backs, like a trail of snails. South into the forest, with Snowbone explaining about Figgis, Ancestors and the slavers as they went.

By late afternoon, the light was already failing and, though no one could feel it except Manu, the temperature was dropping. Winter was definitely on its way.

“I can smell smoke,” said Mouse suddenly.

Snowbone stopped and sniffed. Nothing.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” said Mouse.

Snowbone didn't doubt her.

“Close?”

“No,” said Mouse. “It's faint. Half an hour away. Maybe more.”

Snowbone frowned and they marched on, faster now.

Pfoooow.

A gunshot. Sharp, clear, unmistakable.

Snowbone threw off her backpack. “Leave the stuff!” she hissed. “Where's Fudge? Fudge, weapons. Now.” With her pirate dagger held tight in her wooden fingers, she ran on.

The house wasn't far; they were soon there. Snowbone stopped running and signaled to the others to creep forward. The air was thick and dark. Heavy with woodsmoke. Snowbone listened for any sound of slavers, but there was nothing. Just a strange, still silence broken by an occasional thump and the soft crackling of flames.

Snowbone stepped into the glade and stared, horrified, at what she found. The house was gone. Nothing remained but a gutted, smoldering ruin, black with soot, hot with embers.

All around, there was nothing but wanton destruction. The water barrel had been overturned. Winter vegetables had been torn out of the ground. Clean washing had been trampled into the dirt.

And in the sacred glade, every ashen tree had been cut down.

Snowbone fell to her knees and stared at the fallen Ancestors. A tight knot of anger twisted her belly. Stole her breath. Her brain battled through pain and disbelief, trying to make sense of things.
Who had done this? Why?

Unconsciously, her hand reached for an ashen tree. She felt the stickiness of the sap on her fingers. But there was something wrong. Alert again, Snowbone looked closely at the trunk. There was no drill hole. She looked at another, and another. They were all intact. Why? Sap was rare and precious. Why had the slavers disappeared without taking it?

Oh!
Snowbone took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew why. This hadn't been business. This was an act of revenge. Cold, calculated revenge. The slavers had no intention
of harvesting the trees. They had been felled for one reason only—to punish Figgis. He had dared to defy them. This had been his reward.

But where was Figgis?

Snowbone approached the burning house, warily watching for sparks. Fire was her deadliest foe; she wouldn't take chances. She could make out shapes among the fallen timbers. A blackened kettle … a charred chair … sooty pots and pans … a twisted bed frame …
a pair of boots.
Snowbone felt an unfamiliar tightening in her chest as she saw them. She could imagine the scene. Figgis had been inside. The slavers had surprised him. Beaten him until he fell unconscious to the floor. It was possible, even with a wooden head, if the blows were hard enough.

Snowbone turned away and saw the tiddlins had gathered, waiting for her words.

“These are dark deeds,” she said. “Murder … massacre … These things must be avenged. For the sake of the Figgis clan. For the sake of us all. I swear to you now, I will find the men who did this. I will make them pay for what they have done. And though I will travel alone if need be, I hope that you will all go with me.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the gang.

“It will be a dangerous mission,” Snowbone went on, “and it won't be easy. We have no idea who these men are, or what they look like.”

“Yes, we do,” said Mouse. “Blackeye, Fudge and Two Teeth saw them, cutting down trees.”

Snowbone shook her head. “We don't know it was them. There could be more than one gang.”

“And even if it was them,” said Fudge, “that was ages ago. I can't remember what they looked like.”

“One has raven-black hair,” said a cracked voice behind them. “One is a lad with the bluest eyes you have ever seen. Find these and you will find them all.”

It was Figgis.

“
thought you were dead!” said Snowbone. “There's a I burned pair of boots in the house.”

“They were my old ones,” said Figgis, shakily walking toward them. “Luckily, I was wearing my new. It must be Fate. She wants me well shod for the journey ahead.”

“Journey?” said Snowbone.

Figgis smiled at her. “Did you think I'd let you go without me?”

“You said you'd never leave this place.”

“I did, I know. I said this place was a sacred grove, and it was. But look at it now. It's a killing ground. They've slaughtered them all. Seventy-three ashen trees. An entire Figgis family, gone.”

“Will they regrow?” said Mouse.

“No, they won't,” said Figgis. “They're dead.” He looked across at his fallen Ancestors and his eyes hardened. “They would have gone on for another two, three, four hundred years. But now …” He said no more.

“We heard a gunshot,” said Manu.

“I shot one of the slavers,” said Figgis. “He's dead. Over there.” He pointed into the trees behind the house. “That was right at the beginning. I was hit on the head soon after. You can feel it.”

He leaned down toward Snowbone. She backed away. Two Teeth stepped forward and felt the tinker's head instead.

“Wow!” he said. “There's a huge dent! Did it hurt?”

“No,” said Figgis, “but it did knock me out cold. So I didn't see the felling, or them setting the house alight.”

“Why didn't they kill you?” said Tigermane.

“I don't know,” said Figgis. “They'll wish they had when I find them.”

“We'll leave in the morning,” said Snowbone.

“Why not now?” said Blackeye. “They can't be far ahead. We could lose them by tomorrow.”

“No,” said Snowbone firmly. “We'll make camp here tonight. We need to damp down the house. One strong wind and the whole forest will be up in flames.”

“What about the ashen trees?” said Mouse. “It seems wrong to leave them just lying there. Is there anything we can do for them, Mister Figgis?”

“If there is,” said the tinker, “I can't think of it. I don't know what to do, and that's the truth. I don't like to see them lying there, but we can't bury them. I'd float them down the river into the sea, except there's no river. I can't burn them. I just
can't
, even though they're dead. And besides, it's too risky. We're damping down the house because of sparks. How can we burn seventy-three ashen trees? I can't believe I'm saying it, but I think we'll have to leave them. They won't be there forever. The wind and the rain and the beetles and the worms will do their work in time. That's the way of the world.”

“Could we move them closer together?” said Tigermane. “Into groups? They might like that.”

Figgis thought for a moment. “That would be good,” he said. “I'm sure my mother would like to be lying next to my father. And we could put my brother alongside.”

And so they got to work. Wives were carried to husbands, children were returned to parents and laid to rest under a sullen sky. Figgis cursed the loss of his arm. He had to watch helplessly while others toiled, and it grieved him. But it was soon done, and the band ate a hearty meal and abandoned themselves to sleep.

Blackeye dreamed of adventure. Manu dreamed of home. Figgis dreamed of a giant. Snowbone dreamed of the sea.

And somewhere in the night, the guilty slept too, dreaming of gold.

hen they awoke at dawn, the tiddlins found themselves rimed with the first frost of winter. All around them, the forest was silver-chilled, crystalline.

Soon the camp was packed and loaded, and the tiddlins stood ready to go. Snowbone looked at them and felt a surge of excitement, much stronger than anything she had experienced before. This was it! The real adventure was beginning. Life was beginning! Now she knew what she had to do. She had to find the slavers Figgis had described and make them pay for their actions. But that was just the beginning. There were other slavers out there—on Ashenpeake, in the Nova Land, in the world. She would find them all. Punish them all.

And she wouldn't be traveling alone. Her gang would follow her anywhere. Twenty-seven tiddlins, a prince and a tinker! That was the best feeling in the world.

“Ready?” said Figgis.

“Absolutely,” said Snowbone, and she hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulders and started walking.

n the middle of one of Ashenpeake's many forests there was a log cabin. In the cabin there was a table. On the table there was a notebook, and in the notebook there was a figure: 732.