The Wind Singer (10 page)

‘She’s here! I seen her!’ he yelled, and lumbered off down the alley after them.

The children were faster on their feet than the warden, and had soon put some distance between them, but the truth was, they did not know where they were going. The plan had been to get Kestrel out of the house. After that, they had trusted to instinct and luck.

They stopped running, to get their breath back. Nearby there was a small alcove, where rubbish bins were standing waiting to be emptied. They ducked down behind the bins, for safety.

‘We have to get out of the city,’ said Kestrel.

‘How? We haven’t got passes. They don’t open the gates without a pass.’

‘There’s a way out through the salt caves. I’ve seen it. Only I don’t know how to get into the salt caves.’

‘You said the caves are used for sewage, didn’t you?’ said Bowman.

‘Yes.’

‘Then it must be where all the sewers go.’

‘Bo, you’re brilliant!’

Their eyes searched the street, and there, not far away, was a manhole cover. At the same time, they heard the distant sounds of their pursuers, shouting to each other as they searched the streets.

‘They’re getting closer.’

‘You’re sure we can get out of the salt caves?’

‘No.’

A warden came into view at the far end of the street. They had no choice. They ran for the manhole.

The cover was round, and made of iron, and very heavy. There was a ring set into it which lifted up, to pull it open. Just raising the ring wasn’t easy, it had rusted into its socket: but at last they got it up enough to fit their fingers round it. The warden had spotted them now, and set up a cry.

‘Here they are! Hey, everybody! I’ve found them!’

Fear gave them strength, and they pulled together, and succeeded at last in getting the manhole cover to move. Inch by inch they dragged it clear of the hole, until there was enough space for them to pass through. There were iron rungs in the brick-lined shaft beneath, and below that, the sound of water.

Kestrel went first, and Bowman followed. Once he was below the level of the cover, he tried to push it back into place above them, but it was impossible.

‘Leave it,’ said Kestrel. ‘Let’s go.’

So Bowman followed her down the ladder, and stepped into the dark water at the bottom. He was too anxious about where he was going to look back, but had he done so, he would have seen a shadow fall over the open manhole above.

‘It’s all right,’ said Kestrel. ‘It’s not deep. Follow the water.’

They made their way along the dark tunnel, up to their ankles in water, and slowly the light from the open shaft down which they had come faded into darkness. They walked steadily on, for what seemed like a very long time. Bowman said nothing, but he was afraid of the dark. They could hear many strange sounds around them, of water gurgling and dripping, and the echo of their own steps. They passed other channels flowing into their tunnel, and they could sense that the tunnel was becoming bigger the further they went.

Then for the first time they heard a sound that was watery, but not made by water. It was some way behind them, and it was unmistakable:
splosh, splosh, splosh
. Someone was following them.

They hurried on faster. The water was deeper now, and pulled at their legs. There was a glow of faint light ahead, and a thundery sound. Behind them they could still hear the steady footfall of their pursuer.

All at once the tunnel emerged into a long cave, through the middle of which ran a fast-flowing river. The light which faintly illuminated the glistening cave walls came from a low wide hole at the far end, through which the river plunged out of sight. The tunnel water now drained away to join the river, and they found themselves on a smooth bank of dry rock.

Almost at once, Bowman felt something terrible, very close by.

‘We can’t stop here,’ he said. ‘We must go, quickly.’

‘Home,’ said a deep voice. ‘Go home.’

Kestrel jumped, and looked into the darkness.

‘Bo? Was that you?’

‘No,’ said Bowman, trembling violently. ‘There’s someone else here.’

‘Just a friend,’ said the deep voice. ‘A friend in need.’

‘Where are you?’ said Kestrel. ‘I can’t see you.’

In answer, there came the hiss of a match being struck, and then a bright arc of flame as a burning torch curved through the air to land on the ground a few feet away from them. It lay there, hissing and crackling, throwing out a circle of amber light. Out of the darkness beyond, into the soft fringe of its glow, stepped a small figure with white hair. He walked with the slow steps of a little old man, but as he came closer to the flickering light they saw that he was a boy of about their own age: only his hair was completely white, and his skin was dry and wrinkly. He stood there gazing steadily at them, and then he spoke.

‘You can see me now.’

It was the deep voice they had heard before, the voice of an old man. The effect of this worn and husky voice coming from the child’s body was peculiarly frightening.

‘The old children,’ said Kestrel. ‘The ones I saw before.’

‘We were so looking forward to having you join our class,’ said the white-haired child. ‘But all’s well that ends well, as they say. Follow me, and I’ll lead you back.’

‘We’re not going back,’ said Kestrel.

‘Not going back?’ The soothing voice made her defiance sound childish. ‘Don’t you understand? Without my help, you’ll never find the way out of here. You will die here.’

There was a sound of laughter in the darkness. The white-haired child smiled.

‘My friends find that amusing.’

And into the pool of light, one by one, stepped other children, some white-haired like himself, some bald, all prematurely aged. At first it seemed there were only a few, but more and more came shuffling out of the shadows, first ten, then twenty, then thirty and more. Bowman stared at them, and shivered.

‘We’re your little helpers,’ said the white-haired child. And all the old children laughed again, with the deep rumbling laughter of grown-ups. ‘You help us, and we’ll help you. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

He took a step closer, and reached out one hand.

‘Come with me.’

Behind him all the other old children were moving closer, with little shuffling steps. As they came, they too reached out their hands. They didn’t seem aggressive, so much as curious.

‘My friends want to stroke you,’ said their leader, his voice sounding deep and soft and far away.

Bowman was so frightened that the only thought in his head was how to get away. He stepped back, out of reach of the fluttering arms. But behind him now was the river, flowing rapidly towards its underground hole. The old children shuffled closer, and he felt a hand brush his arm. As it did so, an unfamiliar sensation swept through him: it was as if some of his strength had been sucked out of him, leaving him tired and sleepy.

Kess
! he called silently, desperately.
Help me
!

‘Get away from him!’ cried Kestrel.

She stepped boldly forward and swung one arm at the white-haired child, meaning to knock him to the ground. But as her fist touched his body, the blow weakened, and she felt her arm go limp. She swung at him again, and she felt herself grow weaker still. The air round her seemed to become thick and squashy, and sounds grew far away, and blurred.

Bo
! she called to him.
Something’s happening to me
.

Bowman could see her falling to her knees, and could feel the overwhelming weariness that was taking possession of her body. He knew he should go to her help, but he was frozen: immobilised by terror.

Come away, Kess
, he pleaded.
Come away
.

I can’t
.

He knew it, he could feel it. She was growing faint, as if already the old children were carrying her away.

I can’t move, Bo. Help me
.

He watched them gather round her, but he was sick with fear, and he did nothing; and knowing he was doing nothing, he wept for shame.

Suddenly there came a crash and a splash, and something came charging out of the tunnel behind them. It roared like a wild animal, and struck out on all sides with wind-milling arms.

‘Kakka-kakka-kak!’ it cried. ‘Bubba-bubba-bubba-kak!’

The old children jumped back in alarm. The whirlwind passed Bowman, pushing him off the bank and into the fast-moving river. The splash doused the flaming torch. In the sudden darkness, Kestrel felt herself being dragged to the river’s edge, and toppled into the water. There came a third splash, and there were three of them tumbling round and round in the current, being swept towards the roaring hole.

The cold water revived Kestrel, and she began to kick. Forcing herself to the surface, she gulped air. Then she saw the low roof of rock approaching, and ducked back down under water, and was sucked through the hole. A few moments of raging water, and suddenly she was flying through air and spray, and falling, falling with the streams of water, down and down, fighting for breath, thinking,
This is the end, this is the smash
, when all at once, with a plop and a long yielding hiss, she found she had landed in soft deep mud.

10

In the salt caves

O
nce she had recovered from the shock of her fall, Kestrel smelled the sick-making air and realised that she had landed in a part of the Underlake. Up above was the great arching roof of salt rock she had seen before, and not far off was one of the several holes in the cave’s roof, through which fell such light as there was in this shadowy land. Before her stretched a dark gleaming region of water and stinking mud. Behind, the gushing waterfall down which they had fallen. She searched for the platform with the jetty, and the moored barges, but they must have been in some other part of the great salt caves, lost in the gloom.

She heard a low whimper, and turning, saw Bowman, floundering in the mud.

‘Are you all right, Bo?’

‘Yes,’ he said, and then started to cry; a little out of relief that they had survived, but mostly from shame.

‘Don’t cry, Bo,’ said Kestrel. ‘We don’t have the time.’

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry.’

Silently he begged her forgiveness.

I should have helped you. I was so afraid
.

‘This is the Underlake,’ said Kestrel aloud, to turn his thoughts to practical matters. ‘There’s a way out on to the plains, I’m sure.’

She turned to look across the watery mud, and as she did so a half familiar form rose up, spluttering and grunting. It got itself upright, and wiped the mud from its face, and beamed at her.

‘Mumpo!’

‘Hallo, Kess,’ said Mumpo happily.

‘It was you!’

‘I saw you go down the hole,’ he said. ‘I followed you. I’m your friend.’

‘Mumpo, you saved me!’

‘They were going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you, Kess.’

She gazed at him, covered from head to toe in mud, and marvelled that he could look so pleased with himself. But then, they were all just as muddy, and all stank as much as each other now.

‘Mumpo,’ she said, ‘you were brave and strong, and I’ll always thank you for saving me. But you must go back.’

Mumpo’s face fell.

‘I want to be with you, Kess.’

‘No, Mumpo.’ She spoke kindly but firmly, as if to a small child. ‘It’s me they’re looking for, not you. You have to go home.’

‘I can’t, Kess,’ said Mumpo simply. ‘My legs are stuck.’

That was when Kestrel and Bowman realised that they were sinking. Not fast, but steadily.

‘It’s all right,’ said Kestrel. ‘I’ve been here before. We’ll only sink as far as our knees.’

She tried to pull her leg out, and found she couldn’t.

Kess
, said her brother silently.
What if they come after us
?

She looked round, in all directions, but there was no sign of the old children.

If they do
, Kestrel replied,
they’ll get stuck too
.

So there they stood, their drenched clothing clinging to their shivering bodies, breathing the fetid air, feeling themselves sinking. When they had sunk past their knees, Bowman said,

‘We’re still sinking.’

‘There has to be a bottom somewhere,’ said Kestrel.

‘Why?’

‘We can’t just sink all the way.’

‘Why not?’

For a while, nobody said anything, and they went on sinking. Then Mumpo broke the silence.

‘I like you, Kess. You’re my friend.’

‘Oh, shut up, Mumpo. I’m sorry. I know you saved me, but honestly .. .’

Another silence fell. By now they had sunk to their waists.

‘Do you like me, Kess?’ said Mumpo.

‘A bit,’ said Kestrel.

‘We’re friends,’ said Mumpo happily. ‘We like each other.’

His idiotic cheerfulness at last goaded Kestrel into saying aloud what she’d been afraid even to think.

‘You stupid pongo! Don’t you get it? We’re going to be sucked under the mud!’

Mumpo stared at her in utter astonishment.

‘Are you sure, Kess?’

‘Take a look round. Who’s going to pull us out?’

He looked round, and saw nobody. His face crumpled with fear, and he started to scream.

‘Help! I’m sinking! Help! I’ll go under! Help!’

‘Oh, shut up. There’s nobody to help.’

But Mumpo only screamed louder; which was just as well, because Kestrel was wrong. There was somebody to help.

Not so far off, a small round mudman named Willum was stooped over the lake surface hunting for tixa leaves. Tixa grew wild in unexpected places, and the only way to find it was to wander about half looking for it in a slow dreamy sort of way for several hours. If you looked too hard at the murky grey surface of the lake you could never see the tixa plants, which were murky-coloured too. You had to not look, and that way, you caught sight of them out of the corner of your eye. Then if you found some, you picked the leaves and put them in your bag, keeping one to chew as you went on. Chewing tixa leaves made you feel slow and dreamy, and that made you even better at finding them.

When Willum heard the faraway screams, he straightened up and peered through the gloom, and tried for once to look.