City of Lies (26 page)

As soon as he had gone, Goldie drifted closer to the tiller. “Hooow did Smuuuudge diiiieee?” she whispered. “Hooooow did he diiiieeee?”

“Shut up,” mumbled Smudge. “I’m not listenin’ to ghosties. Cord says you’re not real.”

“Hooow did he diiiiieeee?” crooned Toadspit.

The cat flicked its tail and flattened its ears against its skull. “Drooooowned,” it wailed.

“No!” cried Smudge.

“Yer testin’ me patience, Smudge,” roared Cord from behind the deckhouse.

There was a squeal from the rigging. Goldie looked up. The mice were strung along the lines like little white signal flags. “Dreeewn, dreeewn, dreeewn,” they squeaked in chorus.

At the same time there was a clap of wings overhead and Morg dropped out of the clouds. “Dro-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-wned,” she cawed, and her great claws slashed at the air near Smudge’s head.

Smudge waved his sword wildly. Cord fired a shot, but the slaughterbird was already gone.

“Cord!” cried Smudge. “We gotta turn back. I’m gunna drown. The ghosties said so!”

“It’s not ghosties; it’s the
snotties
,” hissed Cord through gritted teeth. “Where are they? They gotta be ’ere somewhere.”

“I’m gunna drown!”

“When I catch ’em,” said Cord, “you can stick that stupid sword through ’em. Then you’ll see they’re not ghosties.”

Goldie crept up behind the big man. “Pooor Smuuuuudge,” she crooned. “Stabbed himself with a swooooord.”

Smudge spun around. He raised the sword, then stared at it uncertainly. His hand shook. On the other side of him, Toadspit whispered, “With a swoooord.”

“Swoooooooord,” wailed the cat, its tail thrashing from side to side.

A black feather drifted down and landed on the deck in front of Smudge. “Swo-o-o-o-o-o-o-rd,” cried Morg from inside the clouds.

“Sweeerd, sweeerd,” squeaked the mice, jumping up and down in the rigging.

“No!” cried Smudge, and he flung the sword away with all his strength.

As it hit the deck, someone screamed. Goldie swung around. While she and Toadspit had been tormenting Smudge, Cord must have crept past them and grabbed Mouse. Now the little boy teetered on the ship’s rail with his
legs dangling over the side and his face as white as chalk. Cord held him by one arm.

Beneath him the sea boiled with heavy gray bodies.

“I know yez’re here somewhere,” shouted Cord. “Now git yerselves out into the open quick smart, or I’ll let go of ’im.”

Goldie stood frozen to the spot. Whatever she did next, Mouse would die. If she and Toadspit stayed hidden, he would die in the next few seconds. If they showed themselves, he would still die. They would all die—it would just happen a bit later.

In the back of her mind, Frisia whispered,
As long as you are alive, the battle is not lost
.

Goldie nodded. The princess was right. They must save the little boy
now
. As long as he was still alive—as long as they were
all
still alive—there was a skerrick of hope.

She took a deep breath and let the Nothingness slide away. A moment later Toadspit flickered into view close by.

Cord hissed with satisfaction. His pistol swung up to cover them. “Ya see?” he growled at Smudge. “No ghosties. Now git that sword.”

Smudge didn’t move. “Let’s take ’em back to the city, Cord, and let ’em go. You can tell Harrow they got away.”

“Shut up,” said Cord. “I’ve ’ad enough of you. In fact”—he shook Mouse until the little boy whimpered—“I’ve ’ad enough of everyone on this ship. I reckon it’s time to do the business. And we’ll start with this one.”

He shifted his grip on Mouse’s arm, as if he was about to push the boy overboard. Goldie took a quick step forward. “Wait!” she said. “There’s something you should know.”

She had no idea what she was going to say. Toadspit was standing a little way behind her, as helpless as she was. Neither of them could get closer, not without endangering Mouse. She did not know how they could save the little boy, or themselves.

“What?” growled Cord.

Goldie racked her brain. For some reason, she kept thinking about Frisia’s sword. But that was lying on the other side of the deck. If one of them tried to grab it, Cord would just shoot them.

There was Bonnie, of course. But what could Bonnie do? She was as helpless as Goldie and Toadspit.

Or was she?

Like a flash of light, Goldie saw herself standing on the docks at Merne, when she was still a princess and Bonnie was Uschi, a girl who longed to go to war with her brother. A girl who was almost as good an archer as Frisia.

“Here, put these in my cabin.”

The sword had come out of the Lie into the real world.
What if Frisia’s bow and quiver had done the same?

Goldie had no way of knowing. Just as she had no way of knowing whether Bonnie and the person hiding in the
dinghy would understand what she was about to say. And whether they could act quickly enough.

All she could do was hope. She took another step forward.

“None of yer tricks,” snapped Cord, raising his pistol. The ship rolled from side to side. Mouse clutched the rail with desperate hands.

“I haven’t got any tricks left,” said Goldie. Toadspit shifted his feet, and she knew that he had heard the lie in her voice. Behind her back, her hands twitched in fingertalk.
Be ready!

“But if Princess Frisia were here,” she said loudly, “
she’d
have some tricks.
She
was a famous archer.”

“What?” sneered Cord. “You think that old Lie’s gunna save ya? It won’t help you a second time, will it, boy?”

He gave Mouse a push, so that the little boy almost fell off the rail. Mouse cried out. His legs scrabbled in midair.

Cord laughed.

“If Princess Frisia were here,” Goldie cried quickly, “she’d shoot that pistol out of your hand!”

She and Toadspit dived for the deck just in time. An arrow whistled over their heads. It hit Cord’s pistol full square, knocking it out of his hand. He yelped with surprise—and let go of Mouse.

The little boy clung to the rail, screaming. His legs flailed. The ship rolled. His hands began to slip.…

Goldie leaped to her feet and flew across the deck faster
than she had ever run before. As Mouse slid over the side of the ship, she grabbed his arm and clung to him with all her strength.

Cord was already diving for his pistol. Out of the corner of her eye Goldie saw Toadspit try to beat him to it and knew that he would not make it in time.

Then she heard a shout of rage, and someone burst out of the dinghy and jumped onto Cord’s back.

It was Pounce.

Cord fell to the deck under the sudden weight, his hand still grasping for the pistol. He missed, and it slid across the boards toward Goldie. She kicked it into the scuppers.

But the force of that kick loosened her grip on Mouse’s arm. He began to slide away from her. “Toadspit!” she screamed.

Toadspit raced across the deck and grabbed the little boy’s other arm. Together, they pulled him up the side of the ship and over the rail to safety. Then they fell onto the wet boards in a heap.

But they could not rest for long. Nearby, Pounce was fighting for his life. He kicked and punched and bit with a ferocious cunning, but Goldie could see that he was no match for Cord. The sharp-faced man was gradually forcing him to the deck.

She saw the sword, still lying where Smudge had thrown it. A part of her yearned to grab it and wield it. A greater part of her felt sick at the thought.

But she had to do something. She stood up and edged toward the sword.

“Hey!” shouted Smudge, and he let go of the tiller. But before he could reach Goldie, Morg dropped from the clouds. Smudge screamed with fright and fell flat on his face, covering his head with his hands. The slaughterbird stalked around him, jabbing at him with her beak.

Goldie heard a cry from Mouse. Cord was kneeling over Pounce with his arm wrapped around the boy’s neck. Pounce wriggled and kicked, but he could not get away, and his face was slowly turning blue.

Toadspit took an uncertain step toward him. Goldie gritted her teeth and reached for the sword.

But as she did so, she felt a rush of wings, and Morg flew up into the rigging. Goldie hesitated, her fingers an inch from the sword’s hilt. Above her head, the slaughterbird began to raise and lower her great wings.

Flap. Flap-flap. Flap
.

There was a sudden stillness on the deck. The wind and the waves dropped away to nothing. The clouds were so low that they touched the top of the mast. The only sound, apart from the throb of the engine, was Morg’s wings, beating out the rhythm of an ancient song.

Flap. Flap-flap. Flap
.

Flap. Flap-flap. Flap
.

The air around the
Piglet
flickered. Cord grunted. Then he
let go of Pounce and staggered to his feet. The movement seemed to make him dizzy. He leaned against the rail, holding his fists out in front of him.

“I’m gunna kill yez all,” he growled.

Smudge sat up, keeping a careful eye on Morg. Pounce rubbed his neck. Goldie heard a whisper of sound, and the cat brushed past her, its gaze as cold as the winter moon. The mice followed it, and formed a semicircle around Cord. Despite their small size, there was something pitiless about them, as if they had made a judgment and were there to see it carried out.

The air fizzed and swirled around them.

It’s a Big Lie
, thought Goldie.
Morg has summoned a Big Lie!

Above her head the slaughterbird’s wings kept up a steady rhythm. The clouds drifted lower, until they nearly touched the deck.

Cord drew in a sharp breath. “Oho, so it’s you, is it, Bungle?” he muttered. He jabbed at the clouds with his fists. “Come on, then. Come and get yer face rearranged.”

Bonnie’s voice breathed in Goldie’s ear. “Who’s he talking to?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Goldie. The air flickered again, and the clouds took on the outline of a man.

“You was always a weakling, Bungle,” said Cord. “Weak and slow.” He laughed. “Not like me.”

Smudge dragged himself to his feet, keeping well away
from the cat and mice. “Cord? Whatcha doin’? Bungle’s dead. Ya slit ’is throat five years ago.”

Cord didn’t hear him. “Ya can’t fool me, Bungle,” he cried. “I see ya!” And he lashed out again with his fists.

Goldie stared at the cat and the mice. One of them must have asked a question. What was it? she wondered.

Frisia’s whisper came as sharp as salt spray in the back of her mind.
When will this man pay for his crimes?

Goldie shivered. And the answer?

Now …

Suddenly Cord’s dizziness seemed to leave him. With all his old sureness, he jumped up onto the
Piglet
’s rail. He wrapped one arm around the rigging and threw his head back. “Ya think ya can git away from me?” he bellowed. “No one gits away from Cord. I’m comin’ after ya, Bungle!”

Smudge stared at him in alarm. “Whatcha doin’, Cord? Don’t forget the sharks! Cord? The
sharks
!”

But Cord did not hear him. He didn’t seem to hear anything, except perhaps the voice of a vengeful ghost in his head. With a fierce shout, he leaped overboard.

For a moment Goldie almost thought he might survive. He swam across the very tops of the waves, barely touching the water. There was no sign of the sharks.

But then he stopped, as if he had hit an invisible wall. The water around him boiled. He gave one single desperate cry.

And was gone.

N
o one moved for a long time. The
Piglet
drifted. The clouds frayed and blew away. Goldie thought she might cry, and then she thought she might laugh, and then she clamped her lips together and did her best to think nothing at all.

Toadspit’s face was blank; his arm was tight around Bonnie’s shoulders. Mouse crouched on the deck behind them, shivering, while his little pets cleaned his face and groomed his hair, trying to comfort him. Smudge stared at the horizon, his eyes wide with horror.

It was Pounce who jolted them out of their shock. He strolled to the rail and spat loudly into the water. “Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say. Hey, Smudge, any of them pastries left? I didn’t get no breakfast this mornin’.”

Smudge blinked at him. “Ya—ya can’t ’ave ’em. They’re Cord’s. He don’t like no one takin’ his stuff.”

“Don’t reckon he’ll be needin’ ’em,” said Pounce. He grinned at the cat, which was sitting beside the rail with a satisfied look on its face. “Don’t reckon he’ll be needin’ this boat, neither. I could sail up and down the Southern Archipelago and make me fortune. Cap’n Pounce. How does that sound?”

He tilted his head in a challenge and stared around the circle of faces. Slowly Goldie’s mind started working again. “It sounds fine,” she said, “as long as you take us home first.”

Pounce’s eyes narrowed. “It’ll cost ya.”

“We’ve already paid,” said Goldie. She nodded toward Mouse. The white-haired boy was still shivering, but now he crooned to his mice as they trotted up and down his arms.

Pounce flushed. “Yeah, I s’pose ya have.”