Quest for the Sun (13 page)

‘The good thing is,' said Rich with a crooked grin, ‘we'll get to Limbo in no time flat at this rate.'

‘I hope so,' said Gen in an odd little voice.

‘And now,' fussed Kenta, ‘you need some food, Richard. I only wish we could make some hot cocoa to warm you up …'

Rich was huddled in the bottom of the boat. He'd exchanged his sodden clothes for my spare polypropylene underwear — red and white pirate-striped long johns and a long-sleeved vest, stashed away by Hannah's Nanny in a side pocket of my pack and promptly forgotten. Now, swathed in my cloak for the sake of modesty, he looked cosy and snug and remarkably cheerful. He accepted a handful of scroggin from Jamie and began wolfing it down hungrily.

‘Want some, Gen?' Jamie asked, proffering the packet. Gen shook her head. She was staring towards the invisible horizon, her face pale and pinched-looking. Jamie reached out shyly and touched her hand. ‘Everything's OK now, Gen. Try not to worry.'

Gen didn't even look at him; just stared out over the dark water as if he hadn't spoken.

‘Maybe she's seasick,' suggested Richard through a mouthful of scroggin. ‘Though this sea's as calm as a duck-pond. Have some water, Gen, that's supposed to help.'

Slowly, Gen turned her head to look at him, and the instant I saw her eyes I realised something was badly wrong. ‘No thanks, Richard. We'd better save the water for when we really need it. Because we never did fill those bottles — and there's only about a thimbleful left.'

 

It was mid-morning the following day when we weakened and shared out what was left of the water. Gen had been wrong: there was more than a thimbleful. When we pooled the dribbles left in the bottom of everyone's canteens, there was about half a cup. In spite of Jamie's token objection to ‘sharing spit' we passed the tin mug round in a solemn ritual, each taking a tiny sip from a different place before passing it on. It went round exactly three times before Rich upended it over his open mouth and let the last crystal drop tremble and fall.

Time crawled by, and the little boat surged steadily on towards the unchanging horizon. Now and again someone would crawl over to Kenta's pack and pull out the map; unroll it, stare at it for a minute or two, then replace it without speaking. It hadn't changed since we left the shores of Karazan, and we knew in our hearts it wasn't going to.

Lunch time came and went. ‘We should eat,' muttered Jamie. ‘Food with a high moisture content, I remember reading that somewhere.' But all our food was dehydrated.
Just Add Water!
was printed on the front of every single pack.

Jamie offered round the scroggin again; I took a pinch so as not to hurt his feelings, but it tasted like sawdust. All I wanted was a barley sugar, and they were long gone. The chocolate was thick and tacky, turning what little spit I had to glue, the sultanas dry as bullets in my mouth — and there didn't seem
to be any of Hannah's
imagination
left at all.

And still the sea stretched on forever.

I spent the afternoon staring out at the water, dreaming of drinks. Coke, ice cold with a slice of lemon the way we'd had it at Quested Court, the bubbles fizzing under my nose. Milk, gulped straight from the fridge at Highgate when Matron wasn't looking, leaving a creamy moustache on my lip. But by the time night fell all I could think of was water. Cool, clear, fresh, pure, life-giving water.

As we were settling down to sleep Jamie produced five grimy-looking pieces of chewing gum, which the others fell on with eager croaks. I snapped mine in half and gave one of the grubby morsels to Blue-bum, who sniffed it dubiously before tucking it behind one ear. Saving it for later … with a ghost of a smile, I slipped my piece into my pocket, too. It would be good to have something to look forward to.

I slept fitfully, sprawled with the others on the hard planks that made up the bottom of the boat. Tormenting dreams circulated in my brain. I was at Highgate, asleep in bed; woke with a raging thirst and padded through to the boys' cloakroom for a drink. But there was Matron, tight-lipped, guarding the door …

I was in a forest in Karazan, following the tinkling music of a stream through the trees. But when at last I reached it and bent to drink, the reflection of a faceless, hooded head stared back at me …

When at last I woke it was almost a relief. I lay listening to the others' breathing, rocked by the now-familiar motion of the little boat on the water. My mouth was as dry as paper. I closed it, working my tongue and cheeks to try and generate some moisture. My tongue felt like leather; my throat like an old, dried-out drain. My breath stank.

For the first time, I wondered what would happen if we didn't reach land soon. For the first time, I seriously considered asking the others to use their microcomputers to go back to Quested
Court, and leave me to face whatever lay ahead alone.

Morning came.

My eyes grated open and there was Rich, bum in the air, bent over the side of the boat. He glanced back and saw me watching and something in his eyes sent a bolt of alarm through me. ‘Richard,' I whispered, ‘what are you doing?'

‘Nothing.' He turned, trying to hide something behind his back. It was the battered little saucepan we'd used to make all those countless rehydrated meals.

‘Rich,' I croaked, ‘you haven't — have you?'

A slow blush crawled up his face, but he met my eyes defiantly. ‘No. But I'm going to.'

‘You can't!' Gen was awake now, staring at Rich as if he was mad. ‘You go crazy if you drink sea water!'

‘It's an old wives' tale.' It was hard to make out Rich's words, they were slurred, as if his tongue was too big for his mouth. ‘What's crazy is dying of thirst in the middle of all this water. Water's water — so what if it's salty?'

‘No.' Jamie struggled up on one elbow. His face seemed to have shrunk overnight, and his eyes looked dull. ‘The more sea water you drink, the more dehydrated you get. It's to do with osmosis. There's more salt in sea water than in your blood, and your body has to get rid of it …' he swallowed, making a horrid clicking sound. ‘You excrete the extra salt in your urine, but that uses more water than was in the sea water in the first place. You don't go crazy, you dry up. It kills you, sure as poison.'

Very slowly, with a mixture of shame and bravado, Richard drew the saucepan out from behind his back. It was almost full; the water sloshed gently to and fro. He stared from one face to the next, his face expressionless.

‘Richard, wait. Here —' I was fumbling in my pocket for the gum I'd saved last night. ‘Have this — it'll help, just for
now, while we decide what to do …' My fingers felt numb and awkward, but at last they found the smooth fragment and pulled it out. ‘Jamie, girls: we have to talk. There's something I want you to do for me. But first, Rich,' I summoned a rusty grin from somewhere, and held out my free hand for the saucepan: ‘swap.'

Rich hugged the saucepan closer. His face was clenched in a stubborn scowl … but his eyes dropped automatically to the piece of gum in the palm of my hand. Puzzlement replaced the frown but he didn't pass over the pan. ‘Why would I want that?' he croaked.

I looked down. It wasn't the gum. It was the teardrop-shaped mosaic from the gardens of the Summer Palace, deep sea-green inlaid with shimmering gold glitter. ‘This is seriously weird …' I muttered, staring at it.

‘What?' Jamie shuffled closer, peering into my hand. ‘What's weird?'

They were all watching me, even Rich. Oh well, I thought, at least it's distracting him from the sea water. ‘It's changed. Before, it was green. And now …'

I held it up for them to see. The colour had completely disappeared. It was no-coloured, crystal-coloured … a perfect teardrop the colour of water. The others looked at me blankly. An idea was rising slowly through my mind. A memory. Hope.

Playing on the computer long ago with my friend Cameron, we built up a collection of useless-seeming stuff, just like Meirion had talked about — an inventory, Cam called it. And sometimes the appearance of things changed, just slightly, when the time came that they could be used. I stared at the teardrop, willing it to be true. Then I slipped it into my mouth, and sucked. Gen had said it tasted of salt. Now it tasted of nothing.

‘Richard,' I said quietly, ‘pass me the saucepan … please.'

He hesitated. Then slowly, reluctantly, he passed it over.

I lifted it to my lips.

‘Adam — no!'

I took the tiniest sip. It tasted brackish, salty — like the poison it would be if we drank it. I dropped the teardrop into the pan with a tiny
plop
. It sank straight to the bottom; I couldn't see it, but I knew it was there. Raised the pan to my lips … took another tiny sip. It was fresh water. Cool, clear, pure, life-giving water. I held the saucepan out to Richard. ‘Drink.'

 

That night I slept without stirring, without dreaming. And when I woke there was an edge to the darkness — a broad bar of dusty-looking gold hanging under the greyness.

We were sailing towards it.

With every hour the light grew brighter, the strip of clear sky wider and closer. Soon, below it, we could make out the unmistakable smudge of land — and the following morning we sailed our little craft into a harbour busy with boats and bright with sunlight.

No one had been surprised when, in sight of land, the tiller started working again; now Rich steered us deftly between the vessels lying at anchor while the rest of us stared round, eyes squinched to slits against the dazzle reflecting off the water.

After days at sea, in near-darkness and almost total silence, my senses were reeling. Colour was everywhere — sails every shade of the rainbow; sailors scurrying about on deck and townsfolk thronging the quay, their clothing a kaleidoscope of every hue imaginable. Small square buildings in the cool pastel shades of ice cream crowded the hillside — pale green, baby pinks and blues, and white so bright it made me squint.

All around us was a cheerful hubbub of sound. The splashing of oars, the flutter of flags, the crackle of canvas in the breeze;
the squawk and squabble of seagulls; voices calling and joking from boat to boat; the brassy fanfare of some kind of band on the wharf.

But most of all — the smells! A stinking stream of sewage emptying from the bilge of a beat-up fishing boat; the clean tinge of paint and the tacky tang of tar; the silvery scent of fish, fresh and not-so-fresh; a greasy whiff of roast meat that made my mouth water; the powdery dryness of dust … and beneath it all the loamy richness of fresh-turned earth.

Everywhere white teeth flashed in tanned faces as men and women bustled about their business, nimble-footed children shrieking and giggling round their feet. It was as different from Karazan as day from night. But it was how Karazan had once been, I was sure — and how it could be again.

‘Look!' squealed Gen, pointing. ‘Over there, Richard! There are moorings where you can tie boats up, and a market on the waterfront.'

Rich parked the boat with a bone-shattering bump beside a barge loaded with barrels, and Jamie used one of his famous scout knots to secure it to the rusty ring set into the dock. Taking down the sail was easy this time; I folded it carefully and stashed it in my pack, then shouldered it and hurried after the others up the slippery steps to the pier.

In Arakesh we'd felt horribly conspicuous, as if we were being constantly watched, but here no one paid us the slightest attention. Even if they had, in our salt-stained clothes, tousled and grimy and no doubt stinking to high heaven, we blended in with the crowd.

‘I think I'm going to like it here in Limbo,' grinned Rich as we were swept along between the stalls. Protected from the sun by striped awnings and manned by cheery-looking vendors, they were laden with everything from bolts of cloth to wooden carvings, from intricately carved chalices to musical instruments. There was even a stall selling weapons — daggers and richly embossed shields; armour and wicked-looking double-edged battleaxes.

We passed what I guessed must be an apothecary: a musty-smelling cubicle tucked away in a corner, every surface covered in weird-looking bottles and jars of potions and powders, dried leaves of every size and shape you could imagine hanging from the rafters. A russet-haired boy was at the counter, having a heated argument with the storekeeper.

But it was the food stalls that drew us like magnets. Trestle tables groaning with jars of honey and pickles and preserves; bakers' stalls with crusty loaves; a cheesemonger in a striped apron with a lethal-looking cleaver and cheeses the size of wagon-wheels and brightly coloured pyramids of glossy, juicy-looking fruit.

‘Look over there,' said Rich. In the shade of a tree at the edge of the village green a whole sucking pig was sizzling on a spit. A woman wandered past, a little boy tugging at her hand. Smiling, she bent to listen to him, then passed a coin to the vendor. He carved off a couple of slices of meat, sandwiched them between two slabs of bread and passed them to the boy.

I looked at Rich, Rich looked at Jamie — and Jamie just kept staring at that sucking pig. Then we were hustling towards the stall, me fumbling in my pocket for the coins we'd been given in Drakendale, the girls tagging along behind.

‘Excuse me,' I said to the stallholder, ‘do you accept Karazan money here?'

‘And why wouldn't I?' he replied, holding out a hand the size of a ham. ‘This be a trading post, don't it? Any coinage be good to the merchants of Four Winds.'

‘Four Winds?' Jamie echoed, aghast. ‘But … isn't this Limbo?'

‘Limbo?' the man gave Jamie an odd look that made me wish he'd kept his mouth shut. ‘Nay, lad, this is not Limbo. And you should thank the twin moons 'tis not — for you'd find nothing there but dust and emptiness.'

‘And people, of course,' chipped in Gen craftily, giving him her best smile.

‘People? Nay, lovely lassie, there be no people in Limbo.' He was assembling our door-stoppers as he spoke; now he pressed the last one into my hand.

‘Yes there are!' objected Jamie. ‘There must be, otherwise where would Mei —' Rich gave him a kick and he broke off abruptly, turning pink.

The man frowned. ‘Well, doubtless you know best, young smartboots,' he said, selecting a small six-sided gold coin from the assortment I was holding out.

Jamie was onto him quick as a flash. ‘Surely they can't be that much? A couple of silver ones, maybe …'

‘I will take silver if you prefer, but you will be the losers. Do you not know that silver and gold be of equal value in Four Winds and the lands beyond? Now take your food and your questions elsewhere.'

Rich gave Jamie a warning glare and took over, speaking as politely as possible through a mouthful of bread. ‘Could you tell us where Limbo is?'

‘Best ask Master Know-all,' grumbled the man, but then he saw Gen's woebegone face and relented. ‘Truth to tell, I know not. If you're after tales of Limbo, them's the folk you should be asking.' He nodded towards the far side of the green.

‘Who?' asked Gen. ‘The villagers?'

‘Nay, the travelling circus,' he said with a dismissive jerk of his head. ‘What there is of it. But you'd best be hurrying, for they were packing to leave, last I heard, and a good thing too. Barbaric, that's what I call it but that's Borderfolk for you …' He turned away to serve another customer.

‘A travelling circus!' whispered Jamie, eyes sparkling. ‘I love circuses. They're not barbaric as long as they don't have animals. I did a Circus Arts course once —'

‘
What there is of it …
' interrupted Kenta thoughtfully. ‘What an odd thing to say. I wonder what he meant?'

Rich stuffed the last of his doorstopper into his mouth. ‘Let's find out.'

 

The travelling circus wasn't hard to find. Like Jamie, I'd been hoping for a striped marquee and a string of brightly painted wagons; but it turned out to be a cluster of dilapidated caravans with
Troupe Talisman
painted on the sides and a rickety-looking trailer parked up under a tree, with several mangy-looking glonks tethered nearby.

As we drew closer we slowed and huddled together, shuffling our feet and whispering. ‘What now?' muttered Rich. ‘Do we just find the guy in charge and ask for directions to Limbo?'

‘I suppose so,' said Kenta. ‘Though I don't see many people about.'

But as she spoke a figure strode towards the caravan, scowling fearsomely, hair blazing in the bright sunshine. The boy from the apothecary. Though he was just a kid our age wearing ordinary clothes — breeches, loose shirt and leather jerkin — I knew instantly he must be from the circus. It was partly the way he moved, with the fluid ease of an athlete or an acrobat and partly the placard he was dragging in the dust behind him. Being upside-down made it hard to read, but behind me Gen whispered the words aloud: ‘Join Troupe Talisman today! See the world and discover your hidden talents in the Brotherhood of the Arena. Hiring now! All training provided. Enquire on village green.'

‘Quick,' hissed Rich, ‘grab him!'

Too late. The boy disappeared round the side of the caravan, and there was a crash that could only be the placard being thrown to the ground.

‘Well?' growled a deep adult voice. ‘What fortune, Lyulf?'

‘Ill fortune!' snarled the boy. ‘I tell you, Borg, we waste our time. The people of Four Winds have their faces set against the circus arts. We would do best to pack our goods and go.'

‘And then what? It will be a moon at best before our injured are fit to perform. I say we stay and see what the next boat brings. There be strange tales on the lips of townsfolk and travellers alike — something is afoot in Karazan: change blows
in the wind, for good or ill I know not. You know as well as I that we garner the flotsam and jetsam of fate, the desperate who have no refuge. If there is darkness and destruction across the water, the debris will drift on the tide and we should be here to harvest it.'

‘What's he on about?' muttered Rich.

‘Dunno,' whispered Jamie, ‘but I say we butt in and find out what we need to know before they pack up and go.'

‘I left Blade at the harbour,' continued the boy. ‘They say the wind has dropped in Karazan, but there is word of a galley before sunset.'

Cautiously we edged round the caravan. A short distance away a huddle of dark figures was hunched over a sullen fire. One head lifted momentarily; it was swarthy and unshaven, the eyes sunken and dull. I glimpsed a splinted leg stuck out at an awkward angle, a head swathed in filthy bandages, rough crutches flung where they lay.

Then my whole attention was on the bearded, dark-faced man glaring down at the boy. The moment we appeared he switched his gaze to us and it wasn't friendly. He had a rugged, almost savage face, and his black beard did nothing to hide a livid scar that ran from eye to chin, pulling the corner of his mouth down in a permanent snarl. ‘What do
you
want?'

We exchanged awkward glances; then Blue-bum, perched on my shoulder, gave my earlobe a tug. ‘We were just wondering … someone said you might know the way to Limbo.'

‘Limbo!' Instantly the boy's full attention was on me and I felt myself flush. It was like being in the full beam of a searchlight. Shorter than Rich and me, but somehow older-looking: strongly built and muscular, with a strangely adult-looking face and something smouldering in his eyes I'd never seen before: a fierce, almost animal fire.

‘What business have you in Limbo?' growled the man.

‘Their business is not yours, Borg.'

I glanced at the big man to see how he'd take a telling-off
from someone so much younger but he ignored it and carried on staring at us through narrowed eyes.

‘We are looking for … someone … there,' I said evasively.

‘But the stallholder said no one lives there,' chipped in Jamie. ‘It isn't true, is it?'

‘Limbo lies on the far side of the Borderlands,' said the boy. There was a slight hesitancy about his speech, a carefulness as if he'd once had a stammer, or was having to mentally translate what he was saying from another language. There was the trace of an accent, though none I'd ever heard before.

‘But
do
people live there?' persisted Jamie.

‘Aye — and nay.' The boy switched his gaze to Jamie, then back to me, as if weighing up whether to tell us more. ‘Limbo is not a city. It is a barren wasteland peopled by creatures of the wild, a buffer between the Borderlands and … that which lies beyond. They say a band of nomads lives there: the Lost Tribe of Limbo, men call them.' He shrugged. ‘But I have never seen them.'

Rich gave me a painful dig in the ribs which said louder than words
Yes! We've hit the jackpot!
Though I tried not to flinch I saw from the boy's eyes that it hadn't gone unnoticed — not much did, I suspected.

‘So you've been there?' Gen was saying eagerly. ‘To Limbo?'

‘We travel there, but only to the borders — never beyond.'

‘So,' said Rich, all business, ‘what direction do we go? Is it far?'

Man and boy exchanged a glance. The man's mouth twisted, and for a moment I thought the boy might be about to smile. ‘You cannot journey to the wildlands,' he said flatly.

‘Why not?' demanded Rich. ‘
You
do.'

The glance again. Without answering, the boy shrugged again and made as if to turn away.

‘Why can't we?'

‘The nature of the circus arts allows us to travel in safety
where none other dare,' growled the man, continuing in an undertone, as if to himself, ‘though our arts bring their own perils from the lands beyond.' He scowled at us. ‘We have work to do.

Farewell.'

But Jamie hustled forward, pink-faced and earnest. ‘
We
need to get to Limbo, to find … to find our friend. And you're looking for circus performers. Well, how about us? We'll join your circus; you take us to Limbo.

‘What d'you say?'