Shadowcry (6 page)

The length of her chain gave Kate just enough room to allow her to step out onto the landing, where she could hear distant voices talking at the bottom of the stairs. There was a woman's voice and a louder one belonging to the boardinghouse owner, but she could only make out his half of the conversation.

“There has been no talk of the Skilled in this town for ten years or more,” she heard him say as she edged closer to the top of the staircase. “If there was a Skilled girl, she has not come this way. The people here have been more careful than in the south. No. No meetings. If any of them had passed through this town, you can be sure I would know.”

“Very well,” came the woman's voice, clearer now as Kate leaned out over the steps.

“We will call you if we require you again,” said Silas. “Leave us.”

Kate heard shuffling steps as the boardinghouse owner walked away and a door closed somewhere down below.

“These people are hiding something,” said Da'ru. “What news do you have about the girl? Do we have her yet?”

“It appears Kalen's information was incorrect,” said Silas. “The only Winters we found here was a bookseller with no family. He is already in custody and shows no aptitude for the Skill. This could have been merely a futile effort in the hope of regaining your trust. Kalen is known to be a desperate man, but the harvest is proceeding well nonetheless. Our presence here may yet prove worthwhile.”

“No. There is someone in this town,” said Da'ru. “A girl. I have sensed her.”

“If so, then you can be sure she will be found,” said Silas. “My men are scouring every street, and the town gates are locked. No one will get out.”

Da'ru's voice fell quiet, and Kate had to strain to hear her words. “This is the closest we have ever been, Silas,” she said, her words dark and dangerous. “I am certain the book is hidden somewhere in Fume. We will find it soon, and with a Winters to use it . . . I do not have to tell you what that would mean. The book is
mine
. That girl's family stole it from me, and if it takes the rest of my life, I will discover its secrets. Do not leave this town until your men are certain there are no Skilled left. Check empty houses, cellars, everything. I want that girl, Silas. Find her for me.”

Kate backed slowly into the attic room, lifting up the silver chain so it did not scrape across the floor. Even if she could remove it somehow, Silas was right, there was nowhere to go—and as much as she feared him, instinct told her that she should fear that woman even more.

Kate locked herself in the attic room and pushed the key back under the door where Silas would find it. There was nothing she could do to help herself, not with so many people in the house. She stood in the shadows at the side of the attic window, forcing herself to concentrate upon anything other than the woman downstairs. From her viewpoint just above the rooftops, Morvane looked large enough to hide anyone. Anyone except her. She had been careless. After everything Artemis had taught her, she had allowed herself to get caught.

Thin pillars of smoke rose from faraway buildings that had fallen prey to the wardens' flames, and in the distance a crow was circling in the gray, snow-filled sky.

“Edgar,” she whispered. “Where are you?”

Two streets to the south of the boardinghouse, Edgar was lost. He had seen the carriage pass outside his hiding place and, just like the crow, he had recognized it at once. Da'ru was in town. And if she was there, so was someone else who might be able to help both him and Kate.

He trudged through the snow, checking every street sign and house name, wearing a pair of stolen gloves and a stolen hat to keep warm. Three years of living in Morvane had taught him enough to stay away from the Western Quarter. But with news of the wardens' arrival traveling fast, the streets were empty, and there was no one around to ask for directions.

The Black Fox boardinghouse. He knew the name well enough. The owner was known to be a whisperer—an information monger—willing to share any secret for a price. Most whisperers were loyal to their towns and refused to have dealings with wardens and their kind, but this one was known to be both accurate in his information and indiscriminate in his choice of contacts, some of whom came from as far away as Fume. If anything important was happening in Morvane, the owner of the Black Fox would know about it. Da'ru was sure to stop there for information, if she had not been and gone already. But where was it?

At last, he spotted something familiar.

A gap between the houses gave Edgar a glimpse of a tall building with a circular window on its top floor. He squeezed down a narrow path and ran straight out in front of two gray carriage horses standing in the middle of the street.

He ducked back so the driver did not see him and spotted a boy a few years younger sitting alone on the boardinghouse step. The boy was hugging himself against the wind, with a blanket full of holes pulled tight around his shoulders. Edgar crept up to him. “Tom!” he whispered.

The boy looked up, his face brightening at once. “Ed?”

Edgar dared to take a few steps closer.

“Ed! What are you doing here?” The boy scrabbled to his feet, still clutching his freezing hands beneath the blanket.

“Shh!” Edgar ran the short distance left between them and clutched the younger boy's shoulders tightly. He checked him over quickly, making sure he was in good health, then he scuffed his hair as both of their faces widened into matching grins.

“Where is Da'ru?” asked Edgar.

Tom pointed back at the boardinghouse. “If she sees you here, she'll put the knife in you,” he said. “She hasn't forgotten what you did.”

“I don't care about that. It's you I need, Tom. I need some information.” Edgar quickly told him what had happened to Kate, but Tom just kept shivering and looking back at the boardinghouse door, cringing whenever his voice raised above a whisper.

“You shouldn't have come here, Ed,” he said at last. “Da'ru's in there. She'll know.”

“Just tell me, which way are they taking the prisoners out this time?”

“She'll know that I told you. She always does.”

“I'll be long gone before then.”

“
I
won't be.”

Edgar's face fell. “You know I can't take you yet,” he said. “There are wardens crawling all over this town. Da'ru would catch us both before we were two streets away. One day . . . soon, I promise, but not now. I can't risk you getting hurt. You do understand that, don't you?”

Someone moved inside the building. Tom threw off the blanket and tugged at his torn clothes to make himself look presentable. “Go on!” he whispered. “She'll kill you if she sees you, Ed. She swore she would.”

Edgar took off his hat and planted it on Tom's cold head. “That is
not
going to happen,” he said. “Now, are we brothers or not? Which way are they taking the prisoners?”

Tom looked nervous, pulled off the hat, and stuffed it into his pocket. “They're going to stop the Night Train,” he said quickly. “It'll pass through at sunset on its way back to Fume. But don't go out there, Ed. You don't know what's happening. Silas is out there!”

“We've already met,” said Edgar, pulling off his gloves and pressing them and some of his matches into his brother's hands. “Look after yourself. Stay warm. I'll come back for you. You know I will.”

Tom clutched the gifts in his shivering hands. “Wait! Ed!”

Edgar looked back at the boy in the snow and then a door latch clicked, forcing him to dive into the darkness between two houses.

The shadows swallowed him completely as a well-dressed woman stepped out into the street; she could not have looked more out of place if she had tried. There Edgar was, crouching in one of Morvane's poorest streets at one of its most desperate times, and there she was, pristine and perfect, her silvery dress snaking across the ground, her boots jet black and delicately heeled, her elegant shoulders poised and relaxed beneath a hooded shawl of gray and brown fur. Wolf fur. Only one woman in Albion chose to wear wolf fur, such was her low regard for any life other than her own. Her long black hair was tied back and pinned with a pointed bone, her cuffs were edged with tiny rubies and her lips were painted gray. The owner of the boardinghouse stood behind her, looking like a well-used penny next to a freshly minted coin.

Da'ru ignored him, raised the fur hood, and let her perfect face disappear beneath its shadow, while Tom tucked his blanket into the back of his trousers, trying not to look over to where Edgar was hiding. Da'ru stepped aboard the carriage and Tom clung onto the luggage rack at the back, squeezing himself in like a lumpy traveling bag and tugging on his gloves as soon as his mistress was out of sight.

Edgar did not want to let his brother go with her, but there was nothing he could do. The horses pulled forward, and silently he watched them leave.

Anyone who saw that carriage would probably not notice anything different about it. The horses were standard grays, the wheels were plain, and the doors were unmarked, giving no hint to the real identity of its passenger. But Edgar knew very well who she was. Da'ru Marr: the only female member of Albion's High Council, and the only one who counted herself as one of the Skilled. Wherever she went, she brought trouble.

Edgar dug his bare hands into his pockets and tried to get his bearings. If the wardens were putting the prisoners on the Night Train, Silas would be with them, and he would definitely be keeping Kate close by. The train station was on the opposite side of town, so he had some time. It would take the wardens a while to move everyone there, even in those cages, and the train would not arrive until after dark. If he kept moving, he should be able to make it.

It was risky. The last thing Edgar wanted to do was go up against a town full of wardens. It would have been a lot easier for him to just sneak out of Morvane and try to disappear again, or at least find somewhere safe to hide until it was all over. But Kate was far too important to him for that. He wasn't about to just leave her behind.

His mind was set.

He had outsmarted the wardens once before. Now it looked like he would have to do it again.

Edgar was concentrating so hard on what he had to do that he did not realize that he was not the only one who had watched Da'ru leave. Silas stood at the circular window, watching him disappear into the falling snow. He had to admire the boy. He was even more daring than he had expected. He ran his thumb across a deep scar on the palm of his right hand. A curling brand made by searing hot iron into flesh, the same brand that had once brought him back to life from the furthest reaches of death. It had never healed. After twelve years it was still as raw as the moment it was made, and sometimes he thought he could still see a few sparks of fire smoldering inside the wound, burrowing down a little deeper year after year.

He lurked by the window like a wolf in the shadows, waiting for the boardinghouse owner to climb the stairs. The key to the room lay in easy reach upon the sill beside him. The girl had already attempted to escape once; he would not make it easy for her to do so again. When the old man finally made it up to the landing, Silas opened the door before his knuckles had even touched the wood to knock.

The man smiled nervously on the other side.

“Good work,” said Silas, tossing a small coin pouch into his hands.

“Thank you, sir. And . . . will there be anything else today?”

“No,” said Silas. Outside, the snow was easing and Kate was watching him warily from the desk chair. “It is time for us to leave,” he said. “The girl and I have a train to catch.”

Chapter 6
The Night Train

B
ack inside the black carriage, Kate sat beside Silas as they rolled their way speedily across town. But this time, Silas opened one of the curtains to make sure he wasn't being followed, giving Kate the chance to see her town for one last time.

The snow made it all look eerie and unreal. Children wandered without parents, dogs snuffled through the streets, and the black robes of the wardens were never far away, breaking down doors or wrestling people into cages. She thought about Artemis and about all the years they had spent worrying about this day. It had made no difference in the end. Artemis was gone. Edgar was gone. Kate was alone.

It was almost dark by the time she spotted the Night Train's thick tracks slicing through the town like a scar, carving a hard iron curve through the Eastern Quarter as it threaded from the trading towns of the north to the capital city of Fume in the distant south. Those rails linked every town in Albion like an ominous metal vein, and the people who lived close enough to see the Night Train pass by always closed their curtains against its eerie light. It was easier to pretend that it didn't exist, that it didn't choke the air with foul smoke and leave the heavy rumble of metal on metal thrumming through the ground long after it had gone.

The road they were traveling upon ran alongside a stone wall that lined the track's route, but Kate did not recognize this part of town. The houses were larger and grander than any other part of Morvane, yet few people lived there. The station cast too dark a shadow over that part of the Eastern Quarter. It made people uncomfortable. Kate had seen pictures of the station in books at her uncle's shop, but he had never let her see it for herself. Now that she was so close to it, she found that her curiosity had gone. She didn't want to see it anymore. All she wanted was to be back at home, getting ready for the Night of Souls, living life just as she had lived it the day before. But all that was impossible now. Silas had made sure of it.

The driver shouted out to someone up ahead. A gate screeched open and the carriage wheels crunched onto gravel, rolling past row after row of wheeled cages with flaming torches punched into the ground to light the paths between them. There were many more there than Kate had expected. What she and Edgar had seen in the market square must have been only a small part of the wardens' plans for the town that day. There were at least five times as many cages outside that station as there had been in the square, all filled with so many people that it was hard to believe the wardens had left anyone behind.

Most of the prisoners were yelling angrily at the wardens, rattling their bars, trying to find a way out. Others were trying to bargain with them, offering up their businesses or savings for a second chance at freedom, while the rest just sat there, quietly accepting the grim truth that they were no longer in control of their lives.

“Every one of these people will do their duty to Albion,” said Silas. “Just as thousands of others have done before them. You are fortunate you are not one of them.”

“My uncle is one of them,” Kate said quietly.

“That part of your life is over. There is nothing you can do for him now.”

The blazing torches lit up the night and, as the carriage turned, Kate finally saw the station with her own eyes. It was an ancient place, centuries old, built for a single track and one special train. Kate knew from her books that, long ago, the gravel where the cages now stood had been a beautiful garden where the coffins of Morvane's dead were taken before being carried by train to Albion's graveyard city. Friends and family would have gathered for a funeral in that garden before passing the coffin over to the bonemen—the keepers of the dead—who took it on to the train, ready to make its final journey south.

The bonemen were a select group of the Skilled who had devoted their lives to helping the spirits of the dead pass safely out of the living world and into the next. They had once been the sole guardians of the graveyard city, performing complex rituals, maintaining the tombs and graves of the many families interred beneath its earth, and ensuring that their remains were treated with respect long after their funeral day had passed. But that was before the wardens had claimed the Night Train for themselves, before the bonemen had been driven into hiding and one of the old High Councils had walled up the country's burial ground, transforming it into the great fortress city of Fume.

Fume was now a place for the wealthy, not the dead, and since the war with the Continent had begun, it had been the only town spared the threat of the wardens' harvests. Living in the shadow of the High Council came at a high price, but for those willing to pay it, Fume was the only place in Albion to feel truly safe. The tall memorial towers looked down over stone streets, built to house the High Council's most trusted followers and their families, while the extensive underground maze of caverns and tombs were left to lawless groups of smugglers and scavengers who managed to scrape out a living down in the dark. The needs of the rich were served by hundreds of servants and slaves, and none of them ever gave a thought to the thousands of dead still buried beneath their feet.

In its prime, Morvane's station had been a simple building built from black stone. The main structure straddled the tracks like a long tunnel and a large arched entryway jutted out into the garden, with a wooden door that was always open, ready to welcome the dead. That was how Kate had seen it in drawings copied from that time, but now it looked very different.

Without the garden to soften its dark façade, the station was a bleak, miserable place. It looked angry and broken. Rain and wind had worn away most of the entryway, leaving only the right-hand wall and a few crumbling pieces of the rest. The wooden door lay rotting on the ground; metal beams that had once held a curved slate roof were gradually being devoured by rust; and, alongside what was left of the main building, a decrepit clock tower stood like a sentry overlooking the tracks. Normally that tower would have been in darkness, but on that night its roof was alive with a crown of dancing fire. The wardens were signaling the Night Train, ordering it to stop.

Silas's carriage headed straight for the station, and as it rolled in through the entryway every warden stood to attention, acknowledging his arrival. Then a deep sound rumbled like the bowels of the earth, and somewhere to the north—still too far away to see—the oncoming train's great wheels began to slow down.

Inside the station, the first cages were already being moved across the platform in preparation for the train's arrival. But all work stopped and every prisoner fell silent when the ground began to tremble and a cold blue light seeped out of the darkness, tracing along the edge of the track's boundary wall and focusing into a single blinding beam that cut through the night like a knife. The deep noise sounded again. Closer this time and unmistakable. Silas's driver stopped the carriage right on the edge of the platform, where he climbed down, unhitched the horses, and led them quickly away.

Kate could feel the train approaching, but she still could not see anything but the light. The ground shook hard. Silas swung open the carriage door and the horn wailed again, deafeningly close. He pulled her out onto the slippery platform. Light flooded the walls, the rumble of wheels echoed through Kate's bones, and the Night Train thundered into the station, groaning and grunting like a vast, malodorous beast.

It was a moving stink of dripping oil, hot grinding metal, and burning fumes; a patchwork of heavy repairs, newly forged metal, and old hammered panels all riveted together into one scarred machine. Its massive wheels growled against the pressure of the brakes and its metal carriages rolled behind, each one windowless and terrifying, accompanied by the creaking sound of hanging chains.

The train was a monster. Its engine car was taller than a house, with a twisted steam chimney on top and a pointed grille mounted on the front, designed to push anything it encountered out of the way. Kate's head swam as a wave of putrid steam gushed from the wheels and tumbled onto the platform, carrying with it the hot smell of burning oil and churned-up dirt. The nearest carriage groaned as it settled to a stop, letting the train fall into silence, or as close to it as such a huge machine could.

The Night Train stretched back endlessly down the track, no longer the grand funerary train of Albion's last age, created to carry the dead to their place of rest, but a twisted ruin of what it had once been: a symbol of terror instead of hope. Its carriage doors opened one by one, filling the air with the shriek of sliding metal, then the first cages were rolled forward and the throbbing sound of machinery echoed inside, sending many of the prisoners into a panic.

The station was in an uproar. No one wanted to be put on that train, and their shouts were deafening. People fought at their locks, tried to squeeze through the bars, and two cages crashed onto their sides as their occupants tried desperately to escape. The wardens ignored them and stood in silence along the platform, their daggers glinting in the lantern light. They did not care if people shouted or fought or begged or screamed. To them, Morvane was just another town and they had already won.

“You will not be traveling with them,” said Silas, turning Kate away from the shouting people and leading her toward the front of the train. “I want you where I can see you.”

A set of three metal steps folded down from a door close to the front of the train and Silas motioned for her to step aboard. Kate looked back across the station, wondering where Artemis was, among all of those people. Maybe if she did what Silas wanted, for now, he might make a mistake, or at least leave her alone long enough for her to free herself. Something told her Silas was not the kind of man who made mistakes, but that small hope was enough to make her climb those steps with a little less fear. She was going to get out of this, and she was going to help Artemis. She just didn't have any idea how she was going to do it yet.

Kate stepped up into the monstrous carriage and was met by the dull flicker of tiny lanterns swinging in groups from metal beams overhead, but other than those beams the roof was completely open to the sky. Dark clouds moved sluggishly through the night and the jagged remains of the station's roof crisscrossed above her. The Night Train was a bare skeleton of what it had once been. It had walls but no roof and no real floor but the girders needed to hold it together. One step to either side would have sent Kate falling through onto the tracks, and if the train was moving, she had no doubt someone could easily be dragged underneath.

“Keep moving,” ordered Silas.

Kate continued slowly along the girder toward the center of the carriage. To her right three rows of cages hung from chains hooked onto the beams and three more matched them on the left-hand side, swinging precariously over wide open gaps in the floor. All of them were empty.

Silas unlocked one of the cages on the right and held it still while she climbed inside. “This is the quietest part of the train,” he said, unclipping her wrist chain and locking the door behind her. “The wardens do not patrol this carriage, and I have sole possession of the prisoners carried here.” He pulled a red blanket from a cage on the other side and forced it through the bars into Kate's hands. “Get some sleep. We will not reach Fume until morning and there will be plenty of work for you to do once we arrive. You will be no good to me without rest.”

Kate shivered in the icy cold. Snow began to fall again, and she waited stubbornly for Silas to walk back out onto the platform before wrapping the blanket around herself for warmth. The great train's door slid shut and the finality of the sound reverberated through the walls. She rattled the cage door. The lock was bent a little from a previous occupant's attempts at escape and it would not budge, so she stood in the corner of the cage with the blanket around her, clutching her mother's necklace, not wanting to accept the truth.

She was trapped on the Night Train, helpless, just as her parents had been. Was this how they had felt the day the wardens had taken them away? How long had they survived? Kate knew that they had made it to Fume, but Artemis had never told her what had happened to them after that. She buried herself deeper in the blanket. She was about to take the same journey her parents had taken ten years before, and there was nothing she could do about it.

There was no way out, nowhere to go. All she could do was wait.

Crouching behind a wall just outside the graveled garden, Edgar would have done almost anything for a blanket. His toes were numb, his fingers ached with cold, and his skin prickled in the icy air.

Getting across town had been difficult enough. With time against him, he had ridden a stolen bicycle the entire way, pumping the pedals as fast as he could, taking shortcuts no warden would ever know about, dodging patrols and trying to stay out of sight while the Night Train drew closer to the town every second. He had made it. The train was still there. All he had to do was sneak on board. That part had sounded easy when he had first thought of it. Now, seeing so many wardens in one place, it was starting to look impossible.

Edgar was peering over the wall, watching for a break in the warden patrols, when a flutter of wings settled on the wall beside him, and he turned to look straight down the beak of Silas's crow. The bird strode proudly in front of him, not caring that it had been seen.

“Shoo!” said Edgar, slapping it away. “Get lost!”

The bird jumped deftly out of reach, lowered its head, and let out a loud, sharp call.
“Krrarrk!”

“Stop that!” Edgar tried to grab hold of it, but it moved too fast, marching stubbornly up and down the wall. “Fine.” Edgar grabbed a chunk of stone and threw it at the crow's feet. The bird clicked its beak and flapped its wings, glaring at him.

“Didn't like that, eh? Next time it'll be your head,” said Edgar. “Go on!”