Silvermay (12 page)

‘Come on,' Tamlyn said. ‘We don't want to be here when the trapper checks his traps.'

‘Too late,' said Nerigold, who had taken Lucien from Tamlyn while he freed me. She pointed along the trail to a lone figure who stood watching us.

He was about my age, I guessed. Taller, in that gangly way boys have when they grow suddenly. As he came closer for a better view of us, I saw his eyes stare out from a thin face half hidden behind matted and grimy hair the colour of cow dung. He flicked his hair aside, revealing a look that mixed distrust with wide-eyed fascination in about equal parts.

‘Who are you and what have you done to my trap?'

‘It snared the girl's leg,' Tamlyn said plainly. ‘I had to cut her loose. You should be more careful where you set your traps.'

‘No one comes along this path any more, just animals and the odd goat lost from a herd. They pay me a royal for every one I find.'

Tamlyn stepped in front of Nerigold and I knew why. He was trying to keep Lucien out of sight. How we talked ourselves away from this boy might well decide whether we remained free or not. It might also decide whether we lived or died. The trick seemed to be working because the young trapper hadn't so much as glanced at Nerigold. He was only interested in me.

‘Silvermay,' he said suddenly. ‘That's your name, isn't it? You came here a few years ago. I grew up with all your cousins. Do you remember me? Ryall.' He held out a filthy hand.

I did remember him. Not his face, but his name. He'd been there when my cousins had deserted me in the darkness of the abandoned mine, giggling and hooting ghostly sounds louder than the rest. He'd run on ahead of us whenever we went exploring paths like this one, always pointing out things we missed to show how clever he was. He was a noisy, exasperating pest with far too much confidence in himself and he'd hung around us for the entire visit until even my cousins began to hide from him.

I shuddered and took a closer look. His clothes were ragged and as dirty as his hands. His belt drew my eye:
it was the only neatly organised thing about him. All sorts of ropes hung from it, some as thick as my finger, the thinnest little more than a few strands of hair woven together. They were carefully graded according to size, the longer ones looped many times and tied around the middle to keep them from becoming tangled.

He saw me inspecting them. ‘I make all these ropes myself,' he announced proudly. ‘Use 'em to set my traps. The tools of my trade, you might say. I'm the best trapper in Nan Tocha these days. Just ask anyone in the villages round about. That Ryall, they'll say, he can catch anything. Caught a wild cat that was raiding their chicken coops once. Better than working down the mines, anyway, and no rocks can fall on your head like happened to my father and all my uncles.'

That was another thing I remembered about him. He was an orphan who'd lived with my mother's sister as a kind of extra; she'd taken him in because no one else would. Looking at him now, it was easy to see why.

‘He knows you,' said Tamlyn, who had given up trying to shield Lucien from view and come to my side.

‘I'm afraid so.'

‘This is worse than if we'd been seen by a goat herd. We might as well have stayed on the road and let the passing donkey trains look us over.'

‘I'm sorry,' I said, feeling stupid and a little angry, too. What did he expect me to do about it?

‘We can't afford to let him go,' Tamlyn whispered. ‘The way he never shuts up means he'll talk about us to everyone he meets, and before tomorrow morning every ear in the mountains will have heard about Silvermay Hawker and the young couple travelling with her. Anyone searching for us will know just as fast.'

‘Can't let him go. What do you mean?'

Tamlyn stared at me coolly. ‘He's a danger to Lucien and the rest of us, just like that hawk.'

The hawk. It slowly dawned on me what he meant. At first I thought he was making a joke out of the problem. He wasn't. If I'd needed any proof that Tamlyn had been right about the ruthless streak of his kind that he shared, here it was.

‘No,' I hissed. ‘He's a human being. There's got to be another way.'

He looked doubtful.

‘All that talk of being fair,' I said, ‘it has to be for everyone or it doesn't mean anything.'

He was listening, but to be sure I had to convince him in some other way. Could Ryall be of some use to us? Then it came to me.

‘Have you heard about the digging going on in the mountains somewhere?' I asked the boy.

‘Of course. All of Nan Tocha knows about that. Strange bunch of Vonne folk. We stay away from them mostly.'

‘Could you take us there?' I asked.

He took his time answering, as though weighing up whether he could spare the time away from his traps. He would have answered more smartly if he'd known Tamlyn was going to kill him unless he said yes.

‘All right,' he announced brightly. ‘Anything for you, Silvermay. It'll be fun to have you around again.'

I groaned.

‘These diggings had better not be far away,' I whispered to Nerigold when we set off behind Ryall's lanky frame.
Or maybe I would let Tamlyn kill him, after all.

W
e were in Ryall's hands now and didn't he love it. If he'd been a dog, his tail would have fallen off from so much happy wagging. Ahead of us on the track he loped, over rocks and rivulets, his body all angles and thin lines, sending up puffs of dust where his large boots slapped into the dirt. There was none of the lithe grace with which Tamlyn slipped through the landscape, like a fox.

Every hundred paces or so, Ryall would stop to let us catch up, always waiting until he caught my eye. When he did, he'd grin shyly, turn back to the track and press ahead. There were no words, but that didn't mean I couldn't hear his thoughts.
Are you pleased with me, Silvermay?
those glances asked.
Is there anything more I can do for you?

Yes, there is!
I felt like shouting.
Let me forget you're even here!

Ryall knew his business, though, thanks to the many times he'd hunted on these mountainsides alone.

‘This path leads between those two hills,' he told us, pointing. ‘It's not far after that.'

‘I can smell smoke,' said Tamlyn, and when we searched the sky above the trees, we saw four separate fingers of blue-grey clearly in the distance. ‘A village.'

‘Donadey,' said Ryall, unconcerned. ‘The folk there don't use this path. There are better ones, with less to trip over.'

And, as though demonstrating his last words, his toe caught on a tree root and he had to grab at a sapling to stop himself ending up face first in the dust.

‘Maybe you should stick to them, too,' I said unkindly.

‘Not if we want to reach the diggings unseen,' he answered, unhurt by both his stumble and my words. Without being told, he'd worked out that we were travelling in secret.

With Nerigold needing frequent rests, an hour passed before we reached the hills, and another two before we were through to the other side.

‘We're getting close,' Ryall told us.

I turned to Tamlyn. We couldn't simply stroll into the camp without a thought for who might be there or how many. ‘Ryall can stay with Nerigold,' I said, shifting Lucien, ready to hand him to his mother.

But Tamlyn pressed Lucien back into the harness. ‘No, Ryall knows the way. You take Lucien and Nerigold off the track in case a woodcutter or another roving boy surprises you.'

He pointed towards a bulge of grey granite that curved out from the sloping ground above us, far enough from the trail to offer shelter. By the time we reached it, he and Ryall were already gone.

‘What do you think we'll find at these diggings?' Nerigold asked when she was comfortable with her back against the rock and her arms outstretched for Lucien. She didn't sound any more hopeful than I felt.

‘I can't even guess,' I answered honestly.

‘A horse with wings or a boat that floats on air instead of water. Either would be good,' she said wearily. ‘Anything that means we don't have to walk any more.'

My lips were curling upwards at this wonderfully preposterous dream when Nerigold spoke again.

‘Silvermay, behind you!' she said urgently.

Tamlyn had left the bow with me and I quickly had an arrow ready on the string. But what was I to shoot at?

She saw my hesitation. ‘Up the slope, near that large birch tree. Do you see him?'

Still unsure if a rogue had come to kill us or if she'd sighted one of the wildcats Ryall had boasted of hunting,
I scanned the trees with my eyes. There — a flash of blue out of place amid the dull browns and green. It moved and became a man's shirt.

‘Has he seen us?'

If he hadn't when I started the question, he had by the time I'd finished, because he suddenly stopped in his tracks to look down at us.

‘What's he doing off the track?' I whispered to Nerigold. ‘If he's going from one village to another, he should be following the path.'

‘Hunting, maybe?' said Nerigold.

The man had begun to move again, downhill towards us, taking halting steps because of the uneven terrain.

‘He's no hunter, not in a bright blue tunic,' I told Nerigold.

He was no miner, either, I saw as he came closer. The men we'd glimpsed yesterday wore rough homespun pants and tunics like Ryall's, all in the creamy greys and pale browns of undyed wool.

I felt the bow's weight in my hands. He was close enough now to put an arrow through his heart, but if I did that without knowing whether he was truly a danger to us, I was no better than a Wyrdborn.

‘Let's talk to him, at least,' said Nerigold, holding Lucien up to me so she could clamber to her feet.

I had to put my bow aside to take the baby, but something told me I wouldn't need it. This stranger was curious but he meant us no harm. He was only thirty paces from us now. His britches were well made and his boots of the best brown leather.

‘He's not from around here, I'm sure of it,' I whispered. ‘We'll tell him we're collecting mushrooms,' then remembered too late that we didn't have a single one to show him.

He called to us, a cheery greeting. He was older than Tamlyn, though not yet thirty, I guessed. His fine clothes were rumpled and smeared with dirt and the oily sap of the undergrowth he'd been pushing through, for some time, by the look of it. I was desperately trying to recall the name of the village we'd passed — Dona-something — when the stranger stopped dead and simply stared.

‘You're here,' he said, addressing this odd greeting to Nerigold alone.

My eyes shot straight to her. Did she know this man? I didn't have to scan her face for long; she was as surprised by his words as I was.

‘Do I know you?' she asked.

‘Oh, er, no, not at all,' he stammered. ‘It's just that I … I've been at the diggings for a long time now and we don't see many women. None as pretty as you, anyway,' he added with a smile I didn't like the look of.

At the last minute his arms spread wide to include me, but I wasn't fooled. There was something about this man that sent a spider of distrust skittering across my skin. His eyes danced in their sockets like nervous horses penned too long in their stalls. He'd said he was from the diggings, but his clothes were so fine and a glance at his uncallused hands showed that he didn't wield a pick or shovel, either.

‘Are you in charge of the diggings?' I asked.

‘In charge?' he repeated without looking towards me. ‘Not quite, no. I'm one of Arnou Dessar's assistants.'

‘Arnou Dessar?'

‘The scholar from Vonne who's come to study the ancient buildings, the carvings in the rock … and the mosaics.'

Ancient buildings, carvings. We were learning more each time he opened his mouth, but before I could ask another question, he stunned us with one of his own.

‘The baby is yours, isn't it?'

Lucien was nestled in my arms but the man was looking straight at Nerigold again.

There was no point in denying it. Nerigold nodded and took Lucien from me. The effect this had on the man was even more astonishing. He sucked in a quick breath and took a half-step backwards, as though mother and child had suddenly begun to glow with a
fierce light. I saw a chance to find out more while he was so distracted. ‘How many are working at the diggings?' I asked.

He had to shake his head to clear it before he could reply. ‘A dozen men we've hired from the mines hereabouts and an old crone to do the cooking. Then there's Arnou Dessar and another assistant like me.'

I wasn't really interested in the number so much, but whether any were Wyrdborn. His list of workers sounded innocent enough. Although I was still wary of him, he'd spoken too freely to be lying.

‘Could we visit the diggings?' I asked.

‘Certainly. Master Dessar would be fascinated.'

Fascinated? Why such a word when he could simply have said we'd be welcome? I was beginning to think this stranger was mad, and that impression became stronger when he turned and began to thrash his way towards the track without waiting for us to follow.

‘Aren't you going to show us the way?' I called.

He spun round, but if he was aware of how rude he must seem, he didn't care. ‘Stay on the path for another half-mile and you'll see the diggings at the base of that ridge.' And he was gone.

‘The least he could do was wait for us,' said Nerigold curtly. ‘And did you see the way he stared at me?'

There was something that troubled me more than
the staring, however. How could he have been so certain that Lucien was Nerigold's son?

‘You're sure you've never seen him before?' I asked.

‘Not that I remember, but there's a lot about my time in Vonne that's just a swirling cloud inside my head.'

‘Maybe he's gone off to tell the cook there'll be more to feed,' I said lightly, but as much as my rumbling stomach hoped this was true, I didn't believe it. ‘He didn't even tell us his name,' I growled.

We followed his steps through the undergrowth to the path and set out after him, until we found Tamlyn and Ryall climbing towards us.

‘There was a man on the path,' said Tamlyn immediately.

‘In a fine blue shirt?'

‘Yes. We managed to duck behind a tree before he saw us, but he was in such a hurry I doubt he'd have noticed if we'd waved to him as he passed.'

‘We weren't so lucky. He was searching for something in the bush and saw us before we could hide. He's from the diggings. Said we could visit them, that we'd be welcome even.' I didn't mention his fascination with Nerigold. ‘Does it look safe?'

Tamlyn nodded. ‘There are no Wyrdborn, I'm sure of that much. No guards, either. Just as well, because
they'll be expecting you now. It will look odd if you don't visit the diggings.'

 

Just as the nameless stranger had promised, we soon saw figures through the trees, most of them digging steadily or pushing small carts of rubble. We stopped at the last of the trees for a better look before the workers could see us as well.

The diggings were larger than I'd imagined, stretching out before us another two hundred yards, maybe more, before the flattened earth reached the sheer granite walls of the ridge that curved behind it like the cupped hand of a giant.

‘What are all those piles of dirt for?' Nerigold asked.

None of us could explain the circle of waist-high mounds marking the outer edge of the site. There was a cave opening its gaping black mouth in the rock and, as we watched, a miner trudged out from the darkness, raising a grimy hand to shade his eyes from the sunlight. A shovel hung from his other hand as he made his way towards a cabin not far from the entrance. Attached to the side of this cabin was a lean-to which gave shelter to the single figure stooped over a table beneath it.

‘Stay close,' Tamlyn told us with a final glance over his shoulder before he led the way into the open.

The first workers to spot us stopped digging to watch
our approach. They were clearing away loose gravel from a wall that protruded only two feet above the surface. That explained the many piles we'd seen. Everything here must have been buried under the dirt until these workers had dug it free.

As we got closer, I could see that the wall was made of stones neatly trimmed to lock together without mortar. All around were similar stones, loose and scattered, dozens of them, uncovered by the digging. Ancient buildings, the nameless stranger had told us. So ancient that they'd long since crumbled and fallen in the face of wind and rain, with no one to repair the damage.
Where were the people who'd built them
, I wondered.

That question might have intrigued me all the way to the cabin if I hadn't looked again at the men resting on their shovels as we passed.

‘It's happening again,' Nerigold whispered. ‘The staring. You'd think we were ghosts.'

‘Not all of us,' I said. ‘Just you.'

I took her arm and urged her on. The miners dropped their tools without a thought for how they landed in the dust and, climbing over the low wall, began to follow us.

‘Tamlyn,' I called.

He saw the men trailing twenty paces behind us and shot me a worried glance. It was too late to tell him what had happened when the blue-shirted stranger had first
seen Nerigold's face. Besides, he was about to see it for himself.

As we passed a second gang of men stacking stout timbers like those used in mines to keep the rock from collapsing, they too stopped to watch us, staring astonished at Nerigold. By the time we reached the cabin near the cave's entrance, every man we'd passed had joined in the procession. The sole figure beneath the lean-to's canopy looked annoyed at this.

‘Why have you stopped work?' he called to the men.

He was older than the rest, grey-bearded, his hair the same most likely, if there'd been enough of it to tell. He wore fine boots like the stranger we'd met earlier, although he took less care with his shirt and dusty pants. Despite his show of anger, I liked his grandfatherly face, perhaps because it hinted at the same impish kindness that I'd loved in my own grandfather. That changed quickly, though, when his wrinkled face froze into the same unwavering stare.

Tamlyn was watching, his magical strength ready to protect us. He could sweep them all aside with a brush of his arm if they attacked.

I put my hand on that unnaturally powerful arm. ‘It's all right. They won't hurt us.'

‘So why are they staring at Nerigold as though she's flown down from the clouds?'

I still had no answer; and where was the man in the blue shirt? If he'd come scurrying back here to tell his companions about us, why did they look so surprised?

At last the older man came to his senses. ‘Forgive me,' he said, still sounding dazed. ‘My name is Arnou Dessar, scholar and adviser to the king.' He gave a little bow out of courtesy but it was plain he didn't take himself too seriously. ‘You must have come a long way to join us here. Would you care for some water and perhaps a bowl of soup?' He called to someone without looking around. ‘Gabbet, fetch some beakers, would you?'