The Equen Queen (11 page)

Tab paused at the tunnel's exit. The archway leading out onto the street was partially blocked by one of Quentaris's massive masts. She wondered why the treasure had not been discovered when the mast had been raised, and why the corridor had not been populated before then. It would have made quite a cosy home out of the cold and the wind. It was much more spacious than some of the dwellings in Lower Quentaris.

She squeezed through the remaining gap and then looked behind her. From the outside the tunnel's entrance looked like a plain wall. She thrust her hand towards it, expecting it to pass through whatever illusion had been placed there to protect the entrance, but her knuckles struck stone. ‘Ow!’ she said, rubbing her grazed fingers.

It was impossible, she thought, carefully running her hand over the entrance, but it was solid. She didn't have time to think about that now. She had to find the hatchling before the City Watch and the marines, or any number of rogue bounty hunters.

Tab set off at a jog, heading back to the entrance to the dungeons where she expected to find her friends. She sent out thoughts, trying to determine which way the dragon went, swivelling her head this way and that.

All at once a piercing noise penetrated her skull and she doubled over, covering her ears with her hands, grunting with pain. The sound blast lasted a few seconds and then she was able to stand straight again. Tab felt a burning sensation on her thigh. She took the mood stone out of her pocket. At first she thought she had pulled out the wrong stone, because, instead of being a cloudy purple, it was an angry, pulsating green.

She heard footsteps, and shoved the gem in her pocket again. A marine, Verris's right-hand man, Borges, ran towards her, his face blanched white with panic. He stumbled on a cobblestone, and let out a girlish shriek. He thrust out his hands to steady himself, regained his balance and sprinted on, around the corner and out of sight.

Others came, each with the same look of horror on their faces. Then more still, rushing along the street – pushing the slower ones out of the way. Tab saw an older woman hit the wall not far from her. She scrabbled on her hands and knees for a few paces and then hauled herself up again, oblivious to the long gash in her shin.

Tab noticed a few trolls amongst the crowd too, their ugly faces drawn into a grimace. She shrank back, feeling the cool of the wall on her hands. It took a lot to frighten a troll.

The horrible screeching noise sounded again. Tab's stomach rolled over in a sickening lump. She steadied herself against the wall, sure that she was going to throw up.

The people in the street lurched at the sound too. Some of them were sick. The smell of it took a moment to reach her.

So, it's not just me, Tab thought. It's not inside my head.

The crowd started running again, citizens elbowing each other and shoving the smaller and weaker ones to the edges of the street. A child fell and her mother grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her along the street.

Tab heard Philmon's voice calling her name. She stood on tiptoes trying to see over the heads of the surging people, but she couldn't find him.

‘Tab! Over here!’ he called.

She saw an arm go up in the middle of the throng. She stepped forward and was swallowed into the tide. Several times her feet were stomped on, and she stumbled, pushing the person in front of her, trying to stay upright.

Philmon called her name again and again. Each time his voice was closer as he moved within the flow of people, as though he was crossing a fast-running river.

The whistling shriek sounded a third time. As one the crowd pitched. Tab could smell the vomit and hear the sound of stomachs heaving. Some Quentarans dropped to their knees, holding their ears, and were trampled. Tab held her sleeve over her mouth trying not to gag. Philmon grabbed her other arm. She took his hand, linked fingers and held on tight. Through the jostling pack she saw Amelia's face pinched and green on Philmon's other side.

The street reached a T-intersection and the crowd split. Amelia was dragged one way and Tab the other. Philmon stretched his arms as wide as he could. His hand slipped, and his new grip on Tab's wrist was painful.

She wrenched his hand. ‘This way!’ she insisted. ‘That way narrows. We would be crushed.’

Philmon's face strained with effort as he dragged Amelia from the mob.

The three renewed their grip on each other's hands and ran through the wider street. The crowd had thinned a little, and soon they were able to dash along without fear of being separated, stepped on, or trampled.

‘What did you see?’ Tab asked. ‘What is that sound?’

‘Loraskians,’ Amelia panted. ‘They've boarded us.’

Philmon shook his head. ‘They're
horrible!’

‘The sound – when you are close to them, it paralyses you,’ Amelia added, her eyes wide. ‘The City Watch – they're all frozen.’

The three friends came to another intersection and started heading towards the City Wall. Tab stopped. ‘Wait!’

She tilted her head to the side. The sound was faint at first. There it was again! The metallic gurgling, trilling noise, and something else too that she couldn't quite make out. It was a feeling that made her skin prickle.

‘This way.’ She directed her friends towards the City Gate.

‘Where are we going?’

‘It's the dragon,’ Amelia said.

‘Have we got time for that now?’ Philmon puffed.

‘Either way we will have to face the Loraskians,’ Tab told him. ‘We can do that with a baby dragon, or without one. Which would you prefer?’

‘I see your point.’ Philmon nodded.

They reached the wall. The Loraskian scream sounded again, but it was further away. It rang in Tab's ears, but didn't make her sick like it had before. She looked out over the small stretch of Barrenlands that ran alongside the western City Wall. She could see the dragon. It looked like a bird in the distance, flitting and bouncing along with its wings outstretched.

Tab's mind filled with images, similar to when she was in the secret room, dismembered limbs and spilled guts, steaming fresh blood – except this time it was no ox or bullock. The hide was cream and chocolate brown. The equen!

>>>NO!

>>>Hunger, hunger

She scrambled down the steps and wrenched at the great door, but it wouldn't budge. She threw herself at it, slapping it and clawing it with her fingers. ‘Philmon! Help me!’ she roared.

Amelia and Philmon ran to the guard's box and hauled at the chain that ran the counterweight. The immense door opened a fraction and Tab slipped through.

In the sandy ground ahead Tab could make out three sets of tracks. Two feet, Tattoo's hooves, and the intermittent, bouncing, bird-like tracks of the dragon. There was something else too, a long, winding snake-track. She followed with her eyes back to its source, a mass of rope and canvas tucked next to the City Wall. It took her a moment to remember – the sky-traders’ wing craft had been stacked there! The giant with six axes must have planned to use one to make his escape with Tattoo.

Tab sprinted, following the tracks across the Barrenlands towards the Drop-off. Her lungs burned with the strain and tears sprang to her eyes. She had to get there before the hatchling.

She could see shapes ahead, blurred through her tears.

Soon she was sobbing. She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands and kept running. Her legs trembled with fear and rage at what might happen to Tattoo. Her veins were full of adrenalin, and she couldn't see properly. The meaty, rancid smell in her nostrils blinded her with panic. Two images appeared in her mind, the shadows and the scavenjaws. These weren't her own feelings. She was receiving Tattoo's thoughts. At the same time she felt excited, victorious and ravenous, a hot joy, from the dragon.

The shapes were larger now. There were four, a stone's throw away from the Drop-off. One shape was the glider. She could make out Tattoo huddled half under the glider's wing – perhaps strapped to it. She pranced up and back, trying to free herself, tossing her head.

The baby dragon swooped and retreated – teasing, Tab felt, drawing the hunt out. It was very much like its mother, shimmering in green. It was graceful and beautiful.

But Fontagu's giant, who appeared to be grappling with the half-assembled glider, was not what she was expecting. He was much smaller, and there were no axes. He was just a boy.

His hair was chocolate brown and his skin a sandy colour, just like the herdsfolk Tattoo had shown her. All at once she remembered her impossible dream of the boy on the rope. He had climbed the anchor rope onto Quentaris from the world below to rescue his queen!

Giant with six axes indeed! She had known Fontagu was lying, but to be conquered by a child no bigger than herself ? She shook her head.

She also realised that Chak had tried to trick her into arranging her release, when the information Tab needed – where the equens came from, was right beneath her feet all the time.

Tab staggered towards them. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, but the contradictory emotions washed over her in successive waves of terror, craving, sorrow, destruction, panic, hunger. It was too much. Her ears began to ring. She saw spots in front of her eyes. She stumbled and fell. ‘No!’ she shouted, angry with herself. The dragon turned towards her, and bounced forward a few steps. It trilled playfully. Again she had the sensation that it was picking a word out of her mind.

>>>Hunting?

It dipped down on its forelegs, as if inviting her to play.

>>>I forbid you!

The dragon swivelled its head back and forth, measuring the distance between Tab and the equen, like a naughty puppy.

Something whizzed by her ear. She ducked, and fell again. The boy had a sling. He was shooting at her and the dragon.

>>>Come here right now!

The baby dragon cooed, but she could still sense its cunning, trying to determine just how much it could get away with.

Tab closed her eyes and concentrated her thoughts.

The emotions from the two creatures were so strong, crushing against her, and she sweated with the strain. She held out a hand as though that could hold their minds back. Focusing on the air going in and out of her lungs, she thought anger, but most of all she thought shame and disgrace.

When she opened her eyes again the hatchling had lowered its head, shuffling from foot to foot.

The boy was still struggling with the glider. He looked over Tab's shoulder and suddenly worked faster. He seemed to have the last of the struts in place. He dragged the glider towards the Drop-off. Tattoo followed him reluctantly with the sling draped around her girth.

Tab turned around. Philmon and Amelia dashed across the sand. Behind them she could make out huge hulking silhouettes heading towards them.

The Loraskians screeched and Tab fell to her knees, shuddering against the sound. Her stomach lurched and she spat in the sand.

The boy slid, fell, clambered up, digging his bare heels into the sand, scrambling and running towards the Drop-off. She could hear him gasping and panting with strain as he dragged the glider. He looked over his shoulder once more and then he jumped. Tattoo resisted, but then the momentum lifted her off the ground and she too disappeared over the edge.