The Hush (25 page)

‘Hmm.' Travis examined his handiwork with a critical frown. ‘Well, you're hardly the prince of style, but I suppose it'll do. After all, Frederick Yant is supposed to be from Linus. The rigours of fashion in rural towns are less demanding than those in the city.'

Chester picked up his suitcase, fingers shaking, and hefted his fiddle case under his arm. Susannah was staring out the window, her spine straight, her back to him. He was vaguely aware of Dot wishing him luck, but her words washed past like the refrain of a forgotten song. His skin felt clammy, although he wasn't sure show much of that was fear and how much was simply the cling of the humid night.

He had left the suite and descended to the hotel lobby when he heard a cry. A whirl of figures passed by, a clatter and chatter of footsteps and voices, porters and guests, clicking boots and clacking tongues. But one voice rose above the crowd and it roped him around with all the force of a lasso around his midriff. ‘Chester, wait!'

It was Susannah.

She stood with one hand upraised, her bloom of red curls and pale eyes stark against the cold black marble of the lobby. They met in the centre of the floor, halting abruptly when a yard of marble tiles remained between them.

‘Chester,' she said, so quietly that he almost lost her words in the noise of the crowd. ‘I just …'

There was a long pause. Chester searched for animosity in her eyes, for a hint of the chill that had defined their relationship since Thrace. But Susannah's mood had shifted, as though the dangers of tonight had somehow shattered the wall between them.

Susannah shook her head. ‘No matter what happens tonight, I want you to know that … that I'm glad we found you. That I'm glad you're on our team.'

He stared at her. ‘Me too.'

Susannah wet her lips, hesitant. ‘Are … are you feeling all right?'

Automatically, Chester opened his mouth to say
yes, of course
. But then he thought of his lies to Susannah in Thrace, his deception. Of how close his dishonesty had brought them to ruin not just in Thrace, but even back in Linus when he had almost connected to the Song during the burglary. He thought of Dot's words as her fingers roamed those piano keys.
I think true strength is admitting when you're vulnerable.

And so, with a deep breath, Chester told her the truth. ‘No,' he said. ‘I'm not.'

‘Your music?' she said.

He nodded and lowered his voice even further. ‘I don't know if I can control it. I kidded myself into thinking Goldenleaf would help, but it hasn't – there's a chance I might connect to the Song.'

‘Goldenleaf?'

Chester realised he'd never even spoken the name to the gang. Had he been that reverent towards the fiddle? Put that much hope in one instrument?

He gestured to the case under his arm. ‘My fiddle.'

Susannah's face was unreadable.

‘I should have told you sooner,' Chester said. ‘I'm sorry.'

Susannah gave an odd little twitch. She clasped her hands together before her, knuckles tight, and looked down at the floor. She seemed to be debating with herself, as though there was something else she wanted to say. Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his.

‘You know,' she said, ‘I don't know much about music. I don't know anything about flutes, or fiddles. My father was a sailor, and he told me that a ship is only as good as its captain. Even when the whole sea's a storm and the waves are high enough to sink you.' She paused. ‘I don't think it's about your instrument, Chester. I think it's about you.'

‘You're saying I should act more confident?' Chester said. ‘That I should have more faith in my skills, or something?'

Another pause.

‘No, Chester,' Susannah said quietly. ‘I'm saying you should have more faith in
you.
'

Chester watched her leave, a lump in his throat. It wasn't until she had disappeared up into a stairwell that he found the strength to turn away.

Outside, the city was dark.

A massive fountain sat out the front of the Conservatorium. From its base, water spewed from the mouths of a dozen marble fish and pegasi. Above this, the next layer of the fountain rose: arches in the shape of musical symbols – treble clefs, minims, quavers. And above it all there stood a beautiful lady, carved from stone to represent the Song. She held a viola and played light and water high into the air above the square.

Chester stopped for a moment, staring up at the fountain. He could feel the cool of water spray across his skin. He knew it was silly, of course, but the touch was somehow reassuring. As though the Song itself was reaching out and playing a tune to soothe his fears …

Don't be stupid
, he told himself.
It's just a statue
.

A pair of guards stood at the front of the Conservatorium, resplendent in crimson uniforms. Beside them stood a man in a clerk's uniform, with a finely starched collar and a pencil in his fingers. He was a portly fellow, in his mid- to late thirties, with a weedy blond beard.

Chester took a deep breath. ‘My name is Frederick Yant,' he said. ‘I'm here for my audition.'

The clerk raised an eyebrow. ‘You're booked in?'

‘Yes.'

‘You've paid the fee?'

‘Yes.' Chester's throat was dry. ‘I sent my papers ahead last week.'

The clerk pulled a gilded scroll from his pocket then ran down the list of names. He frowned, then nodded as his finger hit Chester's false name. ‘Proof of identity?'

Chester took a deep breath and handed over his forged birth certificate. The clerk seized it, turning it over in his fingers as though he half-expected a forgery. He held it up to the light, frowned, and nodded.

‘All right. Better head in, then.' He crossed Chester's name off the list and offered him a tiny silver token. ‘You'll need this to audition. Don't lose it, or you'll have to reapply next year.'

Chester nodded and took the token. It was surprisingly light: a fragile slip of silver paper. He put it in his pocket.

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘I'm honoured to be here.'

And with that, he walked into the Conservatorium.

Susannah stood by the hotel window.

Chester looked so small from here, just a boy clutching his suitcase, lit up by the fountain display. When he moved into the shadows of the Conservatorium, Susannah lost sight of him for a moment. Her fingernails cut into
her palms and she felt her body stiffen until he reappeared in the light of the doorway conversing with a group of uniformed figures.

Her insides were tight. She hated how Chester seemed able to twist her emotions, how he could undermine the plans that she had made so carefully, for so many months. Ever since Thrace, he had stirred in her such a violent tumult of feelings that she had barely been able to look at him let alone hold a private conversation.

There was fury at his foolishness, at nearly getting himself killed and putting her gang in danger. There was horror at the memory of that gunshot and the terrible moment when she thought it had found its mark. Yet above all, there was a quiet pride in how he had claimed the guilt for his mistake. His clear remorse – and his loyalty to Dot – had diluted any final pangs of anger.

Besides, Susannah knew how it felt to yearn for something so desperately that it seemed worth any price.

‘How's it going?' Dot said, appearing by her shoulder. ‘Is he in?'

‘Still talking.'

There was no hope of making out the words, not from this far away and with the roar of the fountain and the outdoor music and the chattering of diners. But they could see the exchange take place.

Susannah watched as a man examined Chester's papers, then handed him something. ‘What's …?'

‘Audition token.' Dot sounded a little tense, as though this scene was bringing back unwelcome memories. ‘You give it to the judges to show your application was approved.'

Susannah felt her fingers unclench a little. ‘So we're in?'

‘Looks like it.'

Below, Chester stepped through the doors and into the Conservatorium. Susannah ran a nervous hand through her hair then forced herself to turn away. There was work to be done.

‘Right,' she said. ‘Everyone ready?'

The others nodded. Susannah flicked her gaze between them, one by one, to check their preparations. Travis wore a servant's outfit, stolen from the laundry where Conservatorium uniforms were sent for cleaning. He had resisted the urge to spruce it up – apart from the little glass baubles with which he had substituted the buttons on its sleeves. The globe on his left wrist was a hideaway lamp. The one on his right was a signalling globe. Susannah pulled the matching globe from her own pocket and pressed a finger to the glass. There was a flash of warmth on her skin, and Travis gave a little jerk as the glass button heated against his wrist. Unlike a proper communication globe, they could use it for signalling only.

‘It's working, Captain,' he said, a little irritated. ‘No need to test it again.'

‘Don't you trust my inventions, Captain?' Dot said.

‘Of course I do,' Susannah said. ‘But I'm not taking any risks, Dot. If anything goes wrong tonight, people could die.' She gave Travis one last glance up and down. ‘Ready?'

He nodded.

‘Remember, don't cross the threshold until Chester comes to fetch you,' Susannah said. ‘The security spells
will detect you unless an authorised person brings you over the boundary.'

Travis nodded. He looked as though he was barely restraining an eye roll, and Susannah bit back her next barrage of warnings. They had recited the plan a dozen times over and her gang members knew what they were doing. If she badgered them over every little detail, they might suspect how terrified she really felt. She had to be strong for them. Fearless. A job like this needed confidence. If the gang let doubt destroy their nerve, they might as well shoot themselves before they began.

‘All right,' she said. ‘I'll give you the signal.'

Travis nodded. He bade a quick farewell to Dot and Sam before slipping out of the hotel suite and out of sight. Susannah listened to his footsteps on the stairs for a moment then turned back to the others.

‘Dot?' she said. ‘Are the charges ready?'

‘Ready to be laid, Captain.'

‘Good. Sam, how are you holding up?'

Sam gave a short nod. He held one of Dot's calming lamps, his grip so tight that the glass was on the verge of cracking. Even so, its tune would be a mere whisper in the storm of Sam's mind. The hotel was bright with sorcery lamps, all of which would be blasting emotions into his head. More untamed Music floated up from the square as outdoor lights and the Music of the fountain piped melodies into the night.

By now, Sam would be a riot of conflicting emotions. Susannah's own skull ached at the thought of it. She could only hope that he held it together until this was
over. She needed Sam on this job. She needed his strength and she needed his courage.

Nathaniel Glaucon slouched in the corner, chin resting unhappily in his palms. His nautilus pendant hung limply at his throat. Susannah knew he felt just as conflicted as Sam right now – but instead of blaming the effects of Music, the Songshaper could only blame his own choices. He was about to betray the people who had trained him. From his perspective, he would be about to betray the Song itself. It took a serious ego to risk a charge of blasphemy all for the sake of a promotion. But still, the man had made no moves to betray them.

Susannah held up another of Dot's signalling globes. ‘You remember how this works?'

Nathaniel looked up at her, his expression stained with distaste. ‘Yes.'

‘When we signal you, you make your report. Not a minute earlier. Understood?'

He hesitated. ‘I …'

‘If you screw up our plan,' Susannah said sharply, ‘the Conservatorium Songshapers will get to be the heroes. They'll be the ones who stop us, the ones who defeat the Nightfall Gang. You'll just be the schmuck who tattled on us. And when we're captured and being interrogated, we'll be sure to tell them that you were in on it.

‘But if you work with us tonight, you get to be the hero. And the arrogant fools who left you feeling like a failure your whole life? They're the ones who'll get blamed for our break-in.' She let a new intensity enter her voice. ‘Don't you forget it, Mr Glaucon. Don't forget why you're here.'

There was a long silence. Nathaniel rolled the little glass ball in his palm, his expression stony. Then, with a slow nod, he slipped it into his pocket.

Susannah took a final glance around the room. Somewhere in the depths of that building – just across the square from here – lay a cage in the Hush full of screaming prisoners. A cage she had been thrust into once. A cage she had never wanted to see again.

She remembered the cold, the fear, the pain, and the burning in her eyes as they buckled her down to that laboratory table and
changed
her …

This was it. There was no turning back. Susannah had devoted almost a year to planning this heist, to gathering her gang and putting all the pieces into place. To saving the prisoners from their cage. To fulfilling her dream of justice.

And tonight, she would achieve it.

‘All right,' she said. ‘Let's go.'