The wickwire watch, p.9
The Wickwire Watch, page 9
“Well, we can’t send him off on a Spektor hunt,” Abner said. “For now he’ll just have to take our word for it.”
“Help us, Ink,” Riva said. “Give us something to work with.”
Ink sighed. “I’ve already told you. I slept, ate, and walked around town. Nothing else.”
“He’s not telling the truth,” Martin said.
“Look, Stumpy,” Ink snapped again, “I couldn’t care less if you don’t want to believe me. My time’s being wasted here just as much as yours.”
Martin’s mouth fell into an ugly scowl. He jabbed a finger at Ink from the hand he did have. “You can be hanged if you don’t want our help, you little ingrate.”
“Martin!” chided the woman sitting next to him. Ink guessed she was his wife, younger by a few years, mid or late thirties perhaps. She was a gentle-looking lady. Her soft eyes held kindness and warmth yet were also tinged with a hint of sadness. A cane lay against her chair.
The man brushed off her admonition. “If he won’t tell us anything, I say we turn him loose. I don’t see how this affects any of us in the long run anyway.”
“You cold-hearted brute, can’t you see he’s frightened?” the older lady rebuked.
“Spare me, Delia. Need I remind you that even children are not above suspicion here?”
“That was different.” Delia shot a hesitant glance at Ink before continuing. “That was one isolated incident. This boy doesn’t know what’s going on. He’s in the middle of a group of strangers in a strange place. We can’t expect him to open up his whole life to us here and now.”
“Then he’ll have to stay here until he does,” Evering said.
Silence fell over the room as all eyes turned his way. Evering shrank in his seat at the sudden attention.
“That’s impossible,” Martin replied, still sulking from Ink’s backhanded insult. “If he stays here even an hour longer, we can’t let him back down again. Not even if we keep him confined to a room.”
Ink’s heart began to beat faster in his chest. What had he gotten himself into?
“We all know to be . . . prudent,” Simon answered. “As long as Ink remains on the immediate grounds there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Martin scoffed loudly and shook his head.
“Well we’re not feeding him to the wolves, Martin, so you can just let up on that point,” Simon said. “Evering’s right. He’ll stay. At least until Caradoc gets here. Then we’ll decide what’s to be done. Which rooms do we have open?”
Abner stroked his chin and stared at the ground in thought. “The only empty house we’ve got now is this one. Ackland and Bash shared it last, I think.”
“No, it was the Pitmans,” Riva said.
“Oh, that’s right.”
Ink’s ears perked up. “Bash?”
Everyone turned to look at him.
“You know that name?” Simon asked.
Ink hesitated under the stare of eleven pairs of eyes. For a moment he felt like melting away into the shadows, but instead he sat up straighter and tipped his hat back from his face. “Sure I know him. Everyone in town knows him. Or at least they do now if they didn’t before.”
The others exchanged nervous glances.
“And why is that?” the pointy-bearded man asked. “What’s to know?”
Ink glanced around, confused by the mysterious mass reaction. “Well . . . he’s dead.”
The mood in the room immediately darkened. The gentle-looking woman put a hand to her mouth. The sisters gasped and exchanged wide-eyed glances. The one-armed man sighed and sat back, smoothing his hair. Both Riva and Delia looked as though they would be ill. Evering gripped the edges of his chair until his knuckles whitened.
“What happened?” he said. “Was he killed?”
“He was . . .” Ink began, but stopped. “Hang on. Why would you think straightaway he was killed? And whatcha mean ‘Bash shared the room last’? Was he here once?”
“Only very briefly,” the pointy-bearded man said hurriedly as he sat up straight. “Passed through on his way to another village.”
“The room is very nice,” Abner said, standing. “I can show it to you now.”
“I’ll bring you some fresh linens as well,” Delia offered.
“H-have you had something to eat?” the kind-eyed woman asked, picking up her cane. “I’d be happy to make you something now, if you like.”
Ink also rose from his chair, not about to be thrown off the disturbing scent he had picked up. A growing panic brought fear and anger into his voice.
“All right, just stop it,” he said. “Where am I? Where’d you take me? Why’s this place so secret that you can’t tell me? And why should you think Bash was killed? And why, if this place lodges passersby, would you all be staring at me like I was the first person to set foot here in a hundred years?”
“Stay calm, Ink,” Simon began. “There’s no use getting—”
“And why’d I black out on the way here? Did you crack me on the head?”
“Of course not!”
“Son, there’s no reason to get upset,” Abner said.
“There’s plenty of reason! And don’t call me ‘son’!”
“Can’t you understand we want to help you?” Riva said.
“No! No, I can’t!” Ink cried. “Why would you want to help me? You don’t know me! And I don’t know you! So why should I trust you? I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. This was a mistake.”
Martin rose from his seat with a rising temper. “Turn him loose, Simon. I haven’t waited nine years just to have everything blown to the wind by a kid in a circus costume.”
At that moment, everything came together. Bash. Secret location. No visitors. Nine years. Ink felt his knees weaken as the terrible revelation hit him like a blow from a cannon. He stood silent for a long moment, then whispered a word on the hint of a breath.
“Colonists.”
By the looks on their faces, he knew he’d hit on the truth. He needed no better proof. In a flash, he turned on his heel and fled as fast as he could across the room. An outcry of protest flared up behind him.
Ink didn’t falter for a moment. He flew down the stairs, out the back door, and into the meadow beyond. Everything he had ever heard about the Colonists rushed to his mind. What they had done—and what they might yet do—was enough to convince him that he was not only running for his liberty but for his life as well.
Voices shouted out from behind. They were following. He pumped his arms harder and lengthened his stride, making for the towering tree line at the far side of the meadow. He had a clean track record of successful getaways throughout his short career and this was no time to put a mark against it. When the two men following him saw where he was heading, their cries grew to a frantic pitch.
“No! Not that way! Stop!”
“Ink! Come back! We’re not going to—”
Ink plunged into the thick green darkness. Branches whipped him in the face. Brambles caught at his coat. He took a twisting route around the trees, doubling back to the west, then to the south to befuddle his hunters. But the men knew these woods well and fell back by no more than a few seconds.
“There! He’s right there! Grab him!”
Ink felt a hand tug at the edge of his coat. He surged forward and turned eastward again, pulling back a thick tangle of branches as he went, then releasing them. The curse that followed told him he’d hit his target.
The trees began to thin out soon after, and Ink realized he was approaching the far side of the wood. He wondered if another open field lay beyond, and whether it might be best to stay in the trees under better cover. Again, a voice cried out from behind.
“Ink! Stop! For your own sake, stop!”
The edge of the wood came into view, but the strong sunlight dazzled his eyes and kept him from seeing much more beyond. He heard footfalls closing in on him, and with a great leap he broke out of the trees.
It was then he saw the ground suddenly dropping away only a few steps farther. With a cry of terror he dug in his heels and tried to skid to a halt. Instead he sprawled forward and pitched down onto his stomach with his head sticking out over the edge of the drop-off. As he looked down, the remaining breath in his lungs left him.
The town of Harburg lay below, curtained by a river that flowed out to a range of green hills in the distance. Tiny specks of people moved along the streets. Carriages and wagons appeared no bigger than pumpkin seeds. Raising his eyes, he caught sight of three more cities in the distance, like tiny islands in a sea of green. An entire valley lay before him.
And it was moving.
Two pairs of strong hands pulled him from the edge. It was Simon and Abner. They held his arms to his sides as he struggled half-heartedly, most of his energy stolen away by shock.
“You’re thirteen hundred feet above the ground,” Abner said in his ear. “You can’t get down by yourself. Not alive, anyway.”
Ink felt his blood run cold. “What is this?”
“You’re on a floating piece of land,” Simon replied. “Moving slowly but perfectly safe.”
“Safe?”
“Come back with us,” Abner said. “Everything will be explained.”
“Give us a chance, Ink. Please,” Simon added. “I promised we wouldn’t harm you.”
Ink began anew his struggle to break free of Abner’s hold. “You’re murderers! Butchers! Cannibals! Cursed even by the Devil!”
“That’s rubbish!” Abner replied. “That’s all rubbish. We’re none of those things. Now if you keep fighting us like this we’re gonna have to tie your hands.”
Ink’s struggle lasted another half minute before his limbs and nerves both gave out. He lay in Abner’s arms like a limp fish, shuddering and gasping for breath. His heart was in his throat and a pain in his ribcage seemed to be squeezing his lungs.
For the second time that day, Ink found himself being carried away.
They brought him back to the music chamber with considerable effort. Ink managed a fast recovery from his shock and put up the best fight he could, once even knocking Simon in the jaw with his elbow. He stopped flailing only when they dropped him into the middle of the circle of chairs. The others stood around him, blocking his paths of escape.
“There’s nothing for it now,” Martin said, standing over him with a bitter glare. “He’ll have to stay. Lock him up in the Pipeworks House, I say.”
“Oh, not there,” his wife replied. “The infirmary’s the best place.”
“Or Bash’s room,” the pointy-bearded man said. “Riva can even reinforce the windows.”
Ink remained on his knees like a cornered animal, looking wildly around at the ring of faces staring down at him. They were deciding his fate. Choosing the best cage for him. It was his worst nightmare come true. With one swift movement, he reached down into his right boot and pulled out a small pistol.
“Get back!” he shouted, rising and swinging the weapon in every direction. “Back!”
Everyone but Simon retreated several steps.
“Take me down! Right now!”
“We can’t do that, Ink,” Simon replied.
Ink cocked the pistol and aimed it at his head. “Oh yes you can, Blondie! You can and you will! I’ve got important things to do! I can’t be delayed! I wasn’t supposed to get mixed up in any of this!” He blinked, feeling beads of cold sweat on his brow. “Curse that Spindler. Curse him!”
“Listen to me,” Simon said. “Everything you’ve ever heard about the Colonists is a lie. We were there on Damiras that day, but we went to prevent a massacre. Not cause one.”
“Of course that’s what you’d say!” Ink retorted.
“Believe us or not, but you will be in mortal danger if you set foot down below again. We will not hurt you. I promise this. I swear it. I know you’re frightened, and you came about all this in a very bad way, but you need not fear us. We’ve had plenty of chances to hurt you by now if that was our aim.”
“I want answers,” Ink said. “Answers and explanations for every question I’ve got, or . . . or ever had or will have!”
“You’ll get them. I promise. But understand it’s going to take a bit of time. If we work together, if you let us help you, we’ll do our best to get you back down to the world again, free and clear of danger.”
Ink lowered the pistol slightly. Simon ventured a step closer and bent down on a knee.
“Mr. Bash . . . he was killed, wasn’t he?”
Ink looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “His insides were all tore up. Not a scratch on the outside.”
Simon’s gaze of concern melted into one of astonishment. He glanced at the others, who were all wearing similar expressions of horror.
“That can’t be right,” Abner said, his mouth agape. “It can’t be.”
“Jeremy,” Simon called out. “Let me see your luck charm for a minute.”
A man came forward whom Ink hadn’t noticed before. He was meek-looking and small in stature with hunched shoulders. A chain hung around his neck bearing a shiny object at the end. Without a word he lifted it over his head and handed it to Simon, who then put the charm in his palm and held it out towards Ink. It was small and silver, a kind of misshapen heart with a pointed end, enclosed in a tiny case of glass.
“I think you may have seen this before. This morning at the lake.”
Ink recalled the sight of the shadow’s wide jaws rushing towards him from beneath the surface. Something had glinted under the murky darkness, like stars on the wrong side of the sky.
“I remember,” Ink said. “Silver in the shadow.”
Simon opened the case and withdrew the item from the glass. He brought the tip of the charm to the ground, and with hardly an ounce of effort, cut a long slit into the stone floor as though it were made of butter. “Sharper than a cut diamond edge. Small as a seed. Nothing like it in this world.”
Ink frowned and let the pistol drop to his side. “What is it?”
Simon held it up again. “A Spektor tooth. It’s what gave you that cut on your cheek, which is why, you’ll remember, I said you were very lucky. And—from what you tell us—it might also be what killed Mr. Bash.”
Ink looked up at Simon’s face, which held no hint of deceit or mockery. He touched the scratch on his cheek, feeling the blood drain from his face.
“No one is kept here against their will,” Simon continued, “but now that the Spektors have revealed themselves to you, they’re not likely to leave you alone—which means you wouldn’t survive another day on your own. Do you understand that now?”
Ink shook his head, and when he spoke again his voice quivered. “You mean . . . you really think . . . they’re trying to kill me?”
Simon drew his eyebrows together but didn’t answer. Alarmed, Ink looked up at the other faces around him. Each one was solemn and full of dread. Most were even worried. Ink’s breaths came shorter and quicker, panic rising in his chest. He looked away from the charm and tried his best not to throw up then and there all over Simon’s shoes.
“But why?” he said. “What do they want from me? What did I ever do to them?”
“We don’t know,” Simon replied. “As I told you, it’s extremely rare for a Spektor to be allowed to kill. They usually don’t even cause injury unless made desperate. I suppose it’s possible they meant no more than this, but . . . the way that Spektor in the lake charged towards you . . .” He paused to cast another worried glance at the others behind him, then returned his gaze to Ink again. “Whatever the case, it’ll take time to find answers. Nothing like this has ever happened before. That means we’ll need your patience as much as your trust. And in the meantime, I must ask you to hand over your pistol.”
Ink’s desire for a fight had long since passed, and though he hated parting with his only weapon, he needed no further convincing. He had no choice but to stay a bit longer, whether he liked it or not. He uncocked the hammer and put the pistol into Simon’s hand. The company behind him breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Simon nodded in gratitude, then rose to his feet. “We won’t badger you anymore today. You’ve got a lot to think about. We’ll let it rest ‘til tomorrow.”
“And you can stay with Evering,” Abner offered. “That way if you need anything, he’ll be right there to help you.”
“Yes,” the elder lady agreed. “And we’ll have you properly fed and fitting into those clothes in no time.”
Abner nodded. “Come on. This way.”
He put a hand on Ink’s shoulder and steered him towards the stairs. Ink let him, feeling himself in a trance of bewilderment and far too exhausted to argue.
As soon as they were gone, Martin cast a sidelong glance at Simon. “You told him we’d let him back down after the danger was passed. Another new policy you and Caradoc have unilaterally decided on today?”
Simon’s face darkened. “I had to tell him something.”
“You did right, Simon,” Delia replied.
“This’ll come to nothing but trouble,” Martin said, glaring up at the sky through the domed glass roof. “Nothing but trouble for us all. And Bash done in by a Spektor? That bodes more evil than we can possibly imagine.”
“We’ll discuss it when Caradoc gets back,” Simon replied. He handed the silver tooth back to Jeremy. “In the meantime that boy will need all the care and guidance we can give him.”
“He is such a young thing,” said the woman with the cane.
“And an undertaking, too, I’ll wager,” the pointy-bearded man replied. “He threatened us not only with a pistol but with questions. This ain’t no empty-headed kid we’re dealing with. And how much are we to tell him?”
“If he’s here for good, isn’t it only right we tell him the whole truth?” Riva asked.
“Don’t know that he’d believe us even if we did,” the darker-haired sister replied.
“We all know what needs to be kept under lock and key,” Simon said. “And besides, Evering’s going to be there to watch him.”
