Wolf Tide Read online

‘Did she wear it?’

  ‘Yes. Two Fairy messengers brought it when they came with the news. Now, this is something I have never spoken of to anyone else, Anabara: they also brought me a paran. A narrow ceremonial blade made of incandescent white-steel. Something I’d heard of, but prayed never to see. It hurt my eyes just to look at it. Assassins wield them—the pure-bred fire lords. You’ve seen Fairy fire markings? Well, these creatures are all fire.’

  ‘Why did they bring it? Were they assassins?’ To her dismay a tear trickled down his lined cheek. ‘Uncle!’

  ‘No, they were just ordinary folk from the clan bound to protect your parents. They were expecting me to kill them. Lots were drawn and these two were chosen.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘I sent them back home with their paran. Of course I did. Their death wasn’t going to bring your dear parents back. But from the Fairy perspective there is still a double blood debt. They have no grasp of forgiveness. If it takes a thousand generations they will carry on trying to honour it.’

  Outside the big Minstery bell began to toll. Midday Prayers. They got to their feet. Her uncle fastened the chain round her neck. She felt his fingers tremble.

  ‘Uncle, will it be… all right?’ She wasn’t sure what she meant. Everything, perhaps.

  The bell tolled. Tolled again. The stone lay cold against her breastbone.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  He was silent so long she wondered if silence was his answer. But then, as if a single feather had drifted down on to the scales, he said again, ‘Yes.’

  This was her comfort in the dark: that someone knew where she was. Someone was praying for her.

  She traveled by little tributaries and Gull-made ditches, heading towards the river island in the last big bend before the waters fanned out into the delta. To anyone but a Gull there were few landmarks out there in the salt flats: the island was the only reliable one. Behind her the racket of Larridy dwindled, though the occasional drunken shout still scarred the night. Groom parties, brawling locals, ensuring the Guard was over-stretched and that no patrol would be out here in the wastes at market time.

  Downstream she punted, with no more sound than a jumping fish. On each side there lay the endless salt furze, and every so often the dark shape of a dragon tree. The saltings sheep had all been folded hours ago. Dog kelp thick as eels tangled her pole. God, it was harder work than she remembered. Her arms ached. More than once her feet slid and her heart lurched. Blisters formed on her palms. The brine got in, smarted. Before long she began to fear she hadn’t left herself enough time. Not a breath of wind. The rushes stood motionless. Just the trickle of water, the suck of pole in mud, and her ragged breathing.

  She’d joined the river Larrus now—surely she must be close. Or had she forgotten how far it was? What if the riverscape had changed since she played down here as a child? What if, after all this, she missed the market? Well, that would be her answer: it was not meant to be.

  But just as she was allowing herself to think Oh well—a noise.

  Voices in the distance. Or one voice, chanting. The auctioneer? Round the next bend she caught a glow on the horizon, and mast tops. Her heart began to race. Yes, she recognised it now—the island was after the next bend. She let the punt drift on the current for the last quarter of a mile, steering with the pole. Minutes passed. The chanting rose to a climax. Stopped. Then came a general hubbub. Shouts. The noise of iron scraping on wood. Was it over? Her knees shook. She steered to the bank, wedged the pole in, got off and squatted, head down, waiting for the sickness to pass.

  She stood up. A huge old dragon tree reared above her. The perfect vantage point. One bound and she’d be up there. Go on. Do it. You’ll be able to see everything from up there. Yes, but I’ll be visible too. Heart and mind were a clamour of fear. She called up her brother’s training. Calm. Focus. The eye of the archer, nothing but you and the target. Nothing else, just you and the target. Her pulse slowed, the rushing in her ears stopped.

  Calm.

  In that split second she heard him. His blow went wide, and she was off through the furze like a fox. He came after her. Two of them now. Crashing. Yelling. Ha, she could outrun these oafs.

  But they were driving her ahead of them. Too late she realised it. Next moment she burst through the low cover into the open. A ring of torches. Men loading a barge. Cages.

  Hands grabbed her. A rag was flung over her head, pulled tight. She clawed at it, at the hands. Useless. Save your energy. They dragged her stumbling through the shrubby roots. A clearing. Sandy underfoot. The rag was ripped off.

  Tressy rivermen standing round a brazier. They stared. Yabbered in Tressy. What is this? A spy? Yabber yabber.

  ‘Who’s in charge here?’ she demanded. Silence. ‘Get your filthy hands off me! I want to know who’s in charge!’

  A tall pale man stepped forward. He had blank fish eyes. Eyes like moonstone marbles. Like the Boagle-man. Pelago! Was he blind? No, he was staring right at her.

  ‘I am in charge. Why are you here, demy?’ His voice was silky soft.

  ‘Why do you think? I wish to purchase a slave.’

  There was an astounded laugh from the rabble, then silence. The man had a hand raised.

  ‘The lady wishes to purchase a slave,’ he said. ‘Does the lady have money?’

  Hands groped. She smacked at them. A gesture from the leader, and the hands retreated. He had the eyes of something that fed on cruelty. Saint Pelago aid me!

  She put up her chin. ‘Assuredly, I have money. One does not go to market penniless.’

  Laughter again.

  Was this the way to play it? Like grandmama terrorising shopkeepers? ‘Well? Speak up! Have you the goods, riverman, or are you wasting my time?’

  The man smiled. ‘You are a brave little lady, to come here all alone.’

  ‘Who says I’m alone?’

  They consulted in Tressy. ‘My men say you came alone, in a Gull boat. The lookout saw you half a league off. Yes, you are all alone, my lady.’

  ‘But not unprotected.’ Oh dear God, protect me.

  More crowing. The man raised a hand. Silence.

  ‘You have powerful friends, perhaps, who know where you are?’

  ‘Do you think I’m a fool? Of course my family knows where I am. Come! My patience is wearing thin. Show me your goods, or detain me no longer.’ It was slipping from her. Her bluster wasn’t working.

  A man slunk up to the leader. Spoke in his ear. Shit, it was that slug from the Slackey. What was he saying?—she’s a Guard spy, came snooping round yesterday, kill her now! She’d have to make a break for it. Fly? They might not know she could. She coiled to spring.

  But a hand grabbed her arm. She turned. The slug son. He smiled his gummy smile. All around her they smiled. She could smell them, smell their thoughts: What order shall we have her in? When will my turn be? Who gets to finish her off?

  I’m going to die.

  A strange calm surprised her. The feather drifting down, this way, that way, on the air. And she thought: Well, even this long night will have an end. It will pass away like everything else.

  The leader barked an order. A flurry. Clang of iron. Dread kicked back in. She’d fight. Die fighting. Some of them would lose their jewels tonight. Oh, pray God someone found her body. Yanni, Uncle Téador, I’m sorry.

  But the leader turned to her, inclined his head in a slight bow. ‘My lady, you have arrived somewhat late. Our business here is completed. All we have left is one poor specimen that no-one would buy. Normally I would not insult your intelligence by showing him to you. But perhaps your need is urgent?’

  So that’s what the slug was telling him: she’s desperate for Fay help. Her knees almost buckled with relief. ‘Very well. Bring him to me. If he is biddable, I will consider it.’

  The man smiled his gentle smile. ‘They are all biddable, my lady. We have seen to that.’ He snapped his fingers. A slimy bundle was flung at his feet. ‘Get up, Fay.’<
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  She watched. The rags stirred. Her heart sang with horror. Hands emerged. Iron embedded in the flesh. The creature dragged itself to its knees. Raised its filthy head. Looked up at her with dead eyes.

  The man kicked it. ‘I said, get up.’

  The Fairy got to its feet. Tall. It stood like a hollow tree. There was nothing there, no hope, no spark.

  ‘Well?’ said the man. ‘A poor specimen, as I warned you, my lady.’

  ‘Good God!’ She gathered her grandmama’s manner about herself. ‘You have nothing else?’

  He turned up his palms. ‘The lady came late.’

  She eyed the creature and tried to sneer. ‘It looks fit for nothing!’

  ‘It no dead yet,’ hissed one. ‘You feed, it wake up plenty.’

  ‘Hmmph.’ She surveyed the creature from another angle. He was motionless. Was he even breathing? ‘Of what sort is he?’

  ‘Scum.’

  ‘Filth.’

  ‘Filthy Fay-dog.’

  The leader raised a hand. Silence. ‘I will not lie to you, my lady. He’s not in the best of shape. But he is hardy, of working stock. And as my compatriot observes, he will revive if you feed him. So. A good strong slave goes for a thousand gilders. What say you may take him off my hands for five?’

  ‘Five hundred? Barefaced robbery!’

  He kicked the slave who collapsed back into a heap of rags. ‘No? As you will. I had hoped you might spare me an unpleasant task, my lady.’ His hand wandered to a knife hilt at his belt.

  Her scalp crawled. ‘That, if I may say so, is your problem.’ She tapped her foot, pursed her lips. ‘However, as you surmise, my needs are pressing. I’ll give you a hundred and fifty.’

  ‘Four hundred.’

  ‘Two hundred. It’s all I have with me, take it or leave it.’

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Done—though I must be mad. The creature’s at death’s door.’

  ‘He’s stout enough.’ The man bent, seized the slave by his hair and pulled his head back. ‘Open your mouth, Fay.’ Anabara flinched as he drove a stick between the creature’s jaws. ‘See?’ He peeled back the upper lip to show the empty canine sockets. ‘Freshly de-fanged. They’ll grow back, but any horse doctor will pull them for a fee. We’ll just de-tongue him for you, and he’s all yours.’

  A man approached with a pair of long-armed cutters. Another drew a red hot iron from the brazier.

  ‘No!’ cried Anabara.

  They froze.

  ‘I… He’s no use to me if he can’t talk!’

  But the leader gave a nod. The man with the cutters seized the Fairy by the jaw.

  ‘Stop!’ screamed Anabara. ‘Do that, and the deal’s off. I can’t run my business with a dumb slave!’

  The leader stared his blank stare. The red hot iron glowed. Then he shrugged. ‘As you wish, my lady. But he’s a liar and he’ll try to charm you. They all do.’

  ‘That’s my affair.’

  The man with the cutters flung the Fairy back on to the ground. He lay without moving.

  ‘Maybe she like tongue,’ sniggered someone.

  ‘Dirty Fay-whore,’ whispered another.

  ‘You need to sign the papers,’ said the leader. ‘We can’t let him go intact unless you sign. The risk, my lady. We have to cover ourselves.’ He produced a greasy paper in Tressy. God knew what she’d be signing.

  ‘By all means.’ She groped in her pocket. Something, anything in High Galen. There—the final demand from her counsel. It would serve. One of her business cards fluttered to the ground. Let it lie. ‘If I could just ask you to sign this receipt?’

  Silence.

  ‘What’s the problem? This is a business expense,’ she snapped. ‘Sign here. I don’t want trouble with the Revenue men.’

  The man stared again. What new plan was crawling across his mind? He waved away Butros’s bill, pocketed his parchment. ‘Come. This is a friendly transaction. We are merely helping one another out, as one business person to another. What need for paperwork among friends?’

  ‘What indeed?’ She put away the bill and drew out her leather purse. ‘Here. Two hundred gilders.’

  He took the pouch and tossed it to a henchman. ‘Count it.’

  They all stood as the gold chinked. A hump-backed moon inched above the horizon. She became aware of other sounds, shouts, oars in sockets, a ragged snatch of work shanty. They were making ready to put to. How many slaves were being shipped away tonight?

  That was when she knew she was being doublecrossed. It was too easy. Here’s your slave, my lady, you are free to go. She’d seen too much. Yes, they’d let her go, but some tragic accident would overtake her up river. Who knew what would happen to the poor Fairy.

  Powerful friends.

  ‘Would you hurry it up?’ she rapped out. ‘My uncle is expecting me for Last Prayers. The Patriarch does not like to be kept waiting.’

  A ripple swept round the group. A superstitious hand made the threefold sign. The leader’s pale eyes were on her. He beckoned the slug. They conferred. Please, please. Anabara felt sweat trickle cold between her shoulder blades. Chink, chink, chink went the gold coins. Silence. A nod from the counter.

  The leader turned to her. ‘The money is good. The Patriarch your uncle need not be kept waiting, my lady.’ He bowed. ‘I wish you joy of your slave. On your feet Fay.’ He hauled the creature up by his hair, thrust his face close to Anabara. ‘Look. This is your new mistress, Fay. Obey her.’

  Anabara stared into the Fairy’s face. His black eyes were on her throat, dead as pebbles. Then with a jerk she realised: they were locked on the amulet.

  ‘Come, slave.’ She turned to leave. ‘I am already late, thanks to these buffoons.’

  The man shoved, and the Fairy stumbled after her. ‘You!’ he summoned the slug. ‘Accompany them back to her boat. A pleasure doing business with you, my lady.’ He bowed.

  ‘Likewise, I’m sure.’

  ‘A friendly warning: he is a dirty treacherous Fay. Treat him as you would a cur, and do not make the mistake of thinking he’s human.’ He smiled one final lingering smile. ‘I hope you enjoy your Last Prayers.’

  CHAPTER 6

  The journey back was a sick blur. The Fairy fell into the punt and never moved. She battled the current. When would the pursuit would begin? She saw those moonstone eyes, the little smile: Yes, we have given her enough time to hope. After her, men!

  Faster, faster! Every tendon screamed. She fought till she had nothing left, then fought on. Clawing her way past one bend, then another, eyes straining for the lights of Larridy, begging the Saint for aid, and terror, terror at her back. Last Prayers. That smile. He meant these to be her last prayers.

  Another bend. One more. Then suddenly her will broke. The pole slithered from her grip and fell with a clatter across the boat. She collapsed, sobbing. I can’t, I can’t. Now the river would sweep them back. I tried my best. Yanni, I tried my best.

  It was several moments before it registered. They were not moving. The punt had drifted sideways, but they were not going downstream. The tide. The tide had turned!

  She sobbed. Made the triple sign. Raised her head. And there was the moon, riding up the heavens. The sky was crowded with stars. One dropped, silent. It left behind a brief slit of fire. The tears of St Pelago. She heard the soft trickle of water. And maybe that was a light, a faint glow in the east? Maybe they weren’t far off after all.

  Slowly she got back to her feet, braced her wobbling knees. Somehow got the pole upright and gripped it with her raw hands. The Fairy lay, a bundle of rags in the shadows.

  ‘Nearly home now,’ she said. ‘Nearly home. It will be all right.’

  There was no reply.

  Larridy at last. She bumped the punt into the nearest jetty, fumbled the rope round a mooring pin. Didn’t matter, bound to be some uncle’s or cousin’s place. There was the Gullgate. A short walk and they’d be home.

  ‘Here we are,’ she whispered. ‘Are you awake
?’

  There was no sound, no movement. Let him not be dead. She couldn’t bring herself to touch the heap of rags and find out.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Nothing.

  She should have brought food and water for it. She’d let it die. ‘Wake up!’ she cried desperately. ‘Get up! We can’t stay here!’

  The rags stirred, thank God.

  ‘Come on, we have to walk now. Quick! They might be after us.’ She lurched out of the boat on to the jetty. The creature crawled after her. ‘I’m sorry. I should have brought food. There’s some at home. It’s not far.’

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘Can you speak? Do you understand Commons?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Speak to me!’

  She heard a whisper. No more than a dead leaf blown across a flagstone: ‘Yes mistress.’

  Of course: he was a slave. He needed commands.

  ‘Come. Follow me.’ She began to totter towards the Gullgate lights. Behind her she could hear the poor creature’s dragging steps. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. She rubbed them away. As soon as she got in she’d put an end to this obscenity. Cut those manacles off.

  They passed under the arch and stumbled up the Skuller Road. Nearly home. It will be all right. Nearly home. The washeries stood dark and silent. Nobody was awake. Empty laundry lines criss-crossed the sky.

  There it was, there was her little house. She swallowed a sob. Never knew I was so feeble. But it was done. They’d made it home. She leant on the door. It swung open. The charm had stopped working altogether.

  ‘Here we are. Safe now. Will you come in?’

  But the slave stood like a broken post on the doorstep.

  ‘Come in!’ she ordered.

  He staggered over the threshold, into the room, eyes blank.

  ‘Guest, you are welcome to my home,’ said Anabara in her schoolgirl Fairy.

  A quiver ran through him at the sound of his Father-tongue. But there was no other response.

  ‘Right. Well. First things first.’ She blundered to the cupboard under the stairs and fetched out the long-armed bolt cutters. They looked strange to her, remote, blades still in their grease. Like an object recalled from childhood. Was it only that afternoon she’d bought them?