Strange Attractors (16 page)

Only if you promise to never turn me into a sheepdog again.

Agreed.

She grabbed An’ Lawrence. He laboured to stay
upright, his hand clamping his thigh. She realised now that much of the blood saturating his clothes was his own. ‘You’re a mess, Sword Master.’

‘Thank you, Rosette. You’re quite a sight yourself.’

She brushed off the comment, catching him as he listed to the side. ‘That arrow wasn’t dipped, was it?’

‘A touch of hemlock, apparently.’

‘Now you mention?’

‘We’ve been busy.’

‘Come on. One more glamour and we’re out of here.’

As she honed her thoughts towards the temple cats, energy drew to them, clinging like metal filings to a magnet, until they morphed, taking on the shape of huge bullmastiffs. The blood on their muzzles and throats she didn’t have to fake. In the guise of a High Guard officer, she snapped leashes to their spiked collars and pushed An’ Lawrence in front of them.

‘Hands behind your back,’ she said, binding them.

‘You think we’re going to walk right out of here, like this?’

‘I do. Please try to look defeated. In your state, it shouldn’t be difficult.’

His eyes flashed once before he acquiesced. She gave him a nudge towards the bottom of the stairwell then followed behind, the death dogs straining at their leads, snapping and growling.

As they reached the landing, a score of warriors entered the tower, pushing past the water line. Rows of men and women were passing buckets hand over hand, a meagre attempt considering the size of the blaze. All the warriors veered away from her party. No one was keen to stand in the path of a death dog, though the captain drew his sword, shouting to Rosette from across the doorway, ‘Where’re you taking him?’

‘Out for a feed, of course.’

He nodded. ‘Any more up there?’

‘They’ve got the witch cornered. You’d do best to put out the flames before they reach the armoury.’

‘The armoury!’ he shouted.

Smoke billowed and a thunder of explosions erupted. The walls of the tower rippled. Rosette used the moment to carry on, marching her prisoner past the warriors and out of the citadel as it crumbled around them. She didn’t look back, though she felt their eyes return to her when the blast subsided. Had the glamour slipped? Looking down she caught her breath. Her belly seemed to have doubled in size.

Maudi?

I don’t know what’s happened, Drayco, but suddenly I feel the need to sit down.

Not yet. Keep walking.

I will, and you keep snapping. You’re hungry, remember? And he’s food.

Cool air hit her as she walked into the night. There were clanging bells and rushing people, a horde of noise around them. The square was grey with smoke, flames licking the rooftops on both sides of the street. People ran in every direction: the appearance of the death dogs scattered them like hens. She doubted the coach would still be waiting, but she headed them across the square and down the side alley anyway. They had to get out of the city fast. It was going up in cinders. When they reached the shadows of the side street, she let the glamour drop, falling with it to the ground.

‘Rosette!’

An’ Lawrence was hovering over her, slapping her face until she opened her eyes. On his third swipe, she grabbed his wrist before contact, stopping him short. ‘Enough. I’m awake.’

Drayco’s nose pressed into her neck.
He was worried, Maudi. Angry too, I think. We have to get out of here.

‘Rosette!’ The Sword Master stared at her. ‘You’re pregnant!’

She clutched Drayco’s neck, ignoring her father’s hand, and pulled herself up. Her belly swelled in front of her, making it hard to get to her feet. Her balance was all wrong; the buttons on her coat strained and her back felt like an anvil was pressing into it.

‘It does seem that way, doesn’t it?’ she said, warding him off when he tried to steady her. ‘How did you end up in there?’ She tilted her head towards the flaming citadel.

‘Don’t change the subject. What are you thinking, travelling the corridors like this?’ He caught her as she slumped.

‘I wasn’t like this yesterday.’

Maudi? Fire’s coming. Time to go.

She straightened, unbuttoning her coat and loosening her sword belt to adjust it lower on her hips. Instant relief. Her clothes had been too tight, was all. ‘What’s the fastest way out of here, Sword Master?’

‘To the south. We can take the quarry road.’

‘Quarry?’

‘It’s a bit of a climb. There are steps, though, all the way down.’

‘Lead on.’ With an arm around her belly, Rosette followed him through the maze of alleyways, slowing when she heard music.

‘Come, Rosette. This way. You have to keep moving.’ He waited for her to catch up.

‘Hang on.’ She cocked her head. ‘Do you hear that?’

‘I hear the sound of Corsanons marching towards us with battle-axes. Let’s go!’

‘No, it’s something else. That music. Listen.’ She pressed her ear against the brick wall. The fires were far behind, and the wall cool to the touch. Music played inside, light as a harvest festival. ‘I know that tune.’

‘It’s not from Treeon.’

‘I recognise it anyway.’

‘I’m glad you have such an eclectic ear. You can hum it to me as we escape.’ He grabbed her shoulder.

‘It’s more than that.’ She felt the colour drain from her face. ‘I know that musician.’

‘Not likely. We are way before your time, or mine.’

‘It’s Clay,’ she said. Tears formed in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

He shook his head. ‘Clay’s dead, love. And we’re way before his time too.’ An’ Lawrence pulled her into his arms. ‘Pregnancy does strange things to the mind, Rosette. It’s okay. Come along.’

It does sound like him, Maudi, now that you mention it. It sounds like Clay.

She gave the Sword Master a quick squeeze and slipped out of the embrace. ‘I’ve got to check.’

‘The pub? No way!’

‘I’ll just be a moment.’ She looked up at the sign. It was newly painted, as were the doors. It read: ‘The Shek Inn’.

‘Rosette! You can’t. We’re nearly to the quarry road and…’

His voice faded as she pushed through the double doors, Drayco leading the way into the noisy pub.

Shane was panting when he reached the top of the stairs. The climb had been steeper than expected. How many storeys could there be? True, he hadn’t studied the rooftop when they’d approached the cabin. It was
dark and he’d been much too busy fending off Halo to take in the architecture. He’d assumed it was a simple loft but now he felt like they had climbed to the top of Mount Pelt.

Odd that their hostess, May, with her generous size and weight, was not winded. She appeared before him as if awaking from a nap, not even any colour in her cheeks. Selene seemed perplexed as well, though his thoughts did not stay with that mystery for long. Perhaps it would have been better if they had. He might have grabbed Selene, turned around and run for his life. But he didn’t. He stood on the landing and May pushed open the door, waving them in.

The stench hit him before he could back away. He clapped his hand over his nose and he tried not to breathe. Lungs burning, he gulped in a breath, sickly odour and all. At first he thought there must be rat traps in the attic—definitely something dead—until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. There was no preparation for what he saw, not even in his most macabre nightmare. Bile rose and he swallowed it, listening to Selene do the same.

The attic was long, running the length of the cabin, with high-pitched rafters sloping down to the floor creating the shape of an A. But the design was not what shocked him. There were cabins in the mountains above T’locity made of similar shape. What shivered him to the bone was the content. Never before had he seen such a horrible mixture of treasures and chests—rib cages and skulls, femurs and toes, bodies decomposing among the gold and jewels.

Trunks piled high with coins and sparkling gems were thrown open, the contents spilling over the tops to form mounds of wealth on the floor. Clothes were scattered here and there—frilly dresses, military
uniforms and children’s garb, some fine and new, some tattered and worn. Rifles and china cups, books and maps, kettles, forks, knives and clocks all strewn like leaves in a storm. There were signs of struggle: tables overturned, lamps knocked askew, gold and silver flung in every direction. And then there were bodies, the source of the smell. Corpses were everywhere, in various stages of decomposition, the sickly-sweet aroma of death wafting up from torn limbs. He wanted to throw up.

Selene gasped beside him, snapping shut her mouth as he gripped her arm. He could feel her fear through his hand.

‘See anything you recognise?’ May asked.

Her voice was as entreating as ever, as if she’d simply said,
fancy a cup of tea?

‘Not exactly,’ Shane said, though his eye caught the bag in the far corner—his bag, with his flutes and whistle from Los Loma poking out the top. Their swords were next to it, on a chest of gold.

‘Have a good look around.’ May flung her arms wide open. ‘While there’s time.’

‘I think I’ve seen enough,’ he said, backing towards the door. He kept Selene by his side. She didn’t resist.

‘No, no. Look harder. You stay too, Tamin.’ She pushed the boy back when he tried to leave. ‘See if you can find something that you want to take with you.’ She left, slamming the door behind her. Her laughter echoed as she retreated down the stairs, boards creaking and groaning under her weight. They all stood looking at each other in silence.

‘What is this place?’ Selene finally said.

‘It’s what the river brings,’ Tamin answered. His voice was clear, like a small-town bell. The sound of it surprised Shane though he couldn’t give it full
consideration. His eyes were riveted to the bodies. They were in poses of struggle, some clutching the gold with bony fingers, some scratching at the barred windows, tags of flesh falling from their hands and elbows.

‘I think we’d best go while we can,’ Selene said. ‘May’s not in a right frame of mind.’

Shane nodded, reaching for the nearest chest to scoop up a handful of gold. ‘We might as well have something to trade when we find our way back to Tensar. This is weighty gold. A temple full of instruments in one hand alone.’

Tamin grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back; the coins fell through his fingers. ‘Don’t touch.’

‘Why, lad? We’ve an unknown journey ahead and she clearly offered it. I’ll get my pack as well, and the swords.’

Tamin shook his head. ‘That’s what she always says, but she doesn’t mean well.’

Shane looked again at the corpse nearest him. The gold coins had slid from its skeleton hand, down the arm, to pile high in a hollow ribcage.

‘Best not to touch,’ Tamin said again.

Shane shook his hand as if spiders had crawled over it, brushing away the memory of the gold. ‘Who is she, Tamin?’

‘May’s the River Queen. We have to do what she asks.’

Shane attempted a smile to keep the child from fear but it went crooked. ‘And what has she asked of you?’

‘To play her the fiddle, of course. And not say a word.’

‘I think it’s time we all leave.’ He gripped the door knob. It moved a quarter turn but no more. He leaned his shoulder into it and shoved. It didn’t budge.

‘Too late,’ Tamin said.

‘Is there any other way out?’

‘None that’s ever been found, as far as I can see.’

‘But you’ve managed. She’s sent you here more than once and you’ve come trotting back.’

The boy shook his head. ‘She’s never closed me in before.’

‘There’re swords here, heavy blades. We can cut our way out and…’ Selene faltered.

‘You think they didn’t try?’ Shane pointed to the marks on the door and walls.

‘They grabbed the booty, is what stopped them.’ Selene’s voice gained confidence. ‘Forget the gold. Forget the treasures. Don’t look at it. Don’t touch a thing. There has to be another way out.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Shane asked, his eyes going to the barred window high above.

‘Because I’m not going to die here in this stinking room. Come on. Give me a boost. There’s a chink of light behind that wardrobe. Lift me up.’

There was no way out there but Selene didn’t stop searching. They all fell to inspecting the walls, going over them inch by inch. Shane applied himself to the search. Maybe if they ignored the treasures, they would find what the others had missed.

E
verett hacked at the woody vines. His arms were aching, the blade heavy in his hand. Sweat dripped down his neck and saturated his shirt. His palms were slick with it. The smell of freshly chopped yucca and banana leaves rose from the ground, the sun drawing its essence upward in steamy tendrils, moist and sweet. He cut at the base of a petrified fern tree, the machete bouncing off the trunk.

‘Damn the thieving demon!’ he cursed, but the sound of his voice was drowned out by parrots chattering in the rainforest canopy. It was an empty threat, and he knew it. ‘Stop laughing at me,’ he said, shaking his fist at the rainbow birds.

Everything ridiculed him—the parrots, the heat, the greenery. He felt it in the intensity of the light, the smell of the air and the cackling sounds in his head. Of course they laughed. They had good reason. Everett had got himself lost again, and was doing his best not to let the
crazed desperation take over. He wiped his hands on his pants. ‘How could I have let them go?’

He took off his pack and sat on a fallen log, drinking from his waterskin. That was one thing never in short supply: water—clear, clean and abundant. It rained buckets every afternoon and he could fill his canteen, and slake his thirst, in moments during a cloudburst. That’s why everything grew so fast—the trees, the ferns, the birds. He looked over his shoulder at the trail that had taken hours to blaze. It was already closing over, like a wake behind a boat, subsumed into the jungle—a curtain of green heat. He slumped against the tree, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d lost the trail and he’d lost his way. He’d lost the thief. It couldn’t get any worse.