‘Bird, there is a cage of ducks here, just like they said!’ Chub squeaked from the other side of the wagon. ‘Live ducks! Six of them!’
Rye felt Bird tense, but she did not hesitate. ‘It can’t be helped,’ she snapped. ‘Put them out with the giant. And get rid of that pad of myrmon, Chub, for pity’s sake! You’ll have us all fainting, next.’
Silently Itch moved out of Rye’s view. Now! Rye thought. Very slowly, concentrating on not moving his shoulders, he began to edge his hand up towards the little brown bag.
He heard bumping and panting as Chub and Itch heaved boxes and sacks out onto the track to clear a path, then dragged Dirk’s body away. A few moments later, feet came padding back and there was a scraping sound as the duck cage was moved and lifted. The ducks quacked sleepily as they, too, were carried out.
Bird’s hand had stopped trembling but she was still breathing rapidly, and her body was rigid with tension. With agonising slowness Rye moved his fingers upwards.
‘Ready, Bean!’ he heard Chub call.
With a clank, a hiss and a creak the wagon began to move, very slowly at first and then a little faster. Pebbles shifted and cracked under the mighty rollers. The puffing, roaring sound began. The speed increased. The metal walls rattled, and the floor began to vibrate.
Bird breathed out. Her body relaxed a little. Plainly she had feared that Bean would not be able to make the monstrous vehicle start again. Rye gave a little grunt and lurched very slightly, as if the shuddering of the wagon had thrown him off balance. At the same time, he slid his hand up and pushed it inside his shirt so that the bag of powers was under his fingers.
‘Good work, Bean!’ Bird shouted over the noise of the wagon. ‘Now, Chub and Itch, clear everything else out! Everything but the jell safe and that black coat and cap I chose before.’
‘There’s some g-good stuff here, B-Bird!’ a male voice with a slight stammer complained. Itch, Rye thought, trying to loosen the neck of the little bag with his fingertips.
‘Yes, Bird!’ Chub cried shrilly. ‘Some of our own good tarny roots and goat meat, for a start! And the biggest bloodhog skull you’ve ever—’
‘Keep your minds on what we’re doing, for pity’s sake!’ Bird shouted, her voice sharp with irritation. ‘The wagon’s got to look the part or they’ll get suspicious. The plan’s risky enough as it is!’
Chub and Itch made no more protests. Fresh air, dust and steam wafted into the wagon as the hide curtain was pulled aside. Rattling, dragging sounds began, followed by dull thuds as goods were tossed out of the open doorway onto the side of the track.
Rye had managed to get the tip of one finger through the neck of the bag. He held his breath and pushed deeper, feeling for the armour shell.
And suddenly the front of his shirt lit up like a lantern! His finger had touched the light crystal, and the crystal had responded instantly. Even muffled by the fabric of the bag, its beam was startlingly bright in the dimness.
Rye jerked his hand back, but it was too late. Bird’s yell of shock was already ringing in his ears. Appalled, he heard Chub and Itch come running and heard Bean bellowing questions from the driver’s seat. He heard Bird gabbling orders, felt his arms caught and held. He felt Bird drag the little brown bag from under his shirt and with a snarl of disgust wrench it from his neck, snapping the red cord in two.
The next moment, the woman was pounding towards the front of the wagon and it was Itch who was dragging back his head and threatening him with the knife. Then Bird was back, planting herself in front of Rye so that he saw her for the first time.
She was shorter than Itch and Chub, with powerful shoulders and a mass of tightly curling brown hair. Her square, determined face was bleached and sweating, and she was rubbing the palms of her hands on her black goatskin jacket as if she had been touching something poisonous or disgusting.
‘There, the foul thing has gone,’ she panted.
‘No!’ Rye barely recognised his own voice as the word burst from his lips.
As Bird grinned, gleeful at his dismay, white-hot anger blazed through him. ‘You stupid, grinning barbarian!’ he shouted. ‘Do you know what you have done? You have thrown away your one chance of freedom from the Master!’
With fierce, pointless satisfaction he saw the woman’s face twitch, and the grin fade.
‘We were no threat to you!’ he raged on. ‘But you left my brother, drugged and helpless, in the Scour. And now you have robbed me of the only means I had to get back to him in time to save him!’
Hot tears were spilling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. Furiously he dashed them away.
Bird wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and exchanged glances with the silent Chub and Itch.
‘Finish clearing the wagon,’ she ordered.
‘But Bird—’ Rye heard Chub say doubtfully.
‘Go!’ Bird snapped. ‘I’ll be in no danger. Look at him! Now that his sorcerer’s bag of tricks has gone he’s nothing but a blubbering boy.’
Nothing she said could have dried Rye’s tears more quickly. At that moment he felt such hatred for her that he could have lunged forward and strangled her with his bare hands.
Perhaps she saw this in his eyes, for as Itch released him she quickly crouched by Sonia’s side, the knife in her hand.
‘Touch me and the witch dies,’ she said evenly.
Rye’s rage flickered and burned out, leaving him cold as ashes. He set his lips, and nodded.
‘Listen to me, Spy,’ Bird said, looking straight into his eyes. ‘It’s not our fault that you chose to stow away in Four-Eyes’ wagon tonight. We were already here when you came. Our plan was underway, and there was no turning back for us. We had no reason to trust you and couldn’t risk your interference. We did what we had to do.’
Rye kept silent. Did the woman think he was going to agree with her? Over the chugging of the wagon he could hear Chub and Itch disposing of the last of the trader’s stock. So much food, he thought. Enough to keep the people of the Den for a year or more.
‘You have lost a brother, but so have Bean and I,’ Bird went on evenly. ‘Two weeks ago, Bell was taken as a slave to the Diggings. Chub’s husband and Itch’s twin sisters were taken also, and sixteen others of our clan. Today we received their message telling us where in the Diggings they were. Tonight we are going to get them back.’
Rye felt a flicker of unwilling sympathy. He fought it down.
‘We were going to put all three of you out of the wagon, but when I saw you I realised we could use you,’ Bird said. ‘If you agree to help us, and our plan succeeds, you will be back with your brother before dawn.’
‘By then he will be dead,’ Rye answered, his lips barely moving. ‘A bloodhog will have taken him.’
‘Possibly,’ Bird agreed coolly. ‘But bloodhogs aren’t as common as they once were. It’s more likely that he will be lying exactly where we left him—thirsty and sore, but alive. We’ll give you food and water, then you can go your way and we’ll go ours.’
‘And if I don’t agree to help you?’
‘Then I’ll kill the witch before your eyes, and then kill you.’
Rye stared at her. She returned his gaze unflinchingly.
He found himself doubting that she would carry out her threat. He was almost sure she would not. But he knew he could not take the risk. Bird was desperate. It seemed to him that even she did not know what she would do if he refused her.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘What do you want me to do?’
17 - The Diggings
Rye saw the Diggings long before the wagon reached it. Light thick with smoke and dust filled the horizon to the right of the track, crawling upwards to meet the clouds, oozing through the wire mesh of a high fence like soup through a strainer to pool on the tortured earth of the Scour.