Текст книги "The Equen Queen"

Автор книги: Alyssa Brugman

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Fracas

Throughout the city Tab heard the distress signal repeated, Alarm! Alarm! Followed by the crashes and bangs, breaking glass, snarls and yelps of brawls breaking out in the streets and taverns.

Tab hurtled down the lane after Fontagu with Chak hard on her heels. The sky-trader snagged one of her pigtails and Tab's head jerked. ‘Ahh!’ she called as she lost her footing and slipped. Chak straddled her and pummelled with her fists. Tab screamed, but knew her calls for help would go unnoticed in the fracas all around.

Suddenly, Chak made a funny ‘Yoick!’ noise, and Tab felt the weight lift off her stomach. The skytrader's arms and legs flailed as Vrod held her by the scruff of the neck.

‘You!’ Tab gasped. ‘Are you following me?’

‘Verris say watch the girl. I watch the girl,’ the troll grunted. His nostrils flared and his ears waggled as he took in the sounds and aroma of the fighting. His eyes took on a dreamy look, like a dog scratching an itch. ‘Go. I've got bones to crack. Fresh marrow!’ Vrod licked his lips.

Chak yelped and thrashed but the troll held her at arm's length as though she were a naughty kitten.

Tab scrambled to her feet and dashed off down the alley. In the streets around her she could hear the thump of running boots, roars, grunts and the clash of metal as sky-traders and Quentarans fought each other. Still, her way was clear, apart from rats and cats lurking in corners and picking their way through the debris that lined the alley.

As she ran she noticed that the sandpaper feeling in her head had diminished. It wasn't gone altogether, but she felt that she could mind-meld if she concentrated hard. It was a good feeling – a satisfying feeling, like splashing your face with cold water on a hot day.

Tab reached a crossroads and she stopped, trying to get her bearings. At the end of the alleyway she could see at least twenty people fighting. Hulk Duelph and his fiery sister Taschia despatched opponents side by side. Rad de La'rel and his partner Tulcia chased two sky-traders that they had disarmed along the street.

The sky-traders stopped to collect swords from fallen comrades and soon the tables were turned.

Drunk Quentarans and trolls threw themselves into the fray with relish. The tiny sky-traders fought with efficient accuracy. In the gloom it was hard for Tab to tell who was winning.

Which way would Fontagu go? Tab wondered. It couldn't be! The old slaughterhouse! What a place to take a sad old animal! She turned in a circle and realised she was not fifty paces from the doorway. Checking that she was not being followed, Tab rushed up to the building.

Fontagu poked his head out of the doorway, listening to the screams and the fighting in the streets. He gathered his cloak closer about him.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he said, picking Tab's form out of the gloom. He rushed into the alley and hauled Tab inside by the sleeve, slamming the door behind them.

Once inside he ran from window to window, fastening shutters that still had hinges and locks, and shoving old equipment in front of windows that were bare. His cloak flapped about his limbs as he scurried.

The equen stood in the middle of the slaughterhouse looking bewildered and miserable.

Tab stepped over the old timber and broken beams that littered the floor. She took in the fragrance of the mare's breath. It smelt sickly, like overripe fruit, and cloying like turned cream. Her flanks were hollow with dehydration and the dried sweat made grimy curlicues of her dirty coat.

At the end of the row Tab pushed open the halfdoor of an old stall that still had some straw in it. The equen stumbled toward an open barrel, halffilled with stagnant water.

‘Wait,’ Tab said. She dragged the barrel out into the main holding area and tipped the foul water into the drain. Then she hauled the barrel across to a rusty water pump in the corner. It was corroded, and squeaked as she pumped, but the water that came from the spout smelt fresh enough.

Tab lugged it back to the stable and stood it in the corner. The equen drank with gusto, and the muscles beneath her eyes twitched with every gulp she took.

‘Slow.’ Tab placed a hand on the mare's neck pushing her head away from the water. Too much too fast would make her ill.

The equen staggered away from the barrel. She swayed on her feet.

‘You can sleep. I will keep watch,’ Tab promised.

The mare fixed Tab with a wary and intense gaze for a moment and then, satisfied that her new friend would maintain the vigil as promised, sniffed the bedding. She dropped to her knees. The rest of her body hit the floor with a thump. Her head drooped until her chin was resting somewhere deep in the straw. She groaned, a hoarse wheeze in her chest. She blinked three times and then her eyes stayed closed.

Tab's eyes ran over the little equen's tired and defeated body. She could see the intricate pattern on the backs of her legs. ‘Tattoo,’ she whispered. ‘That's your name, isn't it?’

The mare's eyes fluttered open for a second and Tab saw gratitude there. Tab knew that this equen was as far from home as she had ever been – so far it seemed unfathomable. It was plain on her face that she'd given up any hope of seeing her own kind again.

That feeling of sorrow that she'd felt on the skytraders’ ship draped over her. It was so heavy Tab didn't think she could stay upright. She crouched down next to the equen. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Tab thought of telling Tattoo about the other two equens at the palace livery. They could go there after the fighting was over – assuming that Quentaris won.

‘No time for that!’ Fontagu said interrupting her thoughts. ‘Wake her up. Use that mind skill of yours. I want to know everything.’ He prodded Tab in the side. ‘Go on, then.’

‘She's exhausted!’ Tab protested, slapping his hand away.

‘Listen!’ Fontagu tilted his head to the side. ‘Can you hear it? Sky-traders are fighting with us, taking lives, risking their own, for her.’ He nodded towards the equen again. ‘Must be worth something, wouldn't you say?’

Fontagu rubbed his hands together, almost jigging with joy. ‘Tee hee!’ he chortled. ‘I knew it! The moment I clapped eyes on the old girl in her cage this morning. But I have always been an excellent judge of true value.’

‘I won't help you!’ Tab said, rubbing her streaming eyes with her sleeve.

‘Yes, you will.’ Fontagu grinned. ‘You can't help yourself.’ He chuckled again. ‘Just at dusk the clouds rolled in and there was an empty vessel in the harbour.’ His fingers danced in front of his face. ‘It was like divine providence. There was no one standing guard. No one! Can you imagine? Those sky pedlars must have mistaken Quentarans for honest folk.’

‘Most of us are!’ Tab told him, but even as she said it she reddened. While she preferred to make an honest living, she had ‘borrowed’ when the opportunity arose.

‘… or fools.’ Fontagu regarded her for a moment with a faint smile on his face. Then his mind turned to self-congratulation once more. He strode about, as though he were on a stage, snapping his fingers. ‘I just have an instinct! It's a gift. Like you, for example. You're not much to look at. Just a scrap of a thing really, but useful, and I saw it first! This one will be just the same. You watch.’ He crouched down next to her. ‘Go on, then. Burrow in there, little mouse.’

Tab looked down at the wretched dozing equen and realised that Fontagu was right. She wasn't going to leave her here at his mercy. She'd made a promise.

She closed her eyes and reached out for Tattoo's mind. When she found it Tab couldn't tell if what she was seeing was in the present, or the past, or sometime in the future. It was as though she was living inside the equen's dream.

Tab saw a savannah. Stunted, misshapen trees clung to the landscape like sea anemones on a tide. Spiny grasses sprouted out of the soil in patches between craters of salt and sand. In the distance high mountains loomed and shimmered a deep purple colour.

A family of fin lizards caught a breeze and sailed across the flats, their legs cycling faster and faster. Impossibly fast, they bounded into the air, their fins billowing, as they snatched buzzing insects out of the sky.

There were people, sandy-skinned, with rich, chocolate-coloured hair – the same colours as the equens, like the boy in her dream.

‘Herdsfolk’ and ‘two-legged’ were the words that popped into Tab's head when she saw them, but Tattoo didn't think in words, she thought in feelings. Her feelings about the herdsfolk were that they were safe, near and bossy. They were useful, particularly in their ‘otherness’ – in their ‘two-leggedness’.

Dotted here and there were herdsfolk sentries standing with one heel resting on the inside of their opposite knee, watching the horizon. Others squatted in groups, painting the backs of each other's legs with the round, curlicue script of the equen's tattoos.

Next she saw the herd of equens crossing the long, flat plains. Herdsfolk carried packs and wore long hooded cloaks. Tab felt warm but the air was frozen as it filled her lungs. The mountains were much closer. Some of the younger, more daring drones galloped in the shadow of the foothills. Tab felt anxious. This was the migration – necessary, but forbidding.

A new image washed over Tab and she cried out. A dark shadow passed overhead. She looked up, but was blinded by the sunlight. There was a strong smell, though, of rancid fat and decaying meat. It was such a horrifying smell that she could barely stop herself from running with fear.

She could hear the herdsfolk calling to each other and shooting at the dark shapes with their slings. Nearby an equen screamed as it was dragged into the sky with two huge sets of claws dug deep into its flesh. Tab felt ice-cold and hot at the same time as adrenaline flooded her limbs. Every muscle tensed. She felt loss and terror press against her, crushing her until she couldn't breathe. Her nostrils flared as she took in as much air as she could.

Run! Run first, and then look back, she thought. It made sense when running was what you did best of all. Tab jolted back into her own body and opened her eyes. All at once she understood what it was to be prey.

Tattoo

Tattoo twitched in her sleep.

‘What is it?’ Fontagu asked.

She thought about the sky-traders carting the equens around with slings under the wing craft, and how terrifying that must be for an equen. It was their worst nightmare. It was cruel.

Tab ran her hands over Tattoo's neck. ‘They live for much longer than Quentaran horses.’

‘How long?’

Tab shrugged. It was hard to quantify in Tattoo's terms. ‘Maybe two hundred winters.’

Fontagu's eyes widened.

Tab continued. ‘There is only one breeding pair in the herd. Each year the queen has two foals – one male and one female. Every five winters, all the males of age leave the herd together and go through the forest in search of a new herd. The strongest will find one.’

‘And what if they don't?’

Tab winced.

‘Oh,’ said Fontagu. ‘And what about the other mares? What do they do?’

‘They're workers. They heal the herdsfolk. It's a desert. There's not much to eat for the people. They don't get all they need to stay healthy. That can make them weak and sick. The equens heal them, and in return the herdsfolk protect them and tend to them.’

‘So the males don't do this healing?’ Fontagu pressed.

Tab shook her head. ‘She doesn't seem to think so.’ Of course, it made sense. Talisman and Trinket, the equens the sky-traders had sold them were useless, except as packhorses.

‘Splendid that we have a mare,’ Fontagu said, rubbing his hands together. ‘You know, I think I'm beginning to feel better already. Ten years younger at least.’

Tab ignored him. She knotted her fingers in the equen's mane, consumed by the image of the dark shadows overhead and the screaming. ‘In deep winter the mountains are crusted with ice and there is nothing left awake or alive in the forest, then the scavenjaws come down from the hills to find food on the plains. The mares will stand between the scavenjaws and their queen.’

‘Until?’ prompted Fontagu.

She shuddered. ‘Until the scavenjaws have no more appetite.’

‘One would want to be born the queen, wouldn't one?’ Fontagu observed. ‘I wonder if those skytraders have any more mares? If I had a few more I could probably live forever. Find out if the healing works better if you eat them. Does she have some kind of gland we could drain?’ Fontagu grinned. ‘I know a fellow who will sell me a pallet of pipettes. We can set up our bottling operation right here.’

‘Nobody is going to let you keep her. They will know you stole her!’ Tab told him.

‘Who will? Your friend Verris the pirate? Drass Nibhelline? Or did you have some other model of virtuous commercial conduct in mind? For all they know I could have bought this old nag fair and square.’ Fontagu rubbed his chin. ‘Go ahead and tell your snooty council! I dare you!’

Tab frowned at the ugly expression on Fontagu's face. She turned away as he started pacing out the space inside the slaughterhouse, muttering measurements to himself.

She stroked the mare's neck and Tattoo opened her eyes.

What if the queen gets sick, or dies from a serpent bite? she wondered. What happens to the herd if the queen has an accident? She looked in Tattoo's eyes searching for an answer. Tattoo looked beyond her shoulder, as though considering the question. Tab couldn't feel an answer. Tab guessed that the equen hadn't seen it happen.

›››Until now

Tab was startled.›››What do you mean?

The equen rocked onto her stomach and stretched her neck forward. Tab held out a hand to her.

›››I am Tattoo

Tab suddenly understood. ‘Tattoo’ stood out in her head the way that ‘herdsfolk’ and ‘two-legged’ did. The mare thought, ‘I am Tattoo’, but what she meant was, ‘I am the equen queen’. Tab felt the deep sadness sweep over her again. It was not just Tattoo's fate – there was a whole herd that relied on her, and the herdsfolk too. She remembered the scene of the migration. How many souls depended on this queen?

Tab lay down in the straw next to Tattoo and laid her hand over the equen's shoulder. She closed her eyes.

All at once there was a rumble. Tattoo's eyes widened, she set her legs wide apart to brace herself. Tab sat up, not sure how long she had slept – or whether she had been asleep at all. She looked through a window, up near the slaughterhouse ceiling. High above the city, sails whipped and slapped as the sky-sailors lashed them into place. Rigging clanked as ropes whistled through the pulleys.

Simultaneously, Tab felt a heavy throbbing begin within the core of Quentaris. There was a deep whock whock whock noise. The engines that propelled Quentaris had started. After such a long time of stillness Tab had forgotten how loud they were, and how you could feel the thrum of it in your gut, and the prickle of the magic somewhere behind your eyes.

Tab jumped to her feet. Fontagu grabbed her wrist. ‘Where are you going?’

‘We can't leave here,’ she said. ‘That will only take us further away from Tattoo's world. She has to go home.’

Fontagu held on tight. ‘We can make a lovely home right here. We'll get some nice fresh straw. You can brush her twice a day.’

‘Let go of me!’ Tab struggled against him.

‘And oats for her to eat. Yum, yum. She'll learn to love it. You watch. So much nicer than some nasty old desert,’ he wheedled.

Tab wrenched her hand away and sprinted for the door. She threw it open and looked up. She could hear Tibbid's cries ringing through the streets, urging people to return to their homes and to brace themselves for the coming tumult as the city neared a vortex.

Tab thrust both hands out, steadying herself in the doorway, hardly daring to look, but unable to look away. The sky was undulating, swollen in ugly yellows and greys, like an old bruise. Clouds roiled and a series of deafening peals of thunder shook the ground. The sails bulged, deflated and bulged again.

The sky seemed to spin faster, but it was Quentaris that was spinning, twisting and plummeting through the vortex. The timber shuddered under her hands. The sky was a blur now. Her head whirled. Her stomach heaved and churned.

She cast her eyes skyward one more time, and this time Quentaris pitched. Tab saw through the spinning vortex to the calm skies they were leaving behind. The sky-traders’ city skimmed on the edge of the vortex like a stone skipping across the top of a pond.

Why aren't they following us in? she wondered.

Then, for just a few seconds, Tab saw her friend, Melprin, straight as an arrow, dive-bombing the city, wrenching sails and rigging in her huge talons, throwing them out into the open sky or deep into the mouth of the vortex. With a bellow of fury the dragon tore away one of the smaller masts and thrust it through one of the buildings like a javelin. The sky-traders’ city listed and Tab could see one of her propellers hanging askew.

They couldn't follow even if they wanted to. The dragon had cast them adrift.

Tab held her breath, waiting for Melprin to pull back, to turn, to follow Quentaris into the vortex, but she was in a frenzy of destruction. Tab gripped the doorframe tighter still, until her knuckles were white. She was awed by the power of the dragon, the grace of her fury.

Tab's guilt and regret washed over her. It was her fault the dragon had lost her egg. Melprin had saved her again and again. If they left her behind Tab could never make it up to her.

The Roofie's Find

Captain Verris frowned as he strode along the parapet, swivelling his head this way and that, barking out commands. Various guards approached to deliver reports or send messages. High above them the skysailors scampered about the rigging, shouting orders to each other. Storm's City Watch jogged through the streets in formation, arms at the ready, rounding up the last of the sky-traders left in the city after the fracas.

Most Quentarans stayed in their homes, peeking through windows and out of doors, waiting for word that the coast was clear. Others had already emerged and now stood at the City Wall peering over the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the new world below. Earlier, Tab herself had taken a brief glimpse at the mountain range spread untidily beneath them like a rumpled sack.

Tab ran beside Verris, struggling to keep up. She was puffing, and on the verge of tears. She had already tried talking to Storm, to Chief Navigator Stelka, even to Captain Bellgard, but nobody was listening. It had been hours since they had come out of the vortex. She had returned to Verris once more. Someone had to hear her sooner or later, and it seemed to Tab that Verris was her best bet.

‘We have to go back. Why won't you believe me? Tattoo has to return to her world. Now! Quickly! While we know the vortex is still there.’

It had crossed Tab's mind that the navigators might not be able to find the vortex again, that it would disappear like others had in the past, and then they would be stuck. Tattoo would be trapped here, and Melprin would be trapped there.

Chances were that the dragon would tire. The rage that fuelled her would fade away. The sky-traders would defeat her eventually. What would they do to her? Chain her up and keep her below decks? Starve her to keep her weak? Worse? Just the thought of it created a great big lump in Tab's throat, as if she had swallowed an apple whole.

Captain Verris stopped suddenly and turned on his heel. Tab ran into him. ‘Oof! Sorry,’ she mumbled, embarrassed.

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Tab, I'm busy right now. We have no idea where we are, or what threats may face us. Can't you see that we have to prepare the city? If we go back we will have to face the sky-traders again, and who knows? Maybe Tolrush will have caught up with us by then. Do you see? We can't go back. I know you are worried about your little pony, but everybody is working together for once. Everyone except you.’

‘My little pony!’ she spluttered. ‘Didn't you hear what I said? The sky-traders attacked Quentaris over “my little pony”.’

‘We don't know that for sure,’ Verris interrupted. ‘You said yourself they had been planning it from the beginning.’

‘But Fontagu…’ she began.

Verris waved his arm dismissively. ‘Yes, yes. You said. Fontagu's evil scheme to trade in the elixir of youth.’ He sighed. ‘When you get as old as I am you will find that a lot of people think they have found the key to eternal life, and even more people are foolish enough to pay them for it. Let me give you a little tip, my young friend.’ He leaned in closer to her. ‘Live well today.’

‘But it's true!’ she protested.

‘All right!’ He held both his hands up. ‘Go! Bring this pony of yours to me. Prove it!’

Tab let out her breath in a whoosh. ‘Thank you!’

She swung around and sprinted back the way she had come, back through the streets and alleys to the slaughterhouse.

When she arrived the door was ajar. Tab leaned against the outside wall catching her breath. Odd, she thought. Fontagu wouldn't risk anyone looking in. Something was wrong.

She peeked through the door. Fontagu lay flat on his back on the floor. His cloak had ridden up and Tab could see his long, scrawny legs. She crept inside warily, but couldn't see anyone else. The stable was empty. ‘Tattoo?’ she called out. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, but all she heard were panicked birds and rats, and a few pets in surrounding houses. The equen queen was not nearby.

‘Fontagu?’ Tab leaned over, poking him in the chest experimentally with her toe.

Suddenly Fontagu awoke with a snort and Tab jumped back, letting out a little shriek.

‘Attacked,’ he mumbled. ‘Monster. A giant. Tall as two men. Must have had six axes, at least. A great club hanging from his belt. Foul breath.’

‘What happened to Tattoo?’ she asked.

Fontagu sat up slowly, feeling his skull, and looking at his fingers, as though he expected to see blood. He looked over at the empty stable and pursed his lips. ‘Stolen!’ Then he sighed. ‘Probably in a pie by now. Still, I am lucky that the beast spared my life.’

‘Which way did he go?’ Tab asked.

Fontagu stared at her. ‘Didn't you hear what I said? I was ambushed! He came up behind me, and whack! Down I went. Coward. I didn't see which way he went.’

‘You didn't see? I thought you said it was a giant beast with six axes,’ Tab said.

Fontagu put a hand on his chest. ‘I could have been murdered!’

Tab jumped up and jogged to the door.

‘Where are you going?’ Fontagu scrambled after her.

‘Back to the council,’ she called over her shoulder.

‘Don't leave me here! What if he comes back?’ He stood, brushing himself off. ‘I'm coming with you.’

‘I thought you were almost mortally wounded,’ Tab said, looking him up and down.

‘The equen must have healed me before she left,’ he explained as the two hurried through the streets towards the Archon's Palace.

Tab smiled to herself. She had been running around Quentaris all day, and if there had been a giant monster wielding six axes she would have seen it, or heard someone talking about it. On the other hand, a man slightly taller than Fontagu with one axe, whom had merely startled Fontagu into a faint, could move around Quentaris entirely unremarked upon.

Normally when Tab walked down the dim stone corridor to the throne room she could hear voices echoing off the cold walls inside the chamber, but today it was silent. She had almost decided that the throne room was empty. But when she inched the heavy, wooden door open, she saw the council sitting around the great table.

Standing to one side was a slender man whose name Tab didn't know, although he looked faintly familiar to her.

In the middle of the table was an oval object. At first Tab thought it was a hooey ball, but then her heart skipped in her chest. It looked just like Melprin's egg!

‘How in the name of the odd gods?’ Tab began. Then she realised where she had seen the slender man before. He was the roofie with the lute she had heard singing to his friends as she rushed up the stairs to Melprin's tower. He must have heard Melprin crashing through the wall of the tower. He would have been underneath them when they were flying. He must have caught the egg when it fell from Tab's arms.

On the table Melprin's egg quivered and then was still. There was a definite smell coming from it – a hot, acrid, sulphurous smell.

‘How long did you say it's been doing that for?’ Chief Navigator Stelka asked, gripping the edge of the table.

The roofie bit his lip. ‘Just after we emerged from the vortex, I think. I was a little bit distracted before that, with the fighting and everything.’

The egg cracked a little – a hairline, right across the top, and the members of the council pushed their chairs back from the table.

‘And the city dragonkeeper is… ’ Bellgard began.

‘I… I thought it was purely a ceremonial role,’ Florian stuttered.

‘You're the city's dragonkeeper?’ Storm asked.

‘No. Well… I hold the amulet of the dragonkeeper, but you can have it back. I don't think anyone expected me to take care of a real one!’

‘Does anybody have any idea what a baby dragon eats?’ Verris asked, looking around the table.

‘Limbs would be my guess.’ Tash Morley laughed, but it was a shrill, panicky sound.

The egg cracked a little more and a hot, metallic odour emerged from it in a steamy waft. It smelled like the smithy's furnace. The council members pushed their chairs back a little more.

‘I suppose I could convince Vrod to give up his store of spoiled boingy deer meat,’ Verris mused aloud. ‘Can your magicians contain it? Mesmerise it somehow?’

Stelka shook her head. ‘I don't know. Perhaps for a short while. You must understand that we have focused all our efforts on navigation. Many of the other crafts have been overlooked. There would be something in the ancient texts, surely, but it would take time.’

‘I vote we throw it over the edge,’ Florian said. ‘Now!’

‘How do you abandon something that has wings and a strong sense of smell?’ Storm asked him. ‘It will come after us!’

‘Then lock it in the dungeon!’ Tash Morley implored. The egg rolled on its side towards him, trailing smoke. He shrieked and drew back.

‘For how long? It's a dragon! Who knows what it can do? You want an orphaned, angry dragon soaring around Quentaris?’ Florian asked, edging further backwards.

‘Then what would you have us do?’ Stelka snapped. ‘I have no idea how long these things take to mature. Do you? It might hatch fully fledged. It could be a tantrum-throwing toddler for fifty years – maybe a hundred! We could be plagued by this thing for generations.’

Around the table, members of the council nodded solemnly.

‘Maybe Tab should take it,’ Florian suggested. ‘She's supposed to be able to talk to it, isn't she?’

Verris said, ‘The dragon needs a parent. We have no choice. We go back.’ His eyes settled on Tab's face for a second and he winked. ‘The first person to disagree can take this egg home with them.’ He fixed the council with a stony glare. None challenged him. Their eyes were glued to the egg.