Chasing the Valley Read online

  ‘It varies. Some are more common than others. Rain, Wind, Bird, even Darkness itself . . .’ He paused. ‘Everyone’s magic is like a radio message, but not everyone’s radio is tuned to the same frequency.’

  ‘What about Mother? Does she have a proclivity too?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ My father smiled then, looking a little wistful. ‘Her proclivity is Daylight.’

  I think of that conversation now, as I slosh through Rourton’s sewers. My mother loved the sky. Every dawn she would throw open a window and coax gentle curls of light inside to wake our sleeping forms. There’s no sky down here to remind me of her. But I can hear the bombs falling – muffled echoes through the earth – and that’s enough to trigger my memories. I can’t picture my mother’s proclivity mark, but I can hear her death. Again and again, with every whistle and flare of tonight’s bombing. With every crash, I hear her die.

  The mud is getting thicker now. My boots stick a little with every stride, as though the tunnel wants to suck me down into the dark.

  ‘Hurry up!’ a girl shouts.

  I freeze. The voice has come from up ahead, just around the next corner in the tunnel. It echoes through sludge, bouncing off mildewed walls. You have to be careful in the sewer, because all sorts of dodgy people hide down here in the dark. I don’t mean scruffers: no matter how poor we get, we’d only come down here in an emergency. I mean the robbers, the bashers, the scum who’d slash you with a knife as soon as look at you.

  Don’t get me wrong, they’re not all violent. Sometimes you’ll find a sad old man drooping in a sodden tunnel with his mind driven hollow by the years. But on the whole, it’s safer to stay away. Not to mention the stench down here, or the risk of disease. Nothing about the sewers is inviting, really . . . unless you’ve got a good reason to hide.

  A reason like a secret meeting to plan your escape from Taladia.

  I push forward, trying to keep quiet. Every movement sloshes a stinking slurp of sewage in the dark. I pretend that it’s just muddy water, a river of bubbles and natural muck, and splash onward towards the voice.

  ‘Everyone here?’ This voice sounds like a teenage boy: dark and gruff, but with the faintest hint of a whine on the final syllable.

  ‘You know we’re here, Radnor, so drop the silliness,’ the girl says. ‘I’d imagine that even your family taught you to count.’

  The girl’s voice confuses me a little. She doesn’t speak with the coarse accent of a downtown scruffer. Her Rs are too muted, her As carry a posh lilt of ‘la-de-dah’ that suggests she’s a richie from a wealthier part of Rourton. But I’ve never seen a richie hang out in the sewers.

  ‘Just making sure,’ snaps Radnor. ‘We’ve got to move the plans forward, take advantage of this bombing. We’ll never get another chance like tonight. But if we’re gonna do this, Clementine, you’d better shut your face and learn to take orders.’

  ‘Take orders from a scruffer?’ says the richie. ‘Are you mad?’

  There’s a louder boom from the city above. The explosion must be close, because this time the entire tunnel shakes and sewage jostles around my shins. The conversation halts for a second, as everyone waits for the aftershock to die away.

  ‘This crew is under my command,’ Radnor says. ‘I’m already doing you a favour by letting you tag along, and I don’t reckon you’ve got –’

  ‘Letting us tag along? Letting us tag along?’ Clementine’s voice grows shrill. ‘I’m sorry, did you miss the part where I offered you enough cash to roll across Taladia in a golden carriage?’

  I slosh forward carefully. One of the speakers must have a lantern, because the light throws patches around the corner. I can see shadows on the wall shifting against the smudge of lantern-light.

  ‘Hate to be a party-pooper, guys, but can we get to the point?’ says another boy, sounding amused. ‘This whole debate’s getting a bit old. Don’t get me wrong – you’ve picked an awesome spot for a fight, but only if you’re gonna get down and dirty with a round of mud wrestling.’

  I recognise this boy’s voice: Teddy Nort, the famous pickpocket. Born and raised on the streets, Teddy makes his living with fingers like snakes and a grin that could charm the king himself into letting slip of his purse. He’s pretty notorious in downtown Rourton, and I know his tone as well as any other scruffer kid around. But Teddy’s the last person I’d expect to risk his life on a refugee crew, and my gasp echoes like a slap on the tunnel walls.

  ‘What was that?’ Radnor says.

  There’s a splash of footsteps and light swings around the corner to greet me. There’s no point running now, and nowhere to hide – not unless I want to dive headfirst into a river of sewage, anyway. So I do what my instincts tell me to do. I create an illusion. I focus upon the shape of my own body, where I can feel my limbs and heartbeat and head and toes. Then I force a spark of power along those body parts, hold my breath, and – with a burst of cold air that pinches each vein – I paint myself into the dark of a sewer wall.

  An unfamiliar boy splashes forward, holding up the lantern to glare at me through the dark. He doesn’t see me at first, fooled by my illusion, but the effect fades like melting ice and he spots me. ‘You’re a spy!’

  The illusion is completely gone, and I’m wishing I’d never conjured it. I’m not very good yet; my personal record is about three seconds. Hardly anyone has the ability to cast illusions – it’s just a freak genetic thing, like having blue eyes or being a fast runner – but I’ve always tried to keep my ability a secret. The authorities don’t like it when scruffers show signs of unusual powers, so it’s safer to pretend to be as average as possible. And unfortunately, since the whole point of an illusion is deception, it’s the sort of ability that makes people suspect you’re up to something dodgy.

  I fling up my hands to show I’m unarmed. ‘I’m just a scruffer,’ I say. ‘I’m not a spy or anything.’

  The lantern boy is tall, with a thick neck and small eyes. There’s a wisp of hair on his chin, as though he’s trying and failing to grow a beard.

  ‘Come on.’ He grabs my arm tightly enough to leave a bruise. From the sound of his voice, I realise this must be Radnor.

  I could twist free if I wanted to – I’ve been in enough street fights to know an enemy’s vulner­able points, and Radnor’s nose is within reach of my other elbow. But there are at least two other figures around the corner, maybe more, and I’m not stupid enough to take them on alone. Besides, I don’t want to fight this crew. I’ve got something very different in mind.

  I follow the boy’s pressure on my arm, sloshing through the stink until we’re round the corner. The tunnel opens into a sort of intersection between pipes. It reminds me of an old song, about meeting the devil at the crossroads to sell your soul. But I doubt even the devil would be keen on sampling the aroma of Rourton’s city sewers.

  I hear Clementine’s voice next. ‘Who are you?’

  I squint, trying to make out faces in the dark. There are three other kids here: two blonde girls, about sixteen years old, and a scruffer boy whose freckles are visible even in the flicker of Radnor’s lantern.

  The freckled boy, of course, is the pickpocket Teddy Nort. The girls are twins, almost identical. Hair falls in golden curls over their neck-scarves. They wear a pinkish stain on their lips and their fingernails catch the light with sparkles of bronze polish. Richies. They look like they belong in a High Street boutique, not crawling around the sewers like a couple of scruffers.

  ‘I’m hiding from the bombs,’ I say, trying not to look too nervous. Sometimes, to avoid a fight with another scruffer, it helps to pretend you’re more confident than you feel. Walter once told me we’re like fighting dogs: it’s better to raise your hackles than tear a hole in each other’s necks. ‘I was working late, so I missed curfew.’

  Silence.

  I know what they’re up to. They want me to get nervou
s, to rush to fill in the silence and give something away. But I refuse to budge. I clench my fists behind my back. Then I pick one of the blonde girls and stare at her, waiting to see who’ll blink. The girl bites her lip and looks down.

  ‘Right,’ Radnor says. ‘And why the hell should we believe that? This sewer system is huge. The odds of you just stumbling across our meeting are –’

  ‘She’s a spy!’ says the more forceful twin, Clementine. ‘The king’s hunters must be onto us. They’re sending undercover operatives to catch us before we leave the city!’ She raises a horrified hand to her lips. ‘They’ll make an example of us, won’t they? They’ll use our executions to scare the rest of the city into obedience.’

  I glare at her. ‘I’m not a spy, all right? I swear it.’

  Radnor crosses his arms. ‘Prove it.’

  ‘How?’

  There’s another pause, as everyone tries to dream up some means to test me. Eventually, Teddy Nort gives his lips a thoughtful twist. ‘How’d you know about our meeting?’

  ‘I was hiding –’

  ‘No, you were eavesdropping.’

  I hesitate, weighing up my options. I’ve never been much good at lying, but I’ve heard Teddy Nort’s a master at it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned on the streets, it’s not to bet against a gambler at his own game.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘Look, I swear it’s just an accident I found you. But I was working at the Alehouse when the bombs started. There’s an old scruffer called Walter. You might’ve met him if you work the bar scene –’

  Radnor cuts me off. ‘Yeah, I know him.’

  ‘Well, Walter told me about the meeting tonight. He said he wanted to join your crew, but you only wanted teenagers. And when I stumbled across you down here, in the sewers . . . you can’t blame me for being curious.’

  The others exchange glances.

  ‘Why teenagers, anyway?’ I add. ‘You know you’ll never make it to the Valley. Hardly any adult crews survive, let alone teenagers.’

  Teddy grins. ‘Yeah, but we’re fresher, aren’t we? The new generation. We’re gonna take down the king’s hunters like they’re toddlers scrapping in the Rourton gutters.’

  I stare at him, unsure whether he’s serious. It’s hard to tell with people like Teddy, who use bravado as their de facto language. He could be sending up Radnor’s control act, or he could be just as cocky as his words suggest. Then he winks, and I know he’s fooling around.

  ‘You must have a plan,’ I say. ‘You’re too young to have proclivities yet – or at least, too young to reveal them. How are you going to cross the forest or get up through the mountains without being caught . . .?’

  ‘We’ve got a plan,’ Radnor says. ‘But I’m not sharing it with some random girl who just happened to gatecrash our meeting.’

  ‘Gatecrash, eh?’ Teddy perks up. ‘Like a party? This place could do with some entertainment. I wasn’t totally kidding about the mud wrestling . . .’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ Clementine says. ‘The last thing we need is another filthy scruffer around. Can we just dispose of this girl and get on with it?’

  I scowl. That’s all we are to the richies: filth and rubbish, things to be dumped in the backstreets and ignored. To be fair, though, she’s got a point about me being dirty. There hasn’t been a decent rainstorm for days, and – even on the nights I snare a bed in a cheap boarding house – I rarely have access to a shower.

  ‘Why are you part of this, anyway?’ I ask her.

  ‘Yeah, I was wondering that too,’ says Teddy Nort. In response to my questioning look, he adds, ‘I only got sucked into this suicide mission about twenty minutes ago, so I’m just as confused as you.’

  Radnor scowls at him. ‘Sucked into a suicide mission? You begged me for a spot to save you from that manhunt, Nort. You said it was time for me to cough up and repay my –’ He stops abruptly, as though he’s just remembered that he has an audience. ‘Anyway, you can’t stay in Rourton now.’

  Teddy shrugs, and offers me another cheeky wink. ‘Meh. Sucked into a crew, on the run from the guards, what’s the difference?’

  I roll my eyes. He’s such a ridiculous figure, puffed up with winks and bravado and hands that can nick a richie’s coin purse in seconds. There’s a moment’s pause before I remember my original question and turn back to the richie twins.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘why are you two so keen to risk your lives on a refugee crew?’

  The quieter twin opens her mouth, and I half-expect the squeak of a mouse. But to my surprise, there’s a solid ring of determination in her voice. ‘We don’t want to live here any more,’ she says. ‘We want to escape, just like the rest of you.’

  Teddy snorts. ‘Oh, come off it. I bet you eat breakfast off golden platters. What’ve you got to run away from?’

  Clementine turns upon him with a furious sneer. ‘None of your business, scruffer boy. We’re offering a great deal of money for our places on this crew, which is more than I can say for some people.’

  ‘All right, keep your knickers on,’ says Teddy, holding up his hands. ‘If you’ve got a gold platter phobia, I’m not gonna judge. Never liked gold much myself, you know. It’s bloody heavy to lug around when its previous owner is chasing you down High Street.’

  I feel the corners of my lips twitch, but Radnor doesn’t look too amused.

  ‘That’s enough, Nort. And you,’ he adds, turning to me, ‘you’re not wanted here. Clear off and find another spot to hide from the king’s firecrackers, won’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘I want to join your crew.’

  Silence.

  Clementine gives a derisive laugh. ‘Oh, you’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘Why not?’ I say. ‘You’ve only got four people. Everyone knows the best balanced crews are made of five.’

  ‘We’ve already got a fifth member,’ says Radnor. ‘And you’d better clear off, or he’ll smash your face in for trying to steal his spot.’

  I squint down the tunnel. Have I somehow missed another figure in the dark? No, there’s only the four of them: Teddy, Radnor, Clementine and her quieter twin. I can hear each of them breathing, harsh and hollow, in the stench-thickened air.

  ‘Who’s your fifth member?’ I say.

  ‘None of your business.’

  ‘Look, I can be useful.’ I take a deep breath. ‘My name’s Danika Glynn, and I’m a scruffer like you. My parents died when I was a kid – I know how to live rough on the streets. I’ve got skills. I could be useful.’

  I glance pointedly at the richie girls, hoping Radnor and Teddy will know what I mean. Those girls’ only contribution will be money, but scruffers have more diverse skills. What good is money, anyway, when you’re on the run in Taladia’s wilderness?

  ‘Skills,’ repeats Radnor.

  ‘I’m an illusionist,’ I remind him. ‘You saw what I did in the tunnel before.’

  Silence.

  ‘An illusionist?’ says Teddy Nort, looking eager. ‘Really? Oh man, you should’ve joined my pickpocket gang! We’d get rich with an illusionist. Imagine what we –’

  ‘Forget it,’ says Radnor. ‘Just being an amateur illusionist isn’t enough to buy you a spot on my crew. What other “skills” have you got?’

  I hesitate. ‘Well, I can climb walls pretty well. I can scrounge, too, and I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.’

  ‘We’ve already got those skills,’ says Radnor. ‘We’ve got scruffers on the crew and we don’t need another mouth to feed.’

  ‘I can get my own food.’

  Radnor laughs coldly. ‘Out there, in the wild? You’re a city scruffer, not a traveller.’

  I open my mouth to retort, but close it again. He’s got a point. I’ve never been outside Rourton’s walls. The only real trees I’ve seen are decorative, growing in the richi
es’ front gardens. And even those are pruned into unnatural shapes, wrinkled and disfigured by the city’s pollution.

  Of course, I’ve seen trees sprout from alchemy bombs. They can shoot up in mere hours, unfurling roots across the rubble to ensnare their victims’ corpses. But I doubt this memory will equip me for trekking through a real forest.

  ‘What about you?’ I say. ‘You haven’t been outside Rourton either, I bet.’

  ‘We’ve got a plan.’ Clementine sounds, if pos­sible, even haughtier than before. ‘I wouldn’t expect some­one of your status to understand, but it’s amazing what you can achieve with a little economic leverage.’

  ‘What are you gonna do, bribe a tree?’ I say.

  Teddy Nort snorts, then hides his amusement by faking a coughing fit into his sleeve. I suppose he isn’t keen to alienate himself from the rest of his crew. That’s fair enough, really; if I were about to risk my life on a long, perilous mission with only four companions, I’d do the same. Of course, the point’s moot, since I’ve alienated myself from Clementine already. It isn’t looking likely that I’ll escape the city with this crew, but I figure it’s worth one more try.

  ‘I thought you were keen on being fresh,’ I say, ‘being the new generation. Why not try a crew of six instead of five?’

  ‘She’s got a point there,’ says Teddy. ‘And come on, Radnor – she’s an illusionist ! I’ve been looking to recruit one for years . . . Imagine the pranks she could’ve played on richies while I nicked their diamonds.’

  Radnor shakes his head. ‘We’ve already got a crew of five.’

  ‘Well, who says we can only have five?’ says Teddy. ‘Can’t hurt to shake things up a bit more. And hey, the guards won’t suspect us if we look too big to be a refugee crew.’ He grins. ‘Maybe they’ll reckon we’re licensed traders or something. I’ll be the richie merchant and you lot can be my servants. It’d make the trip a lot more fun.’

  I try to imagine Teddy Nort, of all people, as a licensed trader. All I can picture is him stealing coins from his customers’ pockets.