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Squatstout grinned. ‘Ah! That little world you built, all of us such friends. But it was never going to last, was it? You always just believe what you want to believe.’ He sighed. ‘And now look at us. Pathetic.’ He seemed to have a new idea. ‘You said you did not want to go, Operator?’
Jandell nodded.
‘Why did you go, then, if you did not want to? You are not so weak, are you?’
The Operator looked at the floor, and the Protector chuckled. Oh, do not laugh at the Operator.
Squatstout leapt up from his throne. ‘It has been ten thousand years, brother. You mean to tell me that in all this time, you have allowed your powers to wilt? We feared you so much, all of us, hiding away until the Machinery broke. And yet you had turned to … this.’ He gestured at the Operator. ‘All those fresh new memories, in that land, all those memories you could have taken!’
‘It is a poor way to grow powerful: stealing the memories of mortals.’
Squatstout thumped his chest with a balled fist. ‘Don’t you think I know that, my brother? But it is who we are, and we cannot deny that, never, never, never!’ He laughed. ‘And how dare you talk of theft, hmm – you who stole a boy from his home!’
A picture of Alexander Paprissi appeared in Brightling’s memory. A picture of a boy, with his family: a family that was ruined. She looked to the Operator, whose eyes were closed. She could not feel angry with him.
‘He did that for the greater good,’ she said. She had not meant to speak.
Squatstout spat on the ground. ‘There is his greater good. He has been like this for too long, Brightling – when his brothers and sisters hurt mortals, we are creatures of unspeakable cruelty. When he does it, it’s all about the greater good.’ He sighed. ‘But it doesn’t matter. What matters is the state he is in.’ He focused again on the Operator. ‘You could have made a deal with them, hmm, a little arrangement, like it used to be? “You give me some of your memories and I’ll help you with my lovely powers”. Hmm?’
‘No. I wanted them to go their own way.’
‘Their own way! How could they go their own way, after you made that … that thing? The Machinery!’
Jandell did not respond.
Squatstout turned to Brightling. ‘I don’t know which is worse: that the Bleak Jandell should allow himself to rot, or that you people should let such a weakling lord it over you!’
‘That is not true. The Machinery is the master of the Overland.’
‘Ah, the mistress of the See House, deigning to share her thoughts with us once again,’ said Squatstout. ‘Once my mistress, even, oh yes. And now you are a … what? A simple Watcher?’
‘Yes.’
Squatstout laughed. ‘You did not watch well enough, it seems. Mother lived with you! She hid away, inside one that you loved as your own!’
He laughed, and Brightling’s expression tightened. The Autocrat clapped his hands quickly, as he had done in that red country, and Jandell was thrown onto his back. The cloak flew from his body, faces shrieking, and fell at Squatstout’s feet. Jandell was naked apart from a black rag.
There was joy in Squatstout’s eyes. He raised a hand and the cloak flew to the wall, where it spread across the cold stone, a tapestry of agonised faces.
‘I never thought such a day would come.’ He clapped his hands again, and black chains sprouted from the stone floor, curling their way around Jandell and binding him tightly, before throwing him against the wall, with his cloak. The Operator closed his eyes, and did not make a sound.
Squatstout turned to Brightling. ‘You, Watcher, did you think that such a day would come?’
Brightling shook her head.
‘No, I’m sure you didn’t. You will witness much, now, that you never expected to see.’
Squatstout snapped his fingers.
‘Guards, take Brightling to some comfortable quarters. And remove her weapons.’
Brightling’s heart sank.
‘You didn’t think they were a secret, did you, Brightling?’ Squatstout smiled. ‘Nothing is a secret to me on my island. Oh, but you can keep your mask. Aranfal told me about it, hmm. I want us to examine it later, together.’ He smiled. ‘I want to know your … relationship with that thing.’
Two of the beaked creatures lifted Brightling from the table, each grasping one of her arms. A third snatched her weapons from their hiding places.
‘I will visit you soon, Tactician,’ said Squatstout. He turned to the Operator on the wall. ‘You once had such talents, Jandell. Such talents. I will be intrigued to look upon this mask you wrought. It will remind me of older times.’
Somewhere, a bell rang.
Chapter Four (#ud6eded5f-c42b-5a3b-9075-148af20b11db)
The house was large, and echoed all around.
Drayn crept along a corridor. Engravings leered at her from the walls, images of ancestors long dead, spurring her on. Candles burned down to the very stumps. A spider made the mistake of crossing her path, and went away forever.
‘I know you are here, wherever you are,’ she whispered, leaping at the shadows. ‘I will find you, and Unchoose you, and that will be the end of you!’
But there was no sign of Cranwyl. Where could the wretch be, by Lord Squatstout’s foot?
On she went, the courageous girl, unafraid of the noises in the dark, or not too afraid at any rate. She heard a creaking noise behind. She swung round, ready to lay waste to her challenger. No one was there. Yet still the noise came. Drayn concentrated.
There was silence for a moment, and then a cough.
It was from the library!
She was about to charge forward when she got a hold of herself. Cranwyl was no fool; it would do no good to reveal herself too quickly. Perhaps that was even what he wanted. She gathered her thoughts, calmed her heart, and padded along the corridor.
Never have I caught you, Cranwyl, wretch of all wretches. Tonight the tables will turn. Tonight you will find yourself Unchosen, by me!
She reached the door. To her left, in the corner of her eye, she could just make out old Fyndir, founder of the House of Thonn, engraved upon one of the many walls he built, all those years ago, when the Autocrat had just come to the Habitation. Wish me well, Fyndir!
The girl reached out, and grasped the door handle. She pushed down, very gently, knowing that Cranwyl’s hearing was second to none. She was almost there, down it went, down it went, and then – clunk.
The door was locked.
She pushed again, just to make sure it was not simply stiff, but no, there was no way in. Could Cranwyl have heard me coming, and locked the door? That had to be it; all was not lost. She simply had to find a way in—
There came a tap at Drayn’s shoulder, and the blood stopped coursing through her miserable veins. She turned, defeated again. There he was, in the mask, the beak almost reaching to Drayn’s own nose.
‘Cranwyl,’ she sighed, ‘you are cheating. That is the only way!’
The masked monster laughed. The temerity of it!
‘I don’t cheat, not ever, lady,’ Cranwyl said.
Drayn could sense the smirk beneath the beak. The effrontery! ‘I just do my best. But it’s not very hard. You’re easy to throw off the scent, you know, very easy.’
Drayn exhaled and dropped to the ground, bum thumping on the floor.
‘But I heard you in the library.’
‘No, you didn’t. You thought you heard something, but it wasn’t me. I might have had a hand in it, though.’
‘How?’
‘Well, I know all the creaks and cracks of this house, you see. I can make it speak for me, just by tickling it in the right place.’
He removed his mask. After all these years, it still surprised Drayn how young he was, with his smooth skin and bushy brown hair and sneaky, bright little eyes. He could not have been more than, what, thirty? He had been working since before she was born; he had started working when he was her age, he said. Fancy that!
‘You are too good,’ she said. ‘You’re as good as the real beaks. You’re not a beak, are you?’ She laughed, secretly hoping that he was. That would be great fun.
Cranwyl returned the laugh. ‘If I was one of them, I’d be in Lord Squatstout’s Keep right now, not sat here, that’s for bloody sure.’
He looked up to a shelf on the wall, where an old clock ticked.
‘Come,’ he said, the laughter gone from his voice. ‘Your mother will be expecting you.’
**
Drayn had dressed in her finery, as she always did when dining with her mother. It did nothing for her mood, or for Mother’s.
‘Did you know, girl, that there are rats in the yard?’
Mother shot a hard glance in her daughter’s direction, as if Drayn had herself introduced the vermin.
I suppose I did bring that baby thingermewhatsit into the outer barn, but that isn’t necessarily connected, is it?
‘No, my lady, I did not know.’ Sometimes she used a different voice when she spoke to Mother. More proper. She hated herself for it. ‘But I will work to rid the property of them, with the assistance of Cranwyl, if it so pleases you.’
Mother shook her head. ‘You are not a rat catcher. I will speak with Cranwyl in the morning.’
I could absolutely be a rat catcher, if I wanted. Anyway, I could help Cranwyl catch rats, that’s for sure. He definitely wouldn’t mind.
‘Eat your food.’
Mother was wearing her black dress tonight. It looked good on her, with her grey hair. Drayn thought so, anyway. She’d never say it, though.
Drayn turned to her plate. Some kind of seabird looked back at her, its stewed eyes swimming in its head.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, hoping Mother would let her leave and knowing that would never happen.
‘Eat.’
Drayn turned the bird over, so she could at least avoid making eye contact. She hacked off a piece of pale meat and looked to the walls. More old people, looking down at her. No doubt they had to eat this muck in their day as well.
When she was about halfway through the bird she put down her knife and fork, hoping the remains would be swept away before Mother could notice. Sure enough, a shadowy figure came out of the darkness and lifted the plate, muttering something as he went. This was a house of mutters and shadows, all right.
Drayn had a question on her mind, and was in no mood to mutter. She looked at Mother, carefully weighing her options. Was she in a good mood? Was she ever in a good mood? Who knew?
‘Mother.’ Never Mum – always Mother.
The lady in the black dress looked up from her bird, whose beak she was about to inhale.
‘Yes?’
‘I heard that something happened after the Choosing.’
‘Really? I wasn’t there.’
Mother was lying – she had been there, after Drayn had gone home, and she knew what had happened. The head of the House of Thonn always knew what was happening on the Habitation.
‘They say there was something that came from the sea.’
‘Who say?’
‘They.’
‘They say a lot.’
‘Is it true?’
Mother sighed. ‘You would find out, anyway, I have no doubt. Yes, something came. It was very strange. A black ship, far bigger than a fishing boat. It came from across the Endless Ocean.’
‘That cannot be.’
‘That is what we all thought, too. But it was there. And yes, I was there, and yes, I did see it.’
‘What was it?’ Drayn’s eyes were wide.
Mother shook her head, and shrugged, as if the question didn’t matter. Drayn hated when she did that.
‘No one knows,’ Mother said. ‘It all happened very quickly. The Choosing had actually just finished when the thing appeared.’
‘What was on it?’ Drayn’s voice was now a whisper.
Mother gave her a curious look.
‘You will not tell your friends?’
Drayn shook her head. She only had one friend, anyway.
‘I did not see them myself, but they say there were two creatures.’
Drayn swallowed. ‘What kind of creatures?’
‘A woman. And another … being.’
