Raiders' Ransom (16 page)

“Why did that fool Medwin take the girl?” That's what the Scottish man said.

“What about Greater Scotland?” I ask.

But Mr. Saravanan just raises his big eyebrows.

“I cannot imagine starting a war between the raiders and the English would be the work of Greater Scotland. It would be too obvious for them. They seem much more happy sending their spies out everywhere.” He shrugs. “But then again, who knows?” He looks at me. “Why would Greater Scotland want to kidnap the daughter of the English commander of armed forces?”

“Maybe they didn't,” I say. “Maybe they didn't mean it to happen that way. The Scottish Ambassador was at our village afterward, with the Prime Minister. He got all the soldiers to search for something. But I don't think they found it.”

“So if not the girl, what would Greater Scotland be looking for?” says Mr. Saravanan. Then he smiles. “Eustace, did you really find it? And who did you tell?”

At Zeph's next vomit stop, Mr. Saravanan says, “You have to keep attached to this raider boy. He is vital if you are to
gain safe access to the Angel Isling family. Without raider company, they'd almost certainly kill you before you even had a chance to speak. However, I have no ideas as to how you will maintain your alliance, except telling him the truth.”

And now I'm glad it's dark and Mr. Saravanan can't see my face. Cos I ain't even told him the truth.

“Maybe I don't need to,” I say. “Not if I joined his Family.”

Mr. Saravanan looks surprised.

“Is that possible? Raiders are not known for being overly fond of the English.”

I remember Zeph's drunken words, back at the tavern.

“There might be a way.”

Dawn breaks flat and gray. There's no shutters on the window, but even so the day creeps in slowly and takes its time to spread a dull light over the dusty floor. Cat yawns fishily, and gives my nose a morning lick. I'm lying in a muddle of blankets, with Cat curled neatly on the rolled-up coat I've got for a pillow. Above me, on Mr. Saravanan's sagging sofa, there's another bundle of blankets. It snorts, then groans, it rolls around a bit, then it goes quiet. Zeph is sleeping off his cider.

Cat sits up and gives me a look, his green eyes wide in his furry face.

“You ate lots last night,” I whisper, but he keeps on looking, then he butts his head against mine, purring deep in his chest.

“All right, greedy. I'll see if there's anything for you to eat.”

Cat's tail is high and happy as he leads me into Mr. Saravanan's kitchen. But it starts to droop when I can't find him anything to eat — there's nothing in the cupboard a cat would like. And I ain't much tempted by the bag of dark flour, single green potato, and stone jar of probably-chutney, which is all Mr. Saravanan seems to have. Cat and me are wondering what to do when we hear some scrabbling and banging at the front of the house, and we go through to see Mr. Saravanan climbing back in through his front window, grumbling.

“One day, I am going to move from this wretched city and get myself a home where it is safe to have a front door. At ground level.”

We go back into the kitchen, and Mr. Saravanan opens the two bags he's carrying, one large, one smaller. In the large hessian sack, he has our clothes, clean and mud free. In the smaller canvas bag he's got a loaf of bread, some brown speckled eggs, a block of cheese, a block of butter, and six small apples.

“Breakfast!” he says, and then he looks down, cos Cat is rubbing round and round his legs.

“Do not worry, Mr. Cat, I have something for you, too.” And he pulls a fish from his pocket, sending Cat into a frenzy of mewing and paw-swiping.

“Now here is a fellow who really appreciates my efforts,” says Mr. Saravanan, dropping the fish. Cat grabs it in his
mouth and runs to a corner, his tail swishing. “And speaking of appreciative fellows, how is young master Zeph?” He looks round the door at the lump of blankets on the sofa, and grins nastily. “Still feeling the effects of last night's excess?” He starts unpacking the bags. “You know, I have been thinking about your question from last night. Whether Greater Scotland could be involved in this raider kidnapping. Your comment about the searches made me wonder what they might be searching for. And that made me think of my poor friend Eustace Denton.” He sighs, putting the eggs carefully on the table. My eyes are practically glued to them; I can't remember the last time I had a whole egg to eat myself.

“Eustace was an antiquarian, like myself,” says Mr. Saravanan, taking a pan and pouring water into it. “He had a quest, which rather overpossessed him, I always thought.”

“A quest?”

“Well, perhaps obsession would be a better term.” Mr. Saravanan puts the eggs in the pan of water, and puts the pan on his stove. “It related to his speciality — computers.” Mr. Saravanan turns and looks at me. “Of course, a good English child like yourself would know little of computers, would you? A sinful subject, so I hear. Well, Eustace thought differently. The reason he ended up living in an isolated fishing village was his scandalous views on the subject. Or so he told me. I always thought it was pointless. There are always stories of computers that survived the Collapse. Rumors the Scots have some hidden away, or the Scandinavians have one,
or the Chinese. But from what I understand, they were all connected together in some way, all over the world, and when the Collapse came, something went wrong with them all at the same time. Anyway, Eustace had heard a story of some supermachine that had survived, that could think and act on its own.” My mouth goes dry thinking about the jewel, and I drop my head so Mr. Saravanan can't see my face.

“What was it like?” I manage to squeak out.

Mr. Saravanan strokes his chin. “Well, I'm not an expert by any means, but there was a fashion in the late twenty-first century for hiding the function of an object. Teapots that looked like horses, lights hidden in furniture, that sort of thing. Most unpopular among today's buyers. Which means Eustace's thinking computer might have looked like anything.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I suppose it makes as much sense for the Scottish to be looking for a mythical computer as the Prime Minister's daughter.”

“But why would they want it?” I ask.

“Well, Eustace thought the computer was something to do with the military.”

“I've managed whole wars,” the head had said.

“Such a machine would be highly sought after today,” Mr. Saravanan continued. “Why, even your English rulers might forswear their hatred of technology if they thought it could help them win their battles.”

He fiddles with the fire in his range, sending heat to the pan with the eggs in it. “At every drowned place he visited,
Eustace hoped to find one of these fabulous machines. And he always asked me about them when he came to trade. Never showed any interest in all my beauties, just wanted computers and nothing else. Who knows, maybe he found what he was searching for? I can imagine the Scots wanting to obtain such a thing, and without your English Prime Minister finding out.”

“But if the Scots sent the raiders to find this puter, why did they take Alexandra?”

“Most likely because they are crazy raiders.” Mr. Saravanan shakes his head. There's a groaning sound from the next room. “Speaking of which …”

“I'm dying!” calls a feeble voice, and Zeph appears wrapped in a blanket. His white face is even whiter than usual, 'cept for the deep purple rings under his eyes.

“I doubt you are actually dying,” says Mr. Saravanan calmly.

“My head is so painful!” moans Zeph.

“Yes, I thought it might be,” says Mr. Saravanan. “But one of the few benefits of London life is that people here are willing to sell anything you want, at any time of day.” He pulls from his pocket a small wrap of paper. “A simple remedy. It should help to relieve the pain.”

Zeph takes his medicine without even complaining, so he must be feeling bad. Then he sits silently at the kitchen table while Mr. Saravanan takes the boiled eggs out of the pan and I cut the bread into slices, covering each slice with butter
and cheese. The probably-chutney really is chutney, and we get that, too.

We all sit down to eat. At-death's-door Zeph only manages a couple of bites, though, and then he starts to turn green. So I eat his bread and cheese, and his eggs, and by the end of breakfast my belly feels better than it has in years.

Even though he can't take any food, the medicine must be working, cos Zeph's face gets a bit less pale, and under his eyes look a bit less purple. He opens the sack with our clothes in it.

“Look what they've done to my leathers!” he says. “The red is all faded!” But I can't see any difference, and he's quick enough to change out of the antique clothes Mr. Saravanan got us. I don't blame him. I'm glad to get my own clothes again, so I don't have to walk around looking like a clown. And when Zeph's back in his leathers and bracelets, knife dangling from his belt, he starts looking much better.

“Now I can return to my ship,” he says.

“Oh!” says Mr. Saravanan suddenly. “You're returning to your ship?” And he looks at me, giving a quick wag of his eyebrows. “Um … what are you intending to do, young Lilo?”

Our plan!

“Oh, er … I'm going to head east,” I say, crossing my fingers under the table. “I've decided to join one of the Families. I want to be a warrior.”

“A RAIDER!” roars Mr. Saravanan, making me jump. “NEVER! No member of
this
family will lead such a wicked
life! You were born a fisher and you'll DIE a fisher!”

“But I don't
want
to be a fisher,” I say. Zeph is looking at us both, shocked and a bit suspicious.

Mr. Saravanan waggles his eyebrows again, so I start shouting for extra effect.

“I'll NEVER be a fisher, and YOU can't tell me what to DO!”

“I CAN!” Mr. Saravanan roars back. “I have every right, I am your uncle. Why, I will lock you up and BEAT you every day until you come to your senses, you ungrateful wretch!” And he waves his arms, making grabbing movements at me. He looks so stupid, I want to laugh, but I try my hardest to look scared as I scurry to the other side of the room.

“I don't even want to be your nephew!” I shout.

“The FINAL INSULT!” rages Mr. Saravanan, shaking his fist. “If that's what you want, then as head of our family, I cast you OUT! You are dead to us! You'll never see your mother again, or your father, or your sweet innocent sisters, or your aunties, or your cousins … And take that CAT with you, I don't want it now!”

“Boo hoo!” I say, trying to sound sad. “I am cast out!”

And we both turn to look at Zeph.

“What?” he says, looking stunned.

“I have cast Lilo out of the family!” says Mr. Saravanan, speaking loud and slowly.

“Oh! Oh! I am cast out!” I cry. “In fact, I'm cast out in front of you, and you're a raider. So I claim …” but then
I can't remember what he called it last night. “I … er … claim …”

“You want outcast kinship?” squeaks Zeph, looking at me with wide-open eyes.

“Yes, that's it! That's what I want!”

“No!” moans Mr. Saravanan, and slumps down onto the table, his head in his hands. “To think of the shame; a nephew of mine taking up with the raiders!” Through his fingers, I see him peeping up at me, and he winks.

But it's that what gets Zeph going finally.

“It ain't a shame to join the Angel Isling Family!” he roars, slapping his hand on the painted lion on his leather jacket. “It's the greatest pride anyone can feel.”

Then he walks across the room to me.

“But is this really what you want, Lilo?” he asks, frowning a bit.

“You said it last night. If I was in Angel Isling, we could be friends.”

He looks at me blankly. “I said that? I … don't remember.”

“It's what I want,” I say.

Zeph looks back at Mr. Saravanan, who's beating his head with his hands and groaning. Overdoing it.

“Are you really sure, Lilo?” says Zeph. “Think about your family. Won't they be sad if you leave them? Won't your mum cry?” He stops, his pale face a question, his eyes looking right into mine. And I have to look away, cos I feel so mean. He
ain't all bad, and here I am telling so many lies to him. I try and remember Andy, and Alexandra, and why I'm doing this, but still it feels wrong.

Luckily for me, Mr. Saravanan roars out, “It is too late to worry about Lilo's mother now! I have cast the boy OUT, and I NEVER go back on my word! He can be raider scum or whatever he likes as far as his real family cares!”

Zeph's arm on mine tenses. He lifts his head up, and says, “As a full-blood member of the Family Angel Isling, and as the Boss's only highborn son, I accept you into outcast kinship. You are now Lilo bar Angel Isling.” And he turns to Mr. Saravanan, his voice rough and shaky, speaking in a kind of singsong, like reciting something he's been taught. “I declare Lilo to be under Family protection, until the time he earns his full kinship. Not one hair of Lilo's head now belongs to his old family. Any harm to him is harm to Angel Isling. By my rank and right I declare it done.” Then he looks down and whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear it, “If my father agrees.”

After that, we have to get out quick from Mr. Saravanan's place — him shouting and cursing us in fake rage all the way. Which gets us a whole crop of nasty stares as we leave the street. The two gate guards are back at their place, lazing on their stools and eating a pie between them.

“Leaving us, yer lordships?” says Broken Nose.

“Taking your mangy pet with yer?” asks Earless, throwing a hard piece of piecrust at Cat. He hisses, the fur raising
up on his back; I reckon he'd be on them, claws flailing, if I didn't have him back on his leash.