The Black North (23 page)

But the lock wasn't for opening at all so Oona said, ‘Bloody thing.'

Then a voice inside the carriage asked, ‘It's not Oona Kavanagh, is it? I must really be dreaming here.'

Oona stopped her work with the lock – the face of Bridget O'Reily was peering out at her. They looked at each another, saying nothing. Bridget's eyes were dark, had almost entirely misplaced life. And then Oona went to work harder, grinding the blade, trying just to crack the insides, any subtlety done with –

Invader: ‘Coachman! Keep an eye on those children!'

Bridget whispered, ‘Hurry!'

‘Trying,' said Oona. She grabbed the stone arm of the Master of the Big House, lifted it and (small apology to him: ‘Sorry') slammed it down on the lock. The lock came apart like shattered porcelain, breaking into many small pieces. But before any freedom for anyone –

‘Behind you,' said Bridget.

Oona dropped, crawling under the carriage, boy of the Big House beside. She watched feet make a slow approach, then stop: dark, see-through, and a whip that idled like a cat's tail. Oona held any breath, and reached into her satchel and found another weapon: the pistol intended for Bridget. She held it as ready as she could.

‘No use,' the boy told her. ‘No bullet nor blade will hurt these creatures.'

No bullet or blade (thought Oona, one of each in either hand), then what'll work? How do we win this?

‘Well,' whispered the boy from the Big House, ‘perhaps I can make some amends now.' And he took a breath and rolled out from beneath the cart, squirming to his feet and calling to the Coachman, ‘Here! I'm here and I've escaped!'

Oona saw the dark figure turn, then drift with such painful slowness towards the boy.

‘Good man,' said Oona, and she rolled back out, stood and threw wide the carriage door. Out streamed girls – dirty, ragged, like they'd been dragged across the North and not carried, and first was Bridget who threw herself on Oona.

‘I knew,' said Bridget, holding tight. ‘I dunno how I knew but I knew, I said to myself and everyone – if anyone's gonna come and rescue us, then it'll be my mate Oona Kavanagh! And I just knew that –'

Then many cries –

From one Invader: ‘They're escaping! Get them!'

From Merrigutt, passing overhead: ‘Oona – any time for chat is later! Move it!' And from the boy of the Big House, cornered by the Coachman: ‘Help! Help me!'

Oona freed herself from Bridget's arms and stood, pistol ready to be aimed at whatever target. But there was no problem a bullet could solve. The boy of the Big House dodged the Coachman's calm outstretched hand, and limped a return to Oona's side.

‘Now what?' he asked.

Oona had no answer.

Then falling fire – Invaders with their torches, hurling them. And the fallen houses – whether slate or wood, round window or long legs – were quick to burn, to let flame race across and Oona and the others were soon encircled by their blaze.

‘Now what?' the boy asked Oona, again.

She looked, trying to see something, a way free. Oona couldn't see the Coachman, his dark indistinguishable from smoke and shadow. Her eyes settled finally on the only thing – the carriage.

‘Everyone!' she called to the girls. ‘Get behind the carriage and push!' At her order, the girls all moved quick, keen.

‘Now push like you've got the strength of any man in you!' she told them, but they didn't need much telling – already they had heads down and hands pressed to wherever they could. And slowly, as painfully snail-paced as the walk of the Coachman, the carriage was pushed towards the flames. Oona kept an eye and then cried, ‘Stop! That's close enough. Now up top!'

Taller girls helped smaller, and a good few had to help to get the weight of the boy of the Big House up. Bridget and Oona stayed on the ground till they were the only two left.

‘Right,' said Bridget, ‘you go now, Oona.'

Oona returned her knife to her cloak but kept the pistol in hand, settling one foot on a carriage-wheel and finding hands ready to take her, pulling her up. She turned for Bridget to offer the same help, but then a sound shook her – a crack like bone between a dog's teeth and she saw the whip of the Coachman lashing out of the dark, enclosing Bridget's ankles. Bridget was dragged back.

‘No!' cried Oona.

But it was pointless – the Coachman already had one hand around Bridget's arm. Had already claimed her. From the roof of the carriage Oona still called like it might change things, like it might not be too late: ‘Don't touch him! Shake him off, Brid!' And she would've leapt, would've gone to save her friend if she hadn't seen: Bridget wasn't moving, was only fading, the darkest parts of her spreading, shadows like slow smoke enclosing her. It took less than little time, and Bridget was nothing, was soon nowhere to be rediscovered in the dark.

Oona stood. Shaking, shaken. Her heart felt as though it was ending. Tears came that she had to ignore because she had to aim, to direct the pistol that had been destined for Bridget's hand. And she felt she had to fire – the first bullet struck earth, passing through the shadow and silence of the Coachmen. She fired again, and again and again, but her anger was so deep it couldn't be drained and as ever on her journey, Merrigutt arrived on Oona's shoulder to talk sense: ‘My girl, no gun in this world and no amount of shooting it will do anything to that creature. You have to move.'

Oona saw flames laying themselves against the carriage to further blacken.

‘You have to jump!' Merrigutt told her.

Oona heard the sound of the girls coughing, throats swallowing smoke. Choking. She did her best to banish tears with a fumbling pair of fingers and then told them in a scream, ‘Go!'

Such bravery, Oona saw: some of the girls went alone but most hand-in-hand, leaping together from the roof of the carriage, clearing the flames and landing in the awaiting arms of Loftborough women. Soon, only Oona and the boy of the Big House were left.

‘I'm not cut out for this,' he told her, and she took his sleeve.

‘Me neither,' said Oona.

They ran what little they could run – no more than a trio of tripping steps – and then hurled themselves forward … but the boy's weight in stone was enough to drag them down and falling into fire was a certain thing, Merrigutt on Oona's shoulder holding tight and flapping. They fell, rolled, Oona's hair shortened by the singe and the boy landing with flame clinging to his back. He was able to extinguish himself, one-armed. Oona breathed again when he showed what was beneath burnt-away clothes – stone, flesh almost completely dispelled.

Pain then – Oona was taken by the little hair she had left and lifted by an Invader.

‘Oh no you don't!' came a cry.

And Mrs Hanlon was there too, some dull instrument in her hands to drive into the back of the Invader's legs. He released Oona and buckled at the knees like Mrs Hanlon's home. She gave him another whack on the skull to floor him.

‘Hooligan!' she cried.

And through the creep of smoke and steady fire, Oona saw the women of Loftborough fighting: some still on the ground, some in their houses, firing on Invaders or, if they had no rifle, attacking with rake or spade or shovel or strong words. But the Invaders had the better preparation – those uniforms, skins reaped from Acre-Changelings, allowed them to mirror flame and any whim of shadow, keeping them hidden. And then more allies of the Invaders: racing underground then bursting through full, leaping on the Loftborough women, spurs ready to tear what they wanted – Briar-Witches. Fiercer than ever they attacked, just as the boy of the Big House had predicted.

‘Run!' Merrigutt cried, entering the sky to shout. ‘All up into the houses!'

‘I'd say that is a bloody good idea,' said the Master of the Big House, and this time it was him that led Oona. They joined the rush of girls. Rope-ladders had been dropped from the remaining homes and the girls were climbing quick, not needing to be told. Oona's choice was The Loyal Martyr.

‘Go,' Oona told the boy of the Big House. (Slowest, so he needs to go first, she thought.)

Then Oona felt the tremble. Against her soles the ground shivered and knew without looking what was approaching so she leapt as high as she could and grabbed, hanging from the rope-ladder. But the Briar-Witch was snatching – long-fingered hand and claw both burst through stone to tear at Oona's feet and she saw what could be shot this time. Oona half-turned and shut one eye, gave herself just a moment, and then fired. The Witch fell to the ground; into it – the creature returning to its own forged dark.

‘Where did you get that gun?' asked Merrigutt. ‘Who from?'

‘Doesn't matter,' said Oona. ‘It was made for Bridget, so it's only right I use it now.'

A call from the landlady, dragging the Master of the Big House into the pub: ‘Hurry!' Oona climbed quicker –

Gunfire rattled against wood, Invaders seeing, firing –

She reached the top and crawled into the pub, head down.

‘That's it!' the landlady told her, helping her up by the scruff and then pointing her rifle down and firing two shots, and then adding like there'd been no break in the chat, ‘You've lost a bit of hair there, girl, but that never hurt anybody.'

Oona stood and saw only one small girl in the pub. She stood close to the empty fireplace as though it might still confer some warmth.

‘That gun won't do any good,' Merrigutt told Oona. ‘May as well be rid of it, my girl.'

But Oona paid no attention – she'd approached the girl. Slow approach, not wanting to frighten: careful, delicate, because she wanted one answer. She thought there was only one thing that might ease the loss of Bridget.

‘Please,' she said. ‘There were other carriages carrying boys, taking them North – can you tell me where they are?'

The girl didn't look ready to give answers. Oona settled a hand on the girl's arm.

‘Please tell me,' she said again. No good at softness, she wanted to shake answers from the girl. ‘You have to tell me – where are the others?'

Slowly, the girl raised her head, pale tongue emerging from dark face to wet Blackened lips. She didn't look at Oona, but said, ‘They weren't for here. The boys were all for the King. They went on, towards the Muckrook Mountains.'

‘
Melancholy
Mountains,' the landlady corrected.

‘Quiet,' Merrigutt told her.

The small girl finished: ‘He said that the King wanted all the boys for himself.'

‘
He
?' repeated Oona.

‘The one,' said the girl, and she shuddered, ‘with no face.'

Suddenly, gunfire ceased like sound had been shut off. Only one sound was permitted, a single shout heard –

‘Weak-minded women of Loftborough – let's have none of this needless waste now! Let me say just this and make it simple, ladies: you've got as long as it takes for my men to reload before we destroy your town entirely!'

‘Sounds a bit more well to-do than a common Invader,' said the boy of the Big House.

‘It's him,' said Merrigutt. She was looking at Oona. ‘Faceless Invader, Carrion Changeling on his shoulder doing the talking: the King's Captain.'

‘Very well then!' came the voice of the Faceless. ‘We have given ample opportunity!'

‘What do we do now?' Oona asked Merrigutt.

‘Now you need to be going,' said the landlady, hands pushing, willing Oona away. ‘Me and the other ladies, we'll take it from here. You go upstairs and left, end of the hall and then out, onto the window and across to Mrs Donnelly next door. I'll hold them back as long as I can. And I'll look after the wee girl here too.' And the look she gave the girl was so fond, so full of affection – it made Oona happier, feeling that maybe the fight had been worth something.

‘Thanks for your help, missus,' said Oona.

‘No bother at all,' said the landlady. ‘Now go on!'

So away then, Oona up the stairs with the jackdaw on her shoulder, boy of the Big House thumping along behind, calling, ‘Wait for me!'

Long hallway – Oona ran left like she'd been told, ceiling and floor sharp-sloped, whole place shaking. Something struck the house and made it pitch and Oona was jostled by walls. She kept going though, pistol still in her hand, and at the end reached a circular window. Stubborn thing, it had to be elbowed open and across the gap she saw a woman waiting – must've been Mrs Donnelly.

‘Come on!' the neighbour shouted over. ‘Be quick!'

Oona climbed onto the sill. It was only feet between The Loyal Martyr and Mrs Donnelly's but if things changed, if either house moved, then –?

‘Jump now!' said Merrigutt. Oona didn't think, just leapt– Mrs Donnelly caught and held Oona tight, helping her in through the window. They turned together and watched the boy of the Big House make his leap – he managed it better than any one of them would've thought. Oona and Mrs Donnelly both grabbed for him and hauled him in.

‘Here,' said Mrs Donnelly, and she opened Oona's satchel and added things. ‘Some food and that. Take it and go – all the way to the end there, past me mother's ugly oul vase with the green faces of the Wee Folk on it, then right, and then out. Mrs O'Keefe – she'll be there to help you next.'

A nod from Oona, and on into another corridor. Another storm of gunfire from outside felt like it was following – had some Invaders seen them leave The Loyal Martyr? Then Oona saw the vase: green faces all grinning, figures shrunken and ugly as Sorrowful sin, and she went right. Another circular window and then –

No, thought Oona. Too much of a gap to the next house, too much to be cleared in a leap!

But Mrs O'Keefe was there and ready – from the window next door she was pushing a ladder, giving them something to clamber across on.