The Hush (15 page)

‘What about me?' Chester said. ‘Where do I fit in?'

‘You're our Songshaper.'

‘But Dot –'

‘Dot's on the Conservatorium records, so she can't do the job. Not this time.' Susannah waved a hand, as though casting around for a change in subject. ‘Anyway, you're a natural. You connected to the Song without any training. That's not normal, Chester. That's … valuable.' She gave him a careful look, assessing his reaction – as though still not entirely sure whether she believed him. ‘If you can already hear the Song, I'm sure you can learn to play a bit of Music for us.'

‘I've been trained in music,' Chester said. ‘Sort of.'

‘There's a difference between music and
Music
.' She put a clear emphasis on the second version of the word.

‘Apart from the capital letter, you mean?'

Susannah smiled and Chester's stomach twitched. ‘Yes. Apart from that. Anyone can be trained to play a tune on an instrument, but not to create their own sorcery.' She gave him a curious look. ‘Who taught you to play fiddle, anyway? Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look much like a rich man's heir.'

‘I worked in an instrument shop,' Chester said.

‘Ah. That would explain it.'

Chester let a gasp of pain escape his teeth as another wave of misery shuddered down his spine and into his belly. He curled then uncurled like an indecisive wisp of smoke, before he straightened his legs with a grunt.

‘I can leave you if you want.'

‘No, don't. Please. I … the distraction helps.'

‘All right.' Susannah placed a hand on his head to check his temperature again then gave a relieved nod. ‘No sign of fever.'

Chester twitched again in pain. He realised he'd bitten his tongue in a thrash of agony and blood welled against his teeth with a new-found sting.

‘Tell me about this instrument shop,' Susannah said.

Chester swallowed hard. ‘Just a little shop in Thrace. Ashworth's Emporium, it's called. There aren't many customers, except for the regulars who know the owner …'

‘The owner?'

‘Mr Ashworth.'

Chester had struggled for months not to think about life in Thrace. Part of him was terrified that if he let himself think about it he might just run back and slip into his old life, abandoning his father, leaving him to suffer whatever fate the vanishing had dealt him …

Now, though, Chester let himself remember. It was better than the pain of withdrawal. He remembered the crooked little alleyway, the weight of shadow and the stink of old rubbish. The wooden sign swinging, welcoming him inside.
Ashworth's Emporium
. And inside, the light of sorcery lamps, the warmth of the fireplace and the crackle of flame. The scent of wood and polish, rows of bows and instruments: fiddles, banjos, clarinets …

And Goldenleaf.

Goldenleaf was the first instrument he had carved on his own. Chester had stayed awake by lamplight, carving gentle curves into the fiddle and breathing in the sweet scent of mahogany. He remembered stretching the strings into place and coaxing the virgin notes from the instrument …

It was more than just a fiddle. It was
his
fiddle.

Of course, Chester could never afford to buy it. Mr Ashworth had painted gold leaf into swirls on its neck – ostentatious and flashy, but there was no point arguing. Once the old man set his mind to something, he wouldn't budge.

‘A fiddle worthy of a lord,' Mr Ashworth had said.

So Chester had watched in silence as the price tag was added – more than a year of his wages – and it was placed into the window display. It was probably still there, with dust on its golden twists and its strings. Chester yearned to place his fingers on the bow and charm a run of fleeting notes to counteract his pain …

‘What are you thinking?' Susannah said.

Chester blinked and the image shattered. He looked up at her, eyes slightly hazy with pain, and he forced his aching shoulders into a shrug.

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘Just remembering Mr Ashworth, that's all.'

‘Was he a nice man?'

Chester hesitated. ‘He paid me well.'

But that wasn't all of it. Chester had always felt that there was more to Mr Ashworth. Right now, he didn't have the strength to explain the way that Mr Ashworth had made him feel sometimes. The way the man's eyes had watched him when he thought Chester wasn't looking. The way Mr Ashworth had vanished into his back room sometimes and made strange garbled calls on his communication globe. The way the man had spoken so softly, and moved like a coyote on the prowl …

Another wave of pain washed forwards but this time, even in the heat of the agony, Chester realised that the pain wasn't so bad as it had been. Was he past the worst of it? Heat rippled through his body and his skin burned. But he could now straighten his limbs and he could breathe more easily.
In, out. In, out
. His breaths came soft and shallow, washing cool relief through his throbbing lungs.

‘Getting better?' Susannah asked. ‘Or worse?'

‘Better, I think.'

As time wore on, the pain faded. It came in fits and spurts, less frequent and less overwhelming. It came in quiet tugs and squirms of nausea until finally, it was gone.

Susannah took his temperature again. Chester felt the warmth of her fingertips against his forehead and experienced an irrational stab of shame at the sweat on his skin. He knew she could feel it and he knew she was fighting the urge to wipe her fingers on the bedsheets when she pulled away.

But when her fingers left his skin, despite his embarrassment, part of him wished she would put them back again. Just for a moment.

‘You'll be fine,' she said. ‘No fever. You just need a good night's sleep.'

‘Will it still hurt tomorrow?'

She shook her head. ‘You got off lightly, all things considered. I've seen much worse withdrawal cases than this.' She smiled at him. ‘Tomorrow, you'll be good as new. And even better – you'll be free.'

‘Free?'

‘Free of the lies. Free of the Songshapers' influence. Free to do whatever the hell you want with your sunsets instead of bowing down and humming a tune for the sake of someone else's stories.'

Chester nodded. He was suddenly exhausted, as though all the strength had been drained from his body. The pillow felt soft as a sonata beneath his cheek. He yearned to slip into sleep and to let the coolness of dreaming wash the aches from his body.

‘Get some sleep,' Susannah said, as she turned to leave the cabin. ‘Tomorrow, we're going to hit Linus.'

Chester stiffened. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, of all the ways she could have changed the topic … ‘Isn't that a little soon?'

Susannah shrugged. ‘Should be mostly healed by then, so long as we keep using Travis's injections. Besides, there are things we need there. Linus is a town of sugar barons. There are wealthy families with lots of paperwork. Important documents, important jewels.'

‘And?'

‘And we,' Susannah said with a smile, ‘are important burglars.'

The Hush was silent.

Outside the
Cavatina
, all was black. The ship had settled on the outskirts of Linus, behind the local Songshaper's mansion. Not as good as a railway line, but the air nearby was tainted with just enough Music to restart the engine for a quick getaway.

‘Everyone all right?' Susannah said.

The others nodded. The Hush-rain fell in swirls around them, disintegrating into speckles of unnatural cold. Susannah could just make out a wooden fence topped with a trail of barbed wire, leading into the dark. The earth sloped downwards, descending into the town.

‘If a Songshaper lives here … what if he comes into the Hush?' Chester said. ‘Won't he see the
Cavatina
? I mean, I think I'd notice if an enormous ship turned up in my garden …'

Susannah shook her head. ‘Most small-town Songshapers are only small fry. They're not senior enough to know about the Hush. Or even if he knows about it, he'll be too scared to set foot inside.'

‘Only high-grade Songshapers know about the Hush?'

‘That's right.'

‘Why?'

‘Because it's a secret,' Dot piped up. ‘And in Weser City, secrets are a currency. They're not the sort of thing you give away lightly.'

‘Are we here to rob this Songshaper, then?' Chester said.

‘No.' Susannah glanced up at the mansion then turned her gaze towards the town. ‘I've got a different target in mind.'

At her gesture, the gang members knelt. Susannah placed a hand on Dot's shoulder and together, with a mixture of whistles and hums, they performed a reversal of the Sundown Recital.

As they burst into the real world, Susannah let out a sigh of relief. She hated the Hush. She knew it was necessary, of course: travelling in the Hush was the only reason they'd survived so long. But Susannah was a child of the seaside, of ships and waves, of sunlight and open sky. The darkness made her stomach crawl and the fear of Echoes was constant. They couldn't touch her or Sam, but Dot and Travis were all too vulnerable.

And Chester
, she reminded herself.
You've got another gang member to care for now.

Here in the real world, the sky was a bright peacock blue. Susannah breathed in the fresh air, threw out her arms, and bathed in the luxury of a natural breeze. The air was sweet, with the faintest tang of sugarcane.

She could see the fence more clearly now, marking the back of the Songshaper's property. The sloping earth
melted into a dusty road, leading them down into the main street of the town. Really, Linus was more of a city than a town. Restaurants, hotels, gambling halls … This was a city of sugar barons, and they had cash to splash around.

Wealthy locals rode in ornate carriages adorned with coloured plumes and pulled by pegasi. It was a criminal waste of enchanted creatures, of course, but the sugar barons used them as a show of wealth.
Look at me
, they silently proclaimed.
I can afford to buy the most expensive beasts – and use them for menial labour
. Susannah was disgusted by how the barons had grown so wealthy from the work of their labourers. The whiplashed folk who tended their fields and mucked out their stables. Those who worked without sleep during harvest time and ensured the landowners' fields produced a bounty of corn and sugarcane.

She turned to the others. Travis wore his fanciest frock coat, while Sam and Chester were dressed in dusty shirts and trousers. Dot looked quite content in a starched white bonnet with a long dark skirt and blouse. Susannah had been forced to don a heavy calico skirt of her own, complete with flannel drawers and awkward petticoats. A girl in trousers would likely cause a scandal in polite society. On the bright side, if anyone bothered her she could use her parasol to whack them over the head.

‘Now listen up,' she said. ‘Travis, you're a wheat baron's son from Thrace, keen to invest in sugar. Chester's your errand boy, Sam's your bodyguard, and Dot and I are your maids. Got it?'

They all nodded. Chester looked a little nervous but there was no helping that. Susannah had always believed that courage wasn't a lack of fear, it was how you responded when fear took hold. They'd all been nervous before their first job. All things considered, he was coping quite well.

Almost subconsciously, she found herself watching him. He wasn't feeble. Months on the road had left him fit and lean, with tan skin beneath a rumple of dark hair. He moved with a sturdy sort of grace, his muscles tight, his face determined despite the nerves.

But he was also reckless and a little impulsive. The fact that he was here at all was testament to that. The boy had played a difficult song in front of a roomful of witnesses when he could barely control his own powers. He had placed his life in a stranger's hands, and he barely had a grip on his Musical abilities.

Maybe he wasn't ready for this job.

But Sam met her eyes and Susannah nodded. She had made a deal and there was no backing out of it.

Travis took the lead, with a bold swagger in his step. He raised his nose and placed his hands on his hips as he strutted down the street. He looked for all the world like the arrogant young heir he was meant to be, sniffing out the town's potential for investment.

‘Come on,' Susannah muttered to the others. ‘Keep your heads down and don't talk too loudly. They keep their servants tightly reined in around here.'

That, of course, was an understatement.

The sugar barons were descended from Weser nobility. Their grandparents had forcibly seized a large swathe of
eastern Meloral during the failed Oscine Uprising, sixty years ago. The locals had no land left of their own, and no choice but to work the fields for their wealthy over-lords. And so they toiled on, painting the landscape with sweetness.

Here, servants walked in garb of soil and linsey cloth. Hair clung in sweaty bunches around their necks and their faces were as red as tomatoes. They bowed in respect, almost spilling baskets of bread, as another carriage rolled past. The pegasi snorted and huffed, their nostrils foaming a little from the stress and the heat.

Someone needs to hose those horses down
, she thought. Were the sugar barons so rich that they could afford to run their pegasi ragged and simply replace them if they keeled over?

Susannah kept her head low, traipsing the street in quiet thought. The sunlight, which had seemed so comforting at first, was beginning to sting the back of her neck. She pulled up her collar and let down her hair, allowing a red cascade to spill across her shoulders. The air felt stifling – she could feel sweat pooling in the crooks of her elbows – and the last thing she needed was a sunburn.

‘By the Song, it's hot,' Travis whispered. ‘I'd hoped to visit that talented tailor I was telling you about, but I wouldn't dare set foot in his establishment when I'm so covered in sweat.'

‘How tragic,' Susannah whispered back.

‘Oh it is, Captain,' Travis said. ‘I've heard the Linus sugar barons have some rather pretty daughters, but I'm afraid even
my
charms might not work in my current state.'
He peered down at himself. ‘I do hope you've chosen a hotel with decent bathing facilities.'

Apart from house servants, there were few poor folk in the city streets right now. They would all be out working the sugarcane fields: hacking at crops with a scythe or hauling heavy baskets. Susannah couldn't imagine their exhaustion. In this weather, it was bad enough just walking down the street. With her long dark skirt and its layers of petticoats, she felt as though she was dragging around a saucepan to slowly boil her own legs.

‘So what's the plan?' Chester said.

Susannah pointed past a row of parked carriages. ‘Our hotel's down there. We'll talk inside.'

As they approached the centre of town she sensed a stiffening in Sam's movements. There was too much Music in the air, she realised. The carriage lanterns, the kitchen stoves, and even the water pumps …

‘Are you all right?' she said quietly.

Sam grunted, his expression strained. His fists were clenched together now, tight as boulders.

Susannah reached into her skirt pocket, where she had stowed one of Dot's precious calming lamps. She handed it wordlessly to Sam. He looked away as he seized it, either too furious or too ashamed to meet her gaze.

The hotel's facade was tall and creamy, carved from chunks of polished sandstone. Columns supported the first-floor balcony and windows glinted in the afternoon sun. A pair of finely dressed gentlemen strode out the front door, noses high as they approached their carriage. The entire building reeked of money.

‘There?' Chester said. ‘We're going to stay
there
? But how can we afford –?'

‘It's an investment,' Susannah said. ‘I chose it for its location, not its price.'

The woman at reception looked more bored than alert. Travis flicked his wrists and sneered at her, playing the role of the snobby heir to a tee.

‘You're taking your servants up to the room, sir?' the woman said. ‘Normally, our guests prefer to –'

‘Good grief, woman, of course I'm taking them,' Travis said. ‘I am accustomed to a certain level of service and I can hardly entrust my wellbeing to a mob of rural ruffians employed by a mere
hotel
.'

Five minutes later, they stepped into a fancy room on the hotel's top floor. A four-poster stood as the crowning glory, with fluttering silk curtains of pale gold, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, tinkling with crystal. When they activated its melody, every fragment of glass shone like a sorcery lamp.

‘Wow,' Chester said, wide eyed. ‘This is amazing.'

Susannah glanced at him. It was easy to become blasé about these sorts of things: expensive rooms, ornate hotels. She spent so much time in these places nowadays – either as a guest or a burglar – that she barely noticed the puffery. But the awe on Chester's face made her pause for a moment.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I suppose it is.'

Travis pushed past with an eager expression and gave a sigh of contentment when he spotted the adjoining bathroom. ‘Ahhh,' he said. ‘Civilisation.'

Susannah stole a surreptitious look at Sam, whose face was torn between elation and fury. Too many melodies, too many emotions. He clutched Dot's calming globe like a drowning man who had been thrown a rope.

Without a word she extinguished the chandelier. Sam seemed to be in control of himself – for now, at least – but it was cruel to make him suffer for the sake of a few fancy crystals. As the lights flickered out, Sam's stiff limbs began to unclench.

Susannah released a slow breath. ‘Right,' she said. ‘Our target is the house across the street – the home of Charles Yant, a wealthy sugar baron. He's a nasty piece of work: keeps his servants locked in barns overnight so they don't nick off and hitch a train to a new town.'

‘He can't do that!' Dot said. ‘That's like slavery. That's illegal!'

Susannah sighed. ‘This isn't Weser City, Dot. There's no real police force. There's just the sheriff and his cronies, same in every town. And whatever the sheriff says is law – that's what the law is.'

‘But –'

‘You've seen worse in other towns, Dot. Remember that family in Oranmor?'

‘Yes, but –'

Susannah raised her hand, calling for silence. ‘Look, you'll have to take my word on this one. This whole town is run by the sugar barons. They provide the money and they own the land. The sheriff isn't about to upset them. And a high-up baron like Yant, who brings in thousands in taxes?' She shook her head. ‘Well, throw in a couple of
bribes here and there and I bet the sheriff would let him get away with murder.'

They all stared at her. Sam's expression was dark; Travis's lip curled back, as though he was appalled; and Dot's eyes were as round as buttons. To her surprise, Chester was the only one who didn't look shocked. He sat there, staring down into his hands.

‘Chester?' she said. ‘You with me?'

He looked up, startled. ‘Yes, Captain. Sorry. I was just …'

‘Just what?'

‘Just … I saw a lot of stuff like that, when I was a kid,' he said. ‘Back in Thrace. It was a wheat-belt town, and the people who owned all the land used to …'

He trailed off again. Susannah nodded, not needing him to finish the sentence. She could guess.

‘Right,' she said. ‘My point's that Yant is not a nice man. But that's not the only reason we're going to rob him. He's got something we need.'

Travis stirred, looking a little more interested. ‘A collection of silver cufflinks, perhaps?' he asked hopefully. ‘Or a genuine silk undershirt – I've always wanted one of those …'

‘He's got a huge family,' Susannah said. ‘He has seven siblings, five children of his own, and dozens of nieces and nephews scattered all over the region.'

‘You want to steal a nephew?'

Susannah rolled her eyes. ‘No, don't be stupid. I want to steal some paperwork. Birth certificates, farming licences, wax seals, writing paper …'

‘You want to build me a fake identity, don't you?' Chester said. ‘When I audition, I'll be pretending to be part of the Yant family.'

Susannah nodded. ‘You'll need a new name, a wealthy background, a family line … You can't waltz in without credentials; the Songshapers'll be too suspicious.'

Chester hesitated for a moment then returned her nod. Susannah found herself watching his face. The boy wore a strong resolve in his dark eyes, despite the evident nerves in his expression.

She forced herself to look away. ‘Right. We're going in at midnight, when Yant should be asleep. You've got that folding ladder you were working on, Dot?'

Dot patted her coat pocket.

‘Good. This is a simple sneak 'n' grab job, nothing fancy. Sam, I want you in the Hush with an echoboat, in case we need a quick getaway. Dot, you're in charge of the ladder from this end. Travis, you're on guard duty.' She tossed him a communication globe. ‘If you see anything, or hear anything, I want to be alerted. Got it?'