City of Lies (2 page)

But then she ran away and took refuge in the Museum of Dunt. And in the months that she spent there, she grew up. More than that, she became an accomplished thief and a skilled liar. She learned the Three Methods of Concealment, and the First Song, and how to act with a steely courage, even when she was almost overwhelmed with fear.

The lessons fed some deep need inside her, and the museum quickly came to feel like home. The only thing missing was Ma and Pa.
They
were locked up in the House of Repentance, imprisoned by the Fugleman, the leader of the Blessed Guardians.

And why were they imprisoned?

Goldie turned the corner onto Gunboat Canal. “Because of me,” she whispered.

In the Jewel of ten months ago, running away was a crime. The Fugleman could not get his hands on Goldie, but it was the easiest thing in the world to pluck Ma and Pa from their
beds and drag them before the Court of the Seven Blessings. There they were tried and sentenced for being the parents of a criminal child.

It was my fault
, thought Goldie.
Everything that happened to them was my fault
.

It had rained earlier in the night, and the footpaths of Gunboat Canal were slick with mud. Goldie stopped outside Toadspit’s house, took a deep breath and threw a pebble at the window above her head. Then she slipped back into the shadows and waited.

She had lied when she told her parents that the Museum of Dunt didn’t need her. The museum
did
need her, to help guard the dangerous secrets that lay within its walls.

But Ma and Pa needed her too, and she could not leave them.

She wrapped her fingers around the enamel brooch that she wore on her collar—the brooch that had once belonged to her long-lost auntie Praise. But the little blue bird with its outstretched wings brought her no comfort.

Pa thought that there had only been one message from the Museum of Dunt. He was wrong. In the last few months Goldie had had more than a dozen messages, each one asking when she was going to take up her position as Fifth Keeper.

Tonight she would reply.

Never
.

“N
ever?
” said Toadspit, in a tone of utter disbelief.

Goldie swallowed. She had known that this would be hard, but it was even worse than she had expected. “No. Never.”

As she spoke she felt a prickle between her shoulder blades. She glanced back and saw a small figure duck out of sight. Someone was following them.

Toadspit hadn’t noticed. “But you
want
to be Fifth Keeper,” he said. “I
know
you do!”

“Yes, but—”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“I told you! Ma and Pa—”

Toadspit interrupted her. “Apart from me, there hasn’t been a new keeper for a couple of hundred years! How can you just throw away an invitation like that?”

“I’m
not
just throwing it away—”

“Yes you are! Look at this!” Toadspit waved his left arm in front of her. “No cuff, no guardchain! We got rid of them! We’re supposed to be free, but now you—” He broke off, glaring at her in disgust. “This is so stupid!”

Stung, Goldie glared back at him. “You don’t understand!”

Toadspit’s face closed in a scowl, and Goldie wondered why she had bothered to wake him up. She hadn’t seen him for months, and she had forgotten how annoying he could be. She should have gone straight to the museum.

In the back of her mind a little voice whispered,
But he is right. You were born to be Fifth Keeper. It is your destiny
.

Goldie ignored it, just as she ignored Toadspit. She couldn’t leave Ma and Pa, and that was the end of it.

The two children continued on their way in angry silence. Goldie saw no one on the streets—except for the shadowy figure that still crept in their wake.

But as they crossed Old Arsenal Bridge and began to climb the hill that led to the museum, the quiet was broken by heavy footsteps stamping down the road toward them. Goldie hesitated, suddenly uneasy. There was something
threatening about those footsteps, and if she had been by herself, she would have slipped into the nearest doorway until whoever it was had passed.

But Toadspit’s scowl was like a challenge.

He expects me to hide
, she realized. And she stuck her nose in the air and kept walking.

The footsteps grew louder. Nailed boots struck the cobblestones. By the light of the watergas lamps, Goldie saw two men in long oilskin coats swaggering down the middle of the road. One of them was a huge slab of a fellow with ragged blond hair. The other was smaller, but his face was as sharp as a fishhook. As he passed the children, he peered at them like a butcher inspecting a couple of fat calves.

Fear licked the back of Goldie’s neck. But after that first intense look, the sharp-faced man seemed to lose interest. He and his companion strode across the bridge and disappeared into the darkness.

Toadspit scowled even harder. Goldie’s fear turned to irritation. She spun around and called, “You can come out now, Bonnie.”

There was a hiccup of surprise from the direction of the bridge; then a small girl with dark hair stepped into the lamplight. The hem of her nightdress showed beneath her smock, and in her hand was an old-fashioned longbow and a quiver of arrows.

Toadspit stared at his little sister. “What are
you
doing here?”

Bonnie’s chin went up. “I’m going to the museum with you. I followed you all the way from home and you didn’t even notice.”

“Of course I did.”

“No you didn’t, or you would’ve sent me back.” Bonnie grinned. “Goldie almost saw me once. But I hid just in time.”

“Near the terminus,” said Goldie. “When you slipped.”

Bonnie’s face fell. Toadspit turned his look of disgust on Goldie. “You knew she was following us and you didn’t tell me?”

Goldie shrugged, still angry with him. “She’s not going to come to any harm, not with us here.”

“I’d be all right even if I was by myself,” said Bonnie. She held up the bow. “I’m armed.”

“You’d probably shoot yourself in the foot,” said Toadspit. “Where did you get that thing?”

“Olga Ciavolga gave it to me. She said I had a talent for it. She said I could be a champion archer one day, like Princess Frisia.”

Toadspit looked blank.

“You know, the warrior princess of Merne,” said Bonnie. “There’s a painting of her in the museum. She lived five hundred years ago and she was really brave. Some assassins tried to kill her father the king with poisoned air, and she saved him. And she was the best archer anyone had ever seen. I’m going to be just like her. I’ve been practicing.”

Toadspit rolled his eyes. “You’re a pest, Bonnie. I bet you woke Ma and Pa up when you left.”

“I didn’t!”

“We’re going to have to take you home—”

“We haven’t got time,” interrupted Goldie. “We have to get to the museum.”

“And if we meet any enemies on the way,” said Bonnie, “I can shoot them.”

Toadspit snorted. “I bet you couldn’t even hit the side of a house.”

“I could. I could hit—” Bonnie looked around. “I could hit that wooden pole. The one with the gas lamp, on the other side of the bridge. Will you let me come with you if I do?”

“No—”

“Yes,” said Goldie. “If you hit it you can come with us.”

Toadspit bared his teeth. “Looks like you’ll be going home, then, doesn’t it, Bonniekins.”

His sister smirked. “You only call me that when you think you’re going to lose.”

“Stop it, you two,” said Goldie. “Bonnie, get on with it.”

Bonnie took an arrow from her quiver, fitted it carefully to her bow and turned so she was standing side-on to the watergas lamp, with her legs apart and the tail end of the arrow slotted between her fingers. She drew her right arm back until her hand rested against her cheek. She raised the bow, then lowered it a little.

There was a moment of complete stillness. Then her fingers twitched, the bowstring made a thunking sound, and the arrow flew across the bridge and planted itself firmly in the pole. Bonnie gave a little
Hmm
of satisfaction and lowered the bow.

Toadspit stared. “It was a fluke.”

“You want me to do it again? I can, ten times in a row.”

“No,” said Goldie quickly. “It’s all right, you can come with us.”

“Hang on, I’ve got to get my arrow,” said Bonnie, and before Goldie could stop her, she ran back across the bridge.

Toadspit took a step after her. “I’m going to take her home.”

“You can’t,” said Goldie. “You agreed.”

“No.
You
agreed.
I
never said she could come with us.”

“Don’t be so stubborn. You know she’ll be all right.”

“Will she?” Toadspit’s voice rose angrily. “I’m glad
you’re
so sure. But then you’re not responsible for her, are you.”

“No, but—”

“Well, I am. And
I
say she goes home.” He shouted over his shoulder. “Did you hear that, Bonnie? You’re going home.”

“But
why?
” By now, Goldie was shouting too, with frustration. She could see the night trickling away. At this rate she wouldn’t get anywhere near the museum, which meant she would have to leave her parents alone
again
, tomorrow night or the night after.

“Because she’s too little,” said Toadspit. “She’s only ten.”

Goldie shook her head in disbelief. “You’re just trying to make things happen
your
way, as usual. Well, don’t expect me to hang around while you take her home.”

“Who asked you to hang around? Not me.”

“Good, I’m going, then.”

“Good!”

They glared at each other for a moment longer; then Goldie turned and stamped off up the hill. Behind her a stone rattled across the road, as if someone had kicked it.

Ha!
thought Goldie. If he was in a temper now, he’d be in a worse one soon. She slowed down a little and waited for Bonnie’s protests to begin.

But it was Toadspit’s voice she heard, as brittle as glass on the night air. “G-Goldie?”

She spun around. Toadspit was standing on the far side of the bridge, staring at something on the ground.

The night grew suddenly colder. With a sick feeling in her stomach, Goldie raced down the hill and across the bridge. And there, in the stark light of the gas lamp, she saw what Toadspit was staring at.

In the middle of the road, Bonnie’s longbow lay abandoned. The quiver had been tossed to one side, and arrows were scattered around it like fallen wheat. One of them was stained with blood.

There was no sign of Bonnie.

T
oadspit was so pale that Goldie thought he was going to faint. Her own skin felt like ice, and she had to force herself to scan the ground around that terrible arrow.

“I—I don’t think the blood is Bonnie’s,” she whispered. She pointed to the telltale marks in the mud. “There were two men. See their bootprints where they ran toward her? They took her by surprise. Look at the way her prints are scuffed.”

She broke off, remembering the men who had swaggered
past them. They must have doubled back and seen Bonnie come out of hiding. They must have waited until she was close enough to grab—while Goldie and Toadspit, who were supposed to be looking after her, shouted at each other.

She swallowed and studied the ground again. “I—I think she stabbed one of them with the arrow. It’s
his
blood. And look, one of them has—has picked her up. You can see where
her
footprints stop and
his
get deeper, as if he’s carrying something. Here, they went this way.”

Their argument forgotten, they set out to track the two men through the dark city. To Goldie’s relief, Toadspit was steady on his feet again, but he clutched the bow in his fist, and there was a grimness about him that she had never seen before.

They lost the bootprints many times. For all their skill, they could only track what they could see, and the light from the moon and the watergas lamps was never enough. Sometimes the prints disappeared altogether, and they had to search in every direction until they found a fresh smear of mud, or a pebble kicked out of place.