Moonlight and Ashes (11 page)

There were dozens of barges, each with its name and what it carried painted on the side in large letters, like
TOMASINA, Coal
; or
PRETTY LADY, Scrap
; or
SWALLOWTAIL, Groceries
. We avoided the few barges that still had lights shining behind their cabin windows and swam in amongst the boats shrouded in darkness till we came to one which read,
WANDERER, Old Clothes and Goods
. These sorts of barges plied up and down the river and its tributaries, serving as travelling shops for far-flung towns and villages. They not only sold goods but bought them as well, so we had no idea if
Wanderer
had only just arrived in Ashberg with a cargo to unload, or was about to leave Ashberg with new cargo. It did not matter for the moment because it was clearly moored here overnight and, as Max said, if we had to spend time resting in a hold, it was better to be amongst old clothes than coal or metal. Olga held the boy while Max climbed on, then he helped us in; first the boy, then me, then Olga. Once on board, we
kept well away from sight of the cabin while we looked for the hatch that would lead to the hold.

Finding it, we opened it and slipped down the ladder one after the other, leaving the hatch a little open so we could see more clearly. It was crowded with things – everything from clothes to clocks, saucepans to saddles, and books to blankets. The air was close and a bit smelly but at least it was warm and dry and, after the drenching we'd had in the river, we were all feeling cold. The child – he'd told Max his name was Tomi – was the only one who was mostly dry, but even he was shivering. I found an old blanket and put it around him as he sat huddled in a corner not looking at anyone while the rest of us quietly found clothes we might change into – not only because our clothes were soaking wet, but because they'd feature in the descriptions the Mancers and the police were sure to put out in their search for us.

Thinking I'd be best off disguised as a boy, I dressed myself in an old blue sailor's jumper with canvas pants, oilskin jacket (I put the locket in the jacket pocket) and scuffed boots while Max appeared in a down-at-heel tweed suit and boots similar to mine. Olga, haughtily refusing to dress in male clothing, scrambled around till she found a faded woollen dress, a coat frayed at the sleeves and some clogs. We stuffed the wet clothes deep within the mountain of old clothes. Discovering a pocketknife, I chopped off my hair to the nape of my neck. Max also hacked at his, then shoved a thoroughly disreputable hat on top so that with the stubble beginning to grow on his chin and upper lip, the fine Court gentleman had quite disappeared and he looked like nothing so much as the kind of street tough
one would cross the road to avoid. As to Olga, she refused to touch her hair, tying it up with a piece of string instead. She then made us bundle ours all up and give it to her to throw away or bury later. With a jerk of the head towards the now-sleeping Tomi, she explained, ‘In my country wizards use such things as hair and blood and nail parings to bind the most powerful of spells.'

‘He's too young to know that kind of spell, surely,' said Max. Olga shook her head grimly. ‘We cannot be sure, and better to not take risk.'

Olga was right, I thought. We Ashbergians had lived too long without the experience of magic and so we did not have the instincts born of long understanding. We would certainly need her knowledge if we were to stay free for any length of time.

Now that we were warm and dry and safe for the moment at least, we discussed our next move in low voices. The trouble was that though we all shared the same basic goal – staying alive and free – we each had our own concerns. Max's was to join his father, who, we now gathered, had gone back to Faustina with the Prince, without knowing his son had been arrested; Olga's was to regain safety in Ruvenya; and mine – well, mine was to get the hell out of Ashberg and never return if I could help it. I loved my city, but it didn't love me.

There was nothing there for me any more, and only one person to mourn my going – Maria – but I would get word to her somehow once I was somewhere far, far away. I had lost her the wedding dress, and I could only hope that her innocent involvement in my ‘crimes' would not come to light during a Mancer investigation. For investiga
tion there would be, once they discovered we'd flown the coop. The top would have long turned back into a dead leaf, and perhaps might not even be found, so they'd get precious little from that, but they'd be bound to suspect something very unusual had been at work. Even if they weren't sure it was magic, they'd be certain of one thing: a lowly street thief and a foreign werewolf had helped a valuable prisoner to escape and kidnapped one of their own young. They'd want to know why. They'd crosscheck with the police who the prisoner sharing the cell with the Ruvenyan werewolf had been – and sooner or later, they'd come knocking at my father's door.

How furious – and scared – Grizelda and her daughters would be to discover they'd been harbouring a traitor within their very walls! Imagine the gossip in the servants' quarters! Imagine the gossip in the neighbourhood! I couldn't help a grim little smile at the thought that their reputations would be tarnished, and my stepsisters' prospects of making a fine marriage diminished for at least a while, and Babette might as well forget any thoughts of setting her cap at the Prince. They might even be in such disgrace that they'd have to leave the city. It was of some consolation to know that they would suffer, albeit small, for I knew that in the end they'd likely be cleared of any wrongdoing, my father would definitely disown me and I would have no family left at all. I would have to live in exile for the rest of my life and never ever again breathe the air of my native land.

‘Are you all right, Selena?' asked Max gently, interrupting Olga as she described the easiest way to get through the Ruvenyan border unseen.

I swallowed. ‘Yes, well, not really.'

‘Are you afraid?'

‘Of course. But right now it is more . . . sadness. Because, you see, I don't think that I can ever be at home again in my own city.'

I thought he might ask me what I meant. Instead, he said quietly, his eyes on me, ‘I feel the same.'

I said, a little wildly, ‘But it's different for you – once you get to Faustina and you see your father, you –'

‘I've changed my mind,' he cut in. ‘I won't go to Faustina. I think, rather, I will head to – to Almain.'

‘Almain? But why?'

‘It is safer. They will expect me to go to Faustina and if it is thought that that is what I am doing, then my father will be in great danger. I fear he may even be killed. Better for him if I stay away and he thinks I've just . . . disappeared.'

Both Olga and I stared at him. It was Olga who said, ‘But Max, your father – no, he cannot accept this, he seek you high and low!'

He shook his head. ‘You don't understand. There will be a plausible story. He swallowed. ‘A secret mission I'm on, something like that. He will believe what is told to him. Because he can do no other. Please,' he added, seeing the protests forming on our lips. ‘I cannot explain. Not yet. But trust me when I say it is so.'

I looked at him. ‘Max, do you know what was going to happen to you?'

‘I fear it was blanking.'

I gasped and Olga said sharply, ‘What does this mean?'

‘The process by which a particularly dangerous State criminal has his or her mind remade by powerful spells
that blank out his or her former thoughts, memories, and desires, which then leave the space clear for other implantations,' said Max, grimly, as though quoting from a book.

Olga's mouth was open in shock. She said, ‘In my country, bad men – they are put to death. Sometimes they are even made to suffer before. It is ugly, yes. But this – this destruction of a soul – this is pure evil.'

It was. I had heard of blanking before, of course – everyone in Ashbergia had. First devised in the years after the Grey Widow's rebellion, it was, as Max had quoted, reserved for only ‘particularly dangerous State criminals'. In the early days, it had been used quite a bit. But there hadn't been any blanking for at least the last twenty-five years, since our present Emperor came to the throne. It was said he did not approve of the process, and even after the attempt on his life, he refused to allow it. But if a blanking order had actually been issued against Max, the son of a member of the Mancer Council, no less, it must have been approved by the very highest authority in the land. It must have been approved by the Emperor himself because surely not even the Crown Prince would dare to do such a thing without his authority.

I looked at him and saw he knew what I was thinking, that he was afraid I thought he was truly guilty of some monstrous crime, and it just burst out of me. ‘It's the Prince – that wicked man – he has lied to the Mancers, most likely accused you of plotting to kill him and overthrow the Emperor, and that fool of an old man believes what his precious son says. That's why you don't want to go near your father – because you're afraid that he'll be dragged into it as well.'

He stared at me, aghast.

‘Oh really, Max, did you think I wouldn't work it out?' I sighed. ‘All those hints you've given? It's obvious.'

‘Selena, I swear I did not do what –' he began.

‘You don't need to tell me,' I interrupted. ‘Of course I know it's all lies! Don't forget, I saw what that Prince Charming is really like! I saw a vile, arrogant creep who was full of himself and now I know he's a treacherous, wicked liar as well and if, or rather when, he comes to the throne, God help us all!'

The expression in his eyes darkened. ‘Oh, Selena, you don't –'

‘Oh no, don't you dare defend him, Max! Why did he do this to you?'

‘I can't . . . I can't tell you,' he said, sadly.

‘Why not? Is it because of the way you spoke out for me that night? He hated the way you spoke to him, it was plain as the nose on your face! He's supposed to be your old friend but I saw no friendship in his eyes when he looked at you, only cold rage at what he clearly saw as your impertinence. Oh, Max, is it because of me? Because he has cooked up a story about me being a foreign spy, and you being in league with me? I'm sorry if that was what –'

‘No,' he said, passionately. ‘None of this is your fault – it is mine, I swear it.'

‘Yours? What, because you believed that he was truly your friend?'

He swallowed and said nothing, but I saw I'd hit home.

‘Stop blaming yourself, Max, stop imagining you could have done better! That creature might call himself a prince but he is nothing but a liar and a coward, and his father
must truly be a dotard if he believes him. As to your father, he must be worse than useless but that doesn't surprise me, in my experience fathers are like that, they avert their eyes and run a mile from anything difficult and they would rather protect their precious reputation than their own flesh and blood!' I paused to draw breath and he stared at me as though he'd never seen me before, while Olga looked at us both with a quizzical look on her face. ‘And I'm going to help you no matter what it takes,' I went on, passionately. ‘It's no good saying I'll be in great danger – I already am. They'll work out we escaped together, so we're already going to be seen as your accomplices no matter what. Don't argue, I know you're important and are used to ordering people about, but my mind is made up, and I've always been told I'm stubborn as a mule and twice as ornery, so don't even try, all right?'

The darkness in his eyes vanished as he laughed. ‘All right, little mule.' And the look he gave me then sent a sudden tingle from my head to my toes.

‘And I too will help,' said Olga, fiercely. ‘For even if they say you are the Devil himself I do not care!'

‘You do not need to do this, either of you,' began Max, but we chorused at him to shut up and save his breath for cooling his porridge, which made him laugh again. He admitted that he was quite defeated and that we were all in this together, come what may. And then he told us why he had thought of going to Almain. Max thought that one of his old university teachers, Professor von Munster, an expert on everything to do with the Mancers, might be able to advise on ways of persuading the Mancers to drop the case against him. It seemed like pie in the sky to me, a
frail thing indeed to pin all your hopes on, but it was way better than giving up. And at the very least he'd be safer in Almain, especially if his enemies thought he was sure to head to Faustina.

The quickest way of getting to the Almainian border would be on one of the steamers that leave from Silver Harbour. To get to Silver Harbour we'd have to catch a coach from a stop a short distance from the Cargo Bridge. However, as no coaches left before dawn, it seemed safer to stay on the barge a bit longer and rest, with each of us taking turns to watch while the others slept – and before dawn we'd leave the barge and head for the coach stop.