Raiders' Ransom (14 page)

I've got my eyes fixed on Cat's gray feet, and I daren't say anything.

“Eustace told me this seacraft was commonly supposed to be due to the remarkable powers of a race of local cats.”

“Maybe,” I say, trying to keep my face blank.

“If one were to obtain such an animal, I am sure it would fetch a most desirable price in such a den of thieves as London,” he says, as if mulling it over. Then he winks. “But of course, I know they are gray all over. And your companion is almost all black. So he must be with you because …?”

“I'm delivering him to my uncle,” I say, blushing under my dried cake of mud.

“Your uncle. How splendid!” says Mr. Saravanan. “What a fine gentleman he must be.”

I drop my head, blushing even redder.

“Um … I told people
you
were my uncle,” I mumble.

Mr. Saravanan gives me a lopsided smile.

“Well then! In that case you are most fortunate your Uncle Saru is a fill-dealer, not a seacat dealer, and therefore has no interest in a gray-footed feline!”

Our little family get-together is broken up by a high-pitched hollering from the front of the house.

“Help me! Don't just leave me to dangle!”

It's Zeph.

Mr. Saravanan raises his bushy eyebrows at me.

“Did you bring a friend?”

I sigh.

“He ain't my friend. He's a raider. He's the reason I'm covered in mud, and now he's following me around.”

“A raider? How interesting. Do you want me to deal with him?”

His hand moves to pick up the pistol. I can't say I don't have a thought about it. But Granny would never forgive me.

“No. Don't,” I say. “It's all right, really. He keeps the others off me.”

“A very sensible point of view,” says Mr. Saravanan. “Having protection is most necessary in this town. Especially now, with the raiders so fractious.”

“Don't tell him anything about the letter,” I say, feeling a bit panicky again, “or where I'm headed. He doesn't know anything about it.”

Mr. Saravanan chuckles.

“And I guess this is the person you told about your Uncle Saru. Well, stay here, little nephew, and I will haul in your raider.”

After Mr. Saravanan pulls Zeph in through the window — “The ladder moved! It did. Otherwise I woulda had no problems climbing up” — he brings him back into the little room and sits him down on the sofa next to me.

He looks at the two of us, both plastered in stinky mud, and sighs.

“I can see you are both in need of my bathtub,” he says. “Please come with me to my kitchen.”

Mr. Saravanan has a kitchen nearly as big as the whole of our house back home. Most of one wall's filled up by a big black range, which Cat curls up to straightaway. In the middle there's a table, and a wide, buckled dresser is propped up against another wall, with a tin bath hanging from a hook next to it. But the best thing is, he's got his very own tap, which pours out water whenever he turns it. No traipsing to the water pump for him.

He smiles and says, “You see, young nephew? Your uncle has all the luxuries here. You know, once upon a time this was where the Prime Minister lived.”

I reckon he's putting us on, so I don't say anything, but that doesn't stop Zeph.

“Well, he better not come back. He'd be chopped into little bits by the Families if he showed his face here today.”

Mr. Saravanan gives Zeph a look. “Yes, I expect you are right.” And he turns back to his water tap.

When three pans of water are heating on the range, Mr. Saravanan says, “You boys can get washed, and I will see if Enid can sort out your clothes.” He takes a large canvas bag down from a hook on the wall.

“Put your dirty garments in here, if you please.”

And now I don't know what to do. I could strip off down to my long johns, which'd mean I'd still be covered up from neck to knees. But I can't hardly take off any more clothes. And I definitely ain't sharing a bath with anyone!

I'm stood there, wondering and probably looking right stupid about it, when Mr. Saravanan suddenly winks at me and says, “But what am I thinking of? I shall need someone to help me persuade Enid to wash the clothes. She is a woman who needs encouragement to undertake domestic activities. It would be better, I think, if young Lilo gets washed first while Zeph comes with me.” He turns to Zeph and nods. “You seem like more of a fierce prospect than my little nephew.”

Zeph puffs up at that.

“I can persuade her, the old beggar. And a lot better than Lilo — he looks a bit wet, don't he?”

“Yes,
he
certainly does,” says Mr. Saravanan, chuckling to himself. “Although I would advise you not to refer to Enid as an old beggar in her hearing. Unless you're looking for a broken bottle in your face.”

In the end, it ain't hard to get clean without being found out. I reckon the raiders can't have baths that often, cos Zeph doesn't even blink when I keep my long johns on. Mr. Saravanan gives me a look, but he doesn't say anything. Just takes all my other clothes, 'cept my fisherbelt cos I ain't giving that to anyone, and heads off with Zeph. I have to make a right quick go of scrubbing myself before the other two get back, and rinse and wring out my long johns as well. But I manage it. And it's not long before Zeph walks in, looking right cross and wearing a set of shapeless clothes with his head poking out like a drying cow pie. Mr. Saravanan follows, clutching a bundle.

“In her own delightful fashion, Enid has told us she will not be able to wash and dry your garments before tomorrow morning. But there is no need for concern, because I have plenty of clothes in my collection.”

“She swore at me, the mangy old beggar,” says Zeph grumpily. “And I don't know where you got this rubbish from.”

“Well, you are perfectly welcome to sit around naked,” says Mr. Saravanan.

He hands me the bundle. It's an outfit like Zeph's: a pair of blue canvas pants and a shapeless top. My top is black, with long sleeves, a hole for a neck, and M
ETALLIC
A written across it. Zeph's top is red and has M
ANCHEST NITED
in worn-out letters. The clothes smell musty.

“These are disgusting!” says Zeph, picking at his top.

“There is nothing wrong with them,” snaps Mr. Saravanan. “They have been cleaned very carefully since they were taken from the landfill.”

“You've given us dead men's clothes?” says Zeph, sounding outraged.

“I doubt very much they belonged to men,” says Mr. Saravanan, fixing his black eyes on Zeph, “unless people in those days were a great deal smaller. I would suggest these are more likely to be the clothes of long-dead children.”

And there ain't an answer to that.

When it comes time for Zeph's bath, he does the same as me, getting in with his undies on, like he reckons that's how it's done. Then he's splashing and singing, for what seems like hours. Mr. Saravanan spends the time cutting up onions and potatoes and all sorts of other vegetables. He fries things and throws in different-colored seeds and powders, so a thick spicy scent fills up the kitchen.

But Zeph isn't even the slightest bit grateful for the bath or the food or anything. All he says about it is, “Lilo! Bring me some more hot water!”

“I ain't your slave!” I say, which gets me a sneer.

“No you ain't,” he says, “coz if you was, you'd know your place and not answer back.”

Mr. Saravanan places a lid on the last of his pots, leaving our dinner to bubble, and carries a pan of hot water over to Zeph, pouring it calmly into his bath.

“Ow! That's too hot now!”

“Oh dear,” says Mr. Saravanan. “Well, I am afraid that's something you will have to solve for yourself, because I now need young Lilo to come and help me.”

And he steers me by the arm to the door, leaving Zeph hopping around the kitchen, trying to get cold water to his bath.

We go into Mr. Saravanan's study, and he closes the door behind us.

“I find cooking most helpful for calm thought,” he says. “And so I have come to an idea of how to find the location of the little kidnapped girl.”

He looks at the door, as if he's trying to see through to Zeph.

“I cannot say I have much fondness for raiders. They are so arrogant, so proud. Always boasting about how they survived the Collapse, without seeming to notice the others of us who did the same.” He shakes his head. “It was very arrogant and prideful to take that poor little girl.” Then he smiles, a wrinkly, cheered-up kind of smile.

“But the good thing about this pride is how it makes their tongues wag. I do not think there is a raider in all London who could keep the secret of where that girl has been taken if he knew it. And there is a tavern I know of, where many raiders go. I am sure this will be the place to find out.”

Thank the west wind, we're going to a tavern!

Me, Lilo, and his weird uncle.

But not his mog, that's sat by the range. I don't know why they make such a fuss of it.

The two of them make another fuss at the ladder, like I've got some kind of problem. I'm stood at the window, just checkin' the candlelit stalls below, and the Temz glinting darkly in the distance, when Lilo says, “Don't worry, Zeph, I'll catch you.”

Like I need his help! And then weird Uncle Saru bounces around on the ladder so I can hardly hold on. I mean, what kind of loony only has a ladder to get into their house with?

Most of the streets of Lunden is dark, and all the empty houses make pitch-black shadows so you can't see nothing.
Uncle Saru's got a lantern, but it only puts out a measly yellow light, and I can't hardly see my feet. The tide's in, and back toward the Temz there's a shimmer of water, lapping around the buildings. Father's that way, where the dragon-boat's moored. I wonder if he's noticed I ain't there, if Ims told him what happened. I should be on the dragonboat with my father, instead of here with this fisherboy and his weird uncle. Still, at least we're going to a tavern.

Apart from his lantern, the other thing old Saru's got is a big wooden club — long and flat with a round handle.

A cricket bat, he calls it. “Once used for a most elegant game. Now used most inelegantly to frighten off would-be attackers.” Not that it'd frighten anyone with a decent sword.

A bit farther on, and we're into a big, bright-lit square. Wide and open, at the meeting of four streets. There's a massive deckway across the whole place, with the Lunden mud dark beneath it. Off to one side is a tall stone column sticking through the decking, with a headless, armless statue on top. Ropes fan out from it with lanterns dangling off them. Smoking braziers are scattered about, sending orange flickering light onto the broken buildings all around, but the main thing what counts is all the stalls. Loads of them. And all the people, coming in from every direction. Everyone's having a good time; sitting round the fires with bottles and pipes, or going to stalls to buy food or drinks. Talking, laughing, selling things.

I know where we are now. Trafalgar Square! This is more like it.

“I came here with Ims night before last,” I say.

“Good for you,” says Saru.

“What is this place?” asks Lilo, sounding like he ain't never seen nothin' like it. Which he probably ain't.

“It's Trafalgar Square. Best party in Lunden!”

“That is one way of describing it,” says Saru, opening the glass of his lantern and blowing out the flame.

Straight off, we're in the throng.

“Keep close to me,” says Saru, and Lilo practically hangs off his butt, like he's scared he'll get eaten if he loses his uncle.

But I don't care. I love this. Crackling fire-pits. The smell of roasting meat, or frying bread, or sweet-dipped apples. People laughing and checkin' each other. People getting drunk and falling about.

A well rough doxy, with streaks of red smeared across her cheeks and eyes, pulls at Lilo's shoulder.

“Come here for some action, 'ave ya, little man?” and she winks at him.

“Get off me!” he shrieks, and starts beating at her like she's a wasp.

“Come on, Lilo,” I say, “you're missing your chance! She'll help you find your plums!”

Lilo stares at me. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't be such a girl!” I say, and he goes red.

“This way!” calls Saru, who's got a few paces ahead of us in the crowd. Lilo gets in a right old panic at that, pushing through and grabbing a fistful of Saru's coat.

I follow along easy, while they charge across the square, like a horse and its wagon. But I can tell where they're off to. You can't miss it. It's the biggest, the best, the busiest tent in the whole square. The roof is held up in three peaks by tall poles, and all round the awning there's banners flying in every raider color.