The Hush (17 page)

Susannah reacted fast. She grabbed Chester's sleeve and yanked him back around the corner. They flattened themselves against the wall, keeping their breaths low and quiet. Chester's limbs felt so tightly coiled that he feared his body might explode. He tightened his fingers around the hideaway lamp, blocking even the smallest rays of light from escaping.

Silence.

‘Didn't see us,' Chester mouthed.

Susannah nodded, ghostly in the shadows. She bent in close and whispered in his ear. ‘We'll have to pass him in the Hush.'

Her breath tingled warm on Chester's neck. It took him a second to refocus. ‘Okay.'

They dropped to the floor, seeking something solid to hold onto. In unison, they hummed the backwards Sundown Recital, as quietly as possible, so that each reversed run of notes was barely a breath in the still of the corridor.

Chester felt a tingle as the final note brushed his lips. The air rippled around him and he lurched. It felt as
though an invisible hand had yanked him off kilter, leaving him to teeter on his knees and splayed palms.

Darkness filled the corridor. It wasn't the usual dark of a building at night. It was a stronger shadow, a deeper black. It exploded into the air like ink spilling from a broken bottle. It tasted bitter, casting an unnatural tang of cold onto his tongue.

And to Chester's surprise, it swirled with rain. He had never entered the Hush inside a building before – for some reason, he'd half-expected the Hush-rain to stay outside, like in the
Cavatina
. But unlike the echoship, this corridor had not been designed to withstand conditions in the Hush. Here, the unnatural rain slithered and smacked and sizzled at odd angles, striking sideways, dancing through the air. And as always, it left him dry.

Susannah opened her palm, allowing the full light of her hideaway lamp to bloom. It glinted off raindrops and the corridor's ornaments; it glimmered off golden picture frames and lit their path around the corner.

And this time, when they turned the corner, there was no guard in sight.

‘Why didn't we do this whole job in the Hush?' Chester said, as they moved down the corridor. ‘If none of the guards know about the Hush, wouldn't it be safer to –'

‘Too dangerous.'

‘Worse than getting caught by guards?'

‘Yes,' Susannah said emphatically. ‘Echoes are worse than guards.'

‘But we just spent days in the Hush and I only
saw Echoes once in all that time. They can't be
that
common …'

‘We were out in the countryside,' Susannah said. ‘Out where we were travelling, there wasn't much human influence in the real world – not much sorcery around to leak through. But it's different in towns and cities. The Hush is more dangerous here.'

‘Why?'

‘Too much Music in the air,' Susannah said. ‘It leaks through and poisons the Hush. We know there's at least one trained Songshaper in this town, and there's sorcery all over the place. In the lamps, the water pumps, the kitchen stoves …'

‘That means more Echoes in the Hush?'

She nodded. ‘And worse things, too.'

‘Worse than Echoes?'

Susannah hesitated. ‘The Hush is a dumping ground, so it gets tainted by things that are dumped here. When you get too much magical disturbance in an area, the Hush can get … tricky. Twisted.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I mean it's not just Echoes you have to look out for,' Susannah said. ‘It's where you put your feet. Whether the floor is solid or made of shifting sands. Whether the air is toxic gas, or whether –'

Chester froze. He stared down at the floor, searching for signs of trickery in the wood. Nothing. Just empty black and the swirl of mist and rain.

‘Don't panic,' Susannah said. ‘I've been keeping my eye out and this corridor looks okay. But I know what to look
for. I know the signs. Don't ever go into the Hush on your own. Not in the country and
definitely
not in town. And if you try it in Weser City …'

Chester felt a little queasy at the thought. ‘Got it.'

‘Right,' Susannah said, as they rounded another corner. ‘Let's get back to reality.'

They dropped to their knees. A few hummed notes later and the Hush melted away. Rain vanished, blackness receded. They knelt upon an ordinary floor, in an ordinary corridor.

The Hush was gone.

Chester let out a slow breath. He pressed his fingers against the solid floorboards.

Susannah leant in close. ‘Better keep moving.'

They covered three more corridors and a flight of stairs. No sign of another guard. Perhaps Yant saw no need to post guards here, deep in the inner sanctum of his mansion. After all, there was no way for a thief to sneak past the earlier guard, not without knowledge of the Hush, at least.

The corridors were dark now, and more sparsely decorated. Chester held a fist before him, letting the barest crack of light shine between two fingers. This part of the house seemed more for function than show. No more paintings on the walls. No more decorative carpets on the floor. Just silence and darkness and the nervous huff of his own breath.

They reached a heavy wooden door, carved with dozens of floral patterns. It held a series of interlocking deadbolts, with twisting iron bars that melted down into an ornamental treble clef above the doorhandle.

Susannah shook her head. ‘What a show-off.'

‘What?'

‘It's a Musical lock. They're rare and expensive, so Yant gets the end shaped into musical notation to show his friends that he can afford such a luxury.' She shook her head. ‘Completely defeats the point, mind you, since it tells us what we're dealing with.'

‘You can pick the lock, then?'

‘No. But you can.'

Chester stared at her, confused. Then he realised what she meant. If it was a Musical lock, it must require … ‘Music?'

Susannah nodded. ‘Sam said you fought off an Echo, didn't you? By reversing its tune?'

‘Yeah.'

‘Well, this is similar. That's what Dot says, anyway – you can usually undo Music by playing it backwards.'

Chester drew out the silver flute. It felt cold and hard in his fingers, so unlike the familiar warm wood of his fiddle bow. ‘People will hear me.'

‘So play quietly.'

It's not that simple
, Chester wanted to say. He wasn't very familiar with the flute. It took enough concentration to hit the notes right and prevent them from squeaking, let alone to adjust the volume as he played …

But Susannah looked at him with expectant eyes, and the sight of her face in the shadows was doing funny things to his stomach. She raised a hand to scrape red curls behind her ear and Chester's insides did a tiny flip.

He blinked and tried to clear his mind. This wasn't the
time for sorting out his feelings. He had more important things to worry about. He remembered what Dot had said about making demands but he forced her words to the back of his mind. He had to be confident. He had to be strong.

Or at the very least, to put on a show of it.

‘If I do this,' he whispered, ‘I'll be taking a big risk.'

‘So?'

‘So I want something in return.'

Susannah's lips curled into a frown. ‘I treat all my gang members equally.'

‘I just want information,' Chester said quickly, before she could get the wrong idea. ‘I want to know about the vanishings and what might have happened to my father.'

Susannah hesitated. ‘Chester, I …'

‘My father is the only reason I'm playing along with this gang,' Chester said. ‘And if I don't start getting answers soon, I don't see any point in sticking around.'

It wasn't entirely true, of course. After endless weeks of wandering the wilderness and hopping trains with lies on his lips and secrets in his belly, it was a massive relief to have a feeling of home. To feel as though he belonged. And despite himself, he was starting to enjoy the gang's company.

But even so, his father came first.

‘All right,' Susannah said. ‘When this job is over – if all goes well – I'll tell you what I know about the vanishings.'

‘Everything?'

‘Everything I know.'

Chester eyed her suspiciously. ‘Aren't you worried I'll nick off before the Conservatorium job?'

‘You won't. Not once you've heard what I've got to say.'

Chester stared at her, hungry for more information. But he could still feel the flute, cold in his hands, and the lock hung, dark and twisted, in front of his eyes. This wasn't the time for an interrogation.

He pressed a finger to the lock and strained to hear the tune within the metal.

Nothing.

Chester frowned. Was he too distracted to focus? He touched the lock again. No. Still nothing. The only Music he could sense came from the hideaway lamp, still clutched with the flute in his opposite palm.

He opened his eyes to stare at Susannah, who looked a little perplexed by his hesitation. ‘What's wrong?'

‘I can't feel any Music in this lock. Normally when I touch enchanted things, I can feel the tune run up my fingers …'

Susannah swore under her breath. ‘We should've brought Dot along. I'm not a Songshaper – I don't know how to deal with this sort of thing.'

‘Hang on,' Chester said, ‘I'll try again.'

He pressed his fingers back to the lock. It felt dead against his skin, a curve of empty metal. No thrum of sorcery, no hint of a melody. And still his lamp played on, a tickle of notes into his opposite palm …

‘This metal isn't enchanted,' Chester said, opening his eyes. ‘There's nothing there.'

‘Try again,' Susannah said.

‘There's no point! If I can't feel the Music, I don't know what notes to play in reverse …' Chester paused. He could
still feel the thrum of the hideaway lamp, like an itch on his palm. ‘Hang on. Hold this for me, will you?'

He passed the lamp to Susannah, who quickly closed her fist to stifle the flash of light. Chester took a second to refocus, shoving aside any lingering remnants of the lamp's melody. He needed to be fresh. Clean. No interference from another source of Music. He took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to the Song. He pressed his hand to the lock.

And this time, he felt it.

Chester almost let out a whoop of triumph; instead, he settled for a wild grin at Susannah. Music spun inside the metal – a quiet tune, tight and spiralling, darkly closing in on itself with a C diminished chord. It sounded like locks. Like closed doors. Like stifling fear and a choking of the throat …

Chester rolled up one sleeve then raised the flute to his lips. He knelt on the floor beside the lock, so that his exposed elbow could press against the metal while his hands played. And with a quiet breath, he reversed the tune.

It was hard to keep his Music quiet. He allowed only the slightest breaths, more like whispers than proper notes. A few were slightly off-key, distorted by the quaver in his breathing. But he slowly settled into the tune and ran it backwards, again, again, again. Notes flowed like a rearranged song: somehow broken, yet somehow whole. It was odd to play them against the tune of the lock; the whole affair sounded painfully disjointed, until –

There it was. The Song.

Dee duh. Dee
…

‘No!' Chester hissed, and his exclamation turned the note on his flute into a squawk. He stifled it quickly, conscious of Susannah's worried glare, and took a moment to steady himself. He couldn't afford to connect to the Song. If anyone in Linus had radar equipment, or if any Songshapers were in nearby towns hunting for him …

‘Is everything all right?' Susannah said.

‘Oh, yeah,' Chester lied quickly. ‘Fine. I'm just figuring out the tune in my head, that's all.'

Deep down, he knew he should tell her the truth. If he couldn't control his connection to the Song, he would put the entire gang in danger. But he couldn't let Susannah think that he was weak. This job was now his chance to find the answers, to save his father. He had to impress the captain, no matter what.

Chester pressed a finger to the lock once more. Its tune was quiet and stifling, tightening in upon itself like a noose. He returned his fingers to the flute, took a shaky breath, and attempted once more to reverse the tune. The music spiralled backwards, coiling and weaving, a run of notes that tinkled back around to brush itself with melody …

And then it happened.

Click.

It was a moment just like when he'd fought the Echo, back in Sam's echoboat. A moment when the bars met in rhythm and in harmony and the tunes somehow clicked together. Like one mirror staring back into another, their reflections slotted into place.

A chill rippled up Chester's elbow, rising from where his skin pressed the lock. The air throbbed around him. The lock groaned. There was a clanking sound behind the door and the mechanical scrape of metal on metal. Bolts creaked back as the treble-clef doorhandle turned.

The door swung open.

The room inside had no floor. At least, so Chester thought when he first glimpsed it. It was a room of chestnut walls with a crimson ceiling, as rich and dark as chocolate. But no floor.

Then he realised: the floor was made of glass. It was utterly clear, without a single crack or chip in the facade. He wouldn't have spotted it at all, if not for the glint of Susannah's lamp on the glass. Chester doubted it would take a human's weight.

In the centre, a marble column rose from the room below. It was topped with a pedestal, flat and white – large enough for six people to stand on. Atop the pedestal sat a massive wooden chest.

‘Damn,' Susannah muttered. ‘I should have known he'd have a shattervault …'

‘A what?'

She gestured at the floor of glass. ‘It's called a shattervault. You can't reach the chest without breaking the glass and falling down into …' She hesitated. ‘Into whatever nasty trap he's laid underneath.'