CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER
9
Peter, Julia, and Louisa watched as Alyce returned to the mine, straining to pick up her buckets full of dirt and returning to the line with the other women. “She’s already been through so much,” murmured Julia. “It’s wrong that she should have to endure this as well.”
“Of course it is,” said Peter, putting a hand on her arm. “And that’s why we’re here—to make sure that she and the others will never have to endure it again. You all right? And you, Louisa? Ready to keep walking?”
“But where are we going?” Louisa asked. “I thought we were looking for the volcano. And here we are. What do we do next?”
“We’re going to find the captain of the guard, of course,” said Peter. “There’s nothing we can do here. Not just yet. We can’t talk to the people when the guards are watching. There will be time enough for that later on.” He eyed the ridge that Alyce had pointed out. “It’s not far … but perhaps we should have a bit of that cheese and sausage first.”
The three children dug into the contents of the satchel. Peter warned them only to drink the water they needed, and to save as much as they could, but between them they emptied one of the skins. Peter congratulated himself on having had the foresight to gather food from the castle, and Julia, much as she hated to let Peter be right, had to admit that it was a very lucky thing indeed. And once they had eaten their fill, they packed away the remaining things and started, once more, on their trip through the woods.
Peter had been right: the ridge with the guards’ tents wasn’t far away, but they had to keep quiet and move stealthily, and that is not a particularly easy thing to do when one is tired and has just had a good meal. Through the trees they could see a path leading from the volcano up to the ridge. They moved parallel to it, always keeping it in sight. Each of them would have liked very much to walk on it, as there weren’t nearly as many boulders to slow their progress or branches to slap back in their faces, but they had no idea how often the path was used and knew they couldn’t risk being seen.
As they walked Louisa began to hum once again. Each time Peter and Julia heard it the melody seemed more distinct, more haunting, lingering in their ears long after she’d ceased. Julia couldn’t quite describe what the song did to her, but she felt deep in her bones that the music must mean something.
“What’s that song, Louisa?” she asked. “The one you’re always humming—what is it?”
“I don’t know,” said Louisa, surprised. “It’s something I’ve always known.” Julia fell quiet and Louisa resumed her song, and on they walked.
It wasn’t long before the path beside them opened up into a great clearing in which stood a grouping of makeshift shelters. Jagged stumps of trees dotted the space between the shelters. To call them tents would be generous, thought Julia, for they were constructed of little but a large piece of cloth slung over a few poles. They could hear noises from within—a few hacking coughs and creaking groans. “Those must be the ones who are too sick to work,” said Louisa, and Peter and Julia nodded.
As they watched a bedraggled figure emerged from one of the tents. His clothes were hanging off his gaunt frame, and his face had taken on a sickly shade of green. He stumbled as he walked, not quite able to keep his balance. A hacking cough overtook him, coming from deep within his lungs, as he staggered to another one of the tents.
Peter turned his face from the sick man and looked around the clearing. “Over there,” he said, pointing up a hill to the far side, away from the shelters. “That must be where the guards are.” Even from this distance they could see that the tents were almost luxurious by comparison—vaulted ceilings and doors, and certainly capable of keeping their occupants safe from any bad weather. “Follow me,” Peter said, and he began to creep along behind the prisoners’ tents. Julia followed.
“No,” said Louisa.
Peter turned and looked at her. “What?”
“I’m not going. I’m staying here with the sick people.”
“You can’t stay here,” Peter said bluntly. “Anyone might see you. You’ve got to stay with us.”
“I was called here just as much as you, Mr. Deliverer,” she said, her hands planted firmly on her hips. “You two go on and spy on the guards. I’m going to stay and see to the sick people here. They need help and I can give it to them. I’ll tell them all about your Lord of Hosts, just as you would do. I can help.” She stamped her foot on the last word.
Peter did not know what to do. On the one hand it might be quite helpful to have Louisa stay and minister to the sick—it would be a start on what he believed was the work they were meant to do here. And yet he wasn’t entirely sure that she could be trusted not to make a mess of things. He stammered, his mouth hanging open as he debated.
Julia reached out and put a hand on Peter’s arm. “That’s fine, Louisa,” she said. “That’s exactly as it should be. Be careful, and get out and hide in the trees if anything goes wrong. Remember, you can’t be seen by any of the Khemians.”
Peter was still stammering. “I’ll be fine, Peter,” said Louisa. “Come find me when you get back, all right?”
He nodded. “Do be careful,” he cautioned. “And see if you can get any information on the mines.”
“I will,” she said, and ducked into one of the shelters. Peter looked after her for a moment, and then Julia pulled him away.
“She’ll be fine,” she said as they walked uphill to the guards’ tents. “She hasn’t fainted for—oh, it must have been hours now. A marked improvement, really.”
“I don’t know if she can be trusted,” Peter replied stiffly. “The only side she’s on is her own.”
“Do you really think so?” asked Julia. “She seems different lately—not so horrid as she was back home. Did you see how she was watching Alyce? It was—well, it was almost as if she cared. And wanting to stay with the sick people, wanting to help them … something must be changing her.” She smiled, then said, half to herself, “Perhaps the Lord of Hosts is at work, even in this pit of a place.”
And then Peter shushed her, because they were approaching the tent of the captain of the guards. It could only have been his tent: it was the finest in the clearing, with embroidered fabric swinging over the entrance and room for twenty men to stand inside. It looked as if there were separate rooms, all with tables and chairs and ornately woven rugs.
The two children hid themselves near the back of the tent, just a few steps away from the woods. They wouldn’t be seen by any guards unless someone was looking for them, but they could hear perfectly every word spoken inside.
“I grow tired of waiting,” a voice was saying. “Seven months it has been—seven months! And in that time the prisoners have turned up nothing. Nothing but a few rocks and worms.” The children heard another man clearing his throat.
“Sir, if I may … the area we’ve been searching is large indeed, and it may not be realistic to expect …” He was interrupted by the sound of a fist crashing down on the table.
“I expect to be obeyed. I expect results. Look here,” said the first voice. Peter and Julia could hear the shuffling of papers inside the tent. “Here, right at the top. The prophecy. You see, gentlemen? You see why this is of the most extreme importance?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t important, Captain. I meant that the map is not specific, and it could be years before we uncover …” The voice went silent and was replaced by a sort of heavy breathing.
“Years?” said the first voice quietly. “Look around you. The smell. The quakes in the earth. The fissures. We do not have years; we have days. If we do not find the second half before that time we are all doomed.” There was a long pause, and more of the heavy breathing. “Doomed, gentlemen. I suggest you try harder.”
“The prisoners are digging as fast as they can,” put in a third voice timidly.
“Then you’ll have to dig yourself!” The Captain’s quiet voice was gone, and Peter thought with a shudder that Captain Ceres sounded exactly like his father when he was angry. They heard the sound of chairs scraping and footsteps over hard ground. The guards were leaving.
Julia moved from the tent to creep back to the trees, but Peter stuck out an arm in front of her. “Listen,” he said. A bottle was being opened, and some liquid was being poured into a glass. Julia could hear the splashing. “Wait,” Peter mouthed. “Maybe he’ll sleep.”
They waited as the Captain downed his drink, then poured himself another, then another. Their limbs were getting stiff as they crouched against the tent, but they dared not move or make a noise. And then, finally, after what felt like hours later, came the sound of a glass falling and hitting the floor. It was followed by a series of thunderous snores, and Peter grinned at his sister. “Now,” he said.
They stood and took a moment to ease their aching legs and knees, then went slowly around to the front of the tent. Julia lifted one of the heavy tent flaps and peered inside. Ceres, the captain of the guard, lay back in a chair behind his desk, one hand folded over his ample stomach and the other hovering over the glass that had fallen to the floor. Before him was a desk strewn with a mess of papers. But Julia’s gaze was drawn to the Captain’s chest. There was a large talisman laying there, attached to a cord that went around his neck. The talisman had six long sides, and out of the center had been cut the shape of a star. Julia had the most curious feeling that she’d seen it before … but it looked wrong, somehow.
Peter was behind her, hissing at her to move so he could get inside and have a look at the papers. Julia came to her senses and was about to step aside when the earth began to shake.
It was worse — much worse—than any earthquake they’d felt so far on the island. The ground seemed to roar as it shuddered, collapsing the tents and knocking Peter and Julia from their feet. Together they tumbled down the hill, grabbing at anything they could hold onto, trying not to yell as the rocks and branches on the ground tore their clothes and scratched their skin. And finally, mercifully, the earthquake ended almost as quickly as it had begun. And Peter and Julia found themselves lying at the feet of a particularly nasty-looking guard.
He released the tree he had been grabbing onto for support and scowled at the children. “Thought we’d get off work, did we?” he sneered, and Julia and Peter recognized him as the third voice they’d heard back in the tent. “Maybe it’s the sting of my whip you need to teach you.” Peter shook his head, his lips white.
“N … no sir,” he stammered. Julia was absolutely silent, her eyes riveted on that whip.
“On your feet, you scum!” They scrambled up, and Peter saw that with the dark dust on their clothes they looked the same as any other prisoner. “March!”
Peter looked down and realized that they were standing on the path they’d seen from the forest—the path that led to the mine. The guard slapped the handle of his whip against their backs and repeated his command, and they started walking.
The path curved around the prisoners’ tents, and Julia stole a glance up at them. They had all collapsed in the earthquake, and a few bedraggled figures were just emerging from the rubble of cloth and sticks. A young woman that she hardly recognized as her stepsister was moving among them, helping them out from the wreckage of their shelter and letting them lean on her shoulder. As she worked Julia heard her singing that familiar, haunting melody. But this time the song had words.
Peter had noticed Louisa as well. He stared up at her, mouth agape, forgetting entirely that he was supposed to be walking, forgetting that there was a guard with a vicious-looking whip behind him. He didn’t remember the whip until its sting came cracking down across his back.