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“I just thought that you might like to know that Touchstone’s room is that way,” said Mogget, indicating the silent room opposite the one with the noisy couple. “It hasn’t got a bathtub, so he’d like to know if he can use yours when you’re finished. He’s waiting downstairs in the meantime, getting the local news.”
“Oh,” replied Sabriel. She looked across at the far, silent wall, then back to the close wall, where the human noises were now largely lost in the groaning of bedsprings. “Well, tell him I won’t be long.”
Twenty minutes later, a clean Sabriel, garbed in a borrowed dress made incongruous by her sword-belt (the bell-bandolier lay under her bed, with Mogget asleep on top of it), crept on slippered feet through the largely empty common room and tapped the salty, begrimed Touchstone on the back, making him spill his beer.
“Your turn for the bath,” Sabriel said cheerily, “my evil-smelling swordsman. I’ve just had it refilled. Mogget’s in the room, by the way. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind?” asked Touchstone, as much puzzled by her manner as the question. “I just want to get clean, that’s all.”
“Good,” replied Sabriel, obscurely. “I’ll organize for dinner to be served in your room, so we can plan as we eat.”
In the event, the planning didn’t take long, nor was it slow in dampening what was otherwise a relatively festive occasion. They were safe for the moment, clean, well-fed—and able to forget past troubles and future fears for a little while.
But, as soon as the last dish—a squid stew, with garlic, barley, yellow squash and tarragon vinegar—was cleared, the present reasserted itself, complete with cares and woe.
“I think the most likely place to find my father’s body will be at . . . that place, where the Queen was slain,” Sabriel said slowly. “The reservoir. Where is it, by the way?”
“Under the Palace Hill,” replied Touchstone. “There are several different ways to enter. All lie beyond this aqueduct-guarded valley.”
“You are probably right about your father,” Mogget commented from his nest of blankets in the middle of Touchstone’s bed. “But that is also the most dangerous place for us to go. Charter Magic will be greatly warped, including various bindings—and there is a chance that our enemy . . .”
“Kerrigor,” interrupted Sabriel. “But he may not be there. Even if he is, we may be able to sneak in—”
“We might be able to sneak around the edges,” said Touchstone. “The reservoir is enormous, and there are hundreds of columns. But wading is noisy, and the water is very still—sound carries. And the six . . . you know . . . they are in the very center.”
“If I can find my father and bring his spirit back to his body,” Sabriel said stubbornly, “then we can deal with whatever confronts us. That is the first thing. My father. Everything else is just a complication that’s followed on.”
“Or preceded it,” said Mogget. “So, I take it your master plan is to sneak in, as far as we can, find your father’s body, which will hopefully be tucked away in some safe corner, and then see what happens?”
“We’ll go in the middle of a clear, sunny day . . .” Sabriel began.
“It’s underground,” interrupted Mogget.
“So we have sunlight to retreat to,” Sabriel continued in a quelling tone.
“And there are light shafts,” added Touchstone. “At noon, it’s a sort of dim twilight down there, with patches of faint sun on the water.”
“So, we’ll find Father’s body, bring it back to safety here,” said Sabriel, “and . . . and take things from there.”
“It sounds like a terribly brilliant plan to me,” muttered Mogget. “The genius of simplicity . . .”
“ Can you think of anything else?” snapped Sabriel. “I’ve tried, and I can’t. I wish I could go home to Ancelstierre and forget the whole thing—but then I’d never see Father again, and the Dead would just eat up everything living in this whole rotten Kingdom. Maybe it won’t work, but at least I’ll be trying something, like the Abhorsen I’m supposed to be and you’re always telling me I’m not!”
Silence greeted this sally. Touchstone looked away, embarrassed. Mogget looked at her, yawned and shrugged.
“As it happens, I can’t think of anything else. I’ve grown stupid over the millennia—even stupider than the Abhorsens I serve.”
“I think it’s as good a plan as any,” Touchstone said, unexpectedly. He hesitated, then added, “Though I am afraid.”
“So am I,” whispered Sabriel. “But if it’s a sunny day tomorrow, we will go there.”
“Yes,” said Touchstone. “Before we grow too afraid.”
chapter xx
Leaving the safe, aqueduct-bounded quarter of Belisaere proved to be a more difficult business than entering it, particularly through the northern archway, which led out to a long-abandoned street of derelict houses, winding their way up towards the northern hills of the city.
There were six guards at the archway, and they looked considerably more alert and efficient than the ones who guarded the passage from the docks. There was also a group of other people ahead of Sabriel and Touchstone waiting to be let through. Nine men, all with the marks of violence written in their expressions, in the way they spoke and moved. Every one was armed, with weapons ranging from daggers to a broad-bladed axe. Most of them also carried bows—short, deeply curved bows, slung on their backs.
“Who
are these people?” Sabriel asked Touchstone. “Why are they going out into the Dead part of the city?”
“Scavengers,” replied Touchstone. “Some of the people I spoke to last night mentioned them. Parts of the city were abandoned to the Dead very quickly, so there is still plenty of loot to be found. A risky business, I think . . .”
Sabriel nodded thoughtfully and looked back at the men, most of whom were sitting or squatting by the aqueduct wall. Some of them looked back at her, rather suspiciously. For a moment, she thought they’d seen the bells under her cloak and recognized her as a necromancer, then she realized that she and Touchstone probably looked like rival scavengers. After all, who else would want to leave the protection of swift water? She felt a bit like a hard-bitten scavenger. Even freshly cleaned and scrubbed, her clothes and armor were not the sweetest items of wear. They were also still slightly damp, and the boat cloak that covered her up was on the borderline between damp and wet, because it hadn’t been hung up properly after washing. On the positive side, everything had the scent of lemon, for the Sign of Three Lemons washerfolk used lemon-scented soap.
Sabriel thought the scavengers had been waiting for the guards, but clearly they had been waiting for something else, which they’d suddenly sighted behind her. The sitting or squatting men picked themselves up, grumbling and cursing, and shuffled together into something resembling a line.
Sabriel looked over her shoulder to see what they saw—and froze. For coming towards the arch were two men, and about twenty children; children of all ages between six and sixteen. The men had the same look as the other scavengers, and carried long, four-tongued whips. The children were manacled at the ankles, the manacles fastened to a long central chain. One man held the chain, leading the children down the middle of the road. The other followed behind, plying the air above the small bodies idly with his whip, the four tongues occasionally licking against an ear or the top of a small head.
