She moved towards the cage. David's hand swung out, and he caught her by the wrist. Kara tried to yank her hand free, and he could feel the strength of her: the rough consequence of years of working the ropes, suspended above the air, of climbing and scrubbing, of being everything that a pilot must be; but now, right now — earned or not — he was stronger.
David said, “Stop, look at their mouths.”
Darkness gathered and fluttered there, moving slowly, circling the heat of their breaths.
“Witmoths,” Mother Graine said. “Kara, I did nothing. The moths arrived with some of the Aerokin from Hardacre. It’s a tougher breed, capable of resisting the cold, but not this cold. I had to bring them here, lost two more sisters to it on that screaming mad descent into stone. Men and women died to bring them to these depths. Cadell, we never had the resistance to them that you do. Our blood burns hot like Cuttlefolk, not cold.” She touched David’s wrist. “I am the only one left.”
“And you cage them,” David said. “How dare you cage them? Death is the only honour left to them.”
Mother Graine straightened, her eyes hardened, and her lips thinned. “You know nothing of cages,” Mother Graine said. “Not yet, and when you do, you will rethink the horror of this.”
“I know enough to-”
One of the mothers opened its eyes and stared at Margaret. “There you are,” it breathed. “There you are.” It spun its head towards David, joints cracking in its neck, and hissed. “Saaaa! And there you are, too. We’re coming for you.”
“Of course you are,” David said.
The Roiling blinked. Witmoths crawled from its eyes, fluttered towards David. He lifted a hand, killed them with a touch, though it had him sweating, a briny cold prickle of sweat. The room weakened him, separated him from the great Engine in the north. Every second that passed accentuated that.
“I'm not meant to be here.” He turned to Mother Graine and the others. “We have to go, now.”
They fled that great hall then. The door shutting behind them, and with it closed, David felt his strength return.
“So now you know,” Mother Graine said quietly.
Kara grabbed Mother Graine by her collar and yanked her close. “You kept this hidden. You’ve left them like that.”
“What else was I supposed to do, child?”
“I’m no more your child than any of us. You did not trust your people to this, how can we trust you?”
Mother Graine sighed. “And tell my people what? That they are doomed? That there is no hope? There’s honesty and then there is madness.”
Kara’s face did not soften. She looked like she was going to be sick. She pushed the Mother of the Sky away. “Get us to the Dawn. We have to leave this madhouse. I can’t take another moment of it.”
“Those who have helped you will be punished.”
“You threaten me? Even now you threaten me? None of us do this lightly,” Kara said. “We know what we stand to lose.”
“Kara, my Kara, I don't believe you know what you are giving up. These two, they’ve lost everything already, but you-”
“Shut your mouth,” Kara snapped. “Shut your mouth now. I’ve lost it all, my city is rotten at its heart. Now take me to my Dawn.”
“When she dies, you will curse your friends’ names for making it happen. You will go mad, worse than anything that the Witmoths could produce, a madness of grief and blood — that’s all these two can-” Mother Graine gasped. Margaret removed her elbow from her stomach.
“That’s enough now,” Kara said, quietly. “Take me to my Dawn.”
Mother Graine nodded, her eyes hard. “This way,” she said, opening another door.
They followed her through.
The door shut behind them. Darkness. There was a soft sound, like wind given bones and whispering papery flesh. Kara’s torch clicked on.
The beam of the flashlight cut through the dark, revealing cockroaches in their thousands. David flinched.
“Why do secret passages always seem to be crowded with cockroaches?” David asked. “I don’t even know how they managed to get here.”
“That's what these things are?” Margaret said, boots crunching down on those creatures not quite quick enough to get out of the way. “I was wondering, but wasn't quite sure. It had always been too cold for cockroaches in Tate. The cockroach and the flea died out when the Roil came.”
“They're a lot of fun, until one flies in your face,” David said.
“They fly?” Margaret asked.
“Toughen up, you two. We go forward, we get to the Dawn and we get out of here.”
David could feel them moving all around. Even as he watched, one flew into Kara’s hair. She clawed the insect free and flung it to the ground.
Mother Graine sighed. “Not far to go,” she said.
David couldn't disagree more.
CHAPTER 29
The last riots were the worst. They swept across the tent city like great waves, driven by tides of discontent, and then washed into Hardacre as though the walls didn't even exist.
THE CITY OF HARDACRE 955 MILES NORTH OF THE ROIL
Without David and Margaret, the Habitual Fool felt empty, for all that it was full of newcomers. Those two had dominated the place, without ever realising it, perhaps wanting to do precisely the opposite. Three days since they had chosen to, escape… no, not escape, it wasn’t as if they’d been held prisoner. Whatever it was, they’d already caused ripples. Buchan and Whig had heard from spies of their flight from Drift.
But by then they'd had their own problems: the Old Men had come in the night, tearing through the Habitual Fool like death. Buchan and Whig had lost three of their crew to them, but had managed to survive the night, though not without wounds. Each had had to bear long hours receiving stitches and being reassured by a local doctor and historian that the Old Men’s bites and scratches did not carry a contagion, and that they were not likely to awaken hungry for blood.
The Old Men had stolen the last of their maps of the far north — those not stolen by David — and a jacket that had belonged to David and been left behind, as it had grown too small.
To Buchan, the loss of the maps had been a devastating blow. They marked the coordinates of death zones; without them, navigating the north was likely to lead to conflagration.
“What do we do here?” Buchan said. “We’ve spent fortunes preparing for this journey. We’ve lost everything, and now, even this is taken from us.”
Whig sighed. “Maybe it’s for the better. I’ve never liked the cold.”
“Standing next to David must have been very unpleasant for you.”
“Standing next to what he has become, yes. But you must admit that there’s steel in him, and Margaret, too. They may have left us, but it doesn’t mean we can’t help.”
Buchan leaned forward. “What do you suggest?”
“The Old Men still hunt David. We ignored his warning, and managed to survive; perhaps it’s time something hunted them, and in the hunting, of course we might just find David, too. After all, it’s David they want.”
“And just how do you suggest that we do that?”
Whig grinned and patted the blades at his belt. “The old-fashioned way, of course.”
