Infernal Devices

“Shut up,” said Fishcake. His voice sounded hard too. “I ought to kill you.”

“Me?” Wren wriggled, trying to burrow into the deck. “But I haven’t done anything! I got you the Tin Book like Gargle asked…”

“And your witch of a mother killed him!” Fishcake shouted. The gun in his hand wobbled as big sobs shook his body. Wren wondered if he was going to shoot her, but he didn’t. She felt scared of him and angry at him and somehow responsible for him, all at the same time.

“I’m very sorry,” she said. “About Remora too.”

Fishcake sniffed loudly. “Mora was Gargle’s girl,” he said. “Everybody said he was in love with her. He was never really going to take you with him. I heard him and Mora talking about you, saying how stupid you were…” He started to cry again. “What are the Lost Boys going to do without Gargle?” he asked. “It’s all right for him; him and Mora are down in the Sunless Country together. What about the rest of us? What about me?”

He looked at Wren again. In this underworld light his eyes looked black: two holes opening onto empty space. “I ought to kill you, just so your Mum would know how it feels to have someone you love took away. But that would make me as bad as her, wouldn’t it?”

He stepped back, the door slammed shut, and the key grated in the lock.

* * *

“I’m going after her,” said Tom.

Everyone politely ignored him. They thought that going after Wren would be impossible, but they were all too kind to say so. They thought that the shock of what had happened was making him talk wildly. And he had been shocked, quite numb with it when they first told him she was gone. He had run up and down the beach, shouting her name at the waves as if the Lost Boys who had taken her might hear him and relent, until his heart had twisted and kicked so painfully inside him that he thought he was going to die right then and there upon the shingle, without ever seeing Wren again.

But he hadn’t died. Kind hands had led him to a boat and rowed him back to Anchorage, where now he sat with Hester and Freya and a dozen other Vinelanders in one of the smaller rooms of the Winter Palace.

“It’s my fault, you see,” he explained. “She was asking about the Lost Boys only this morning. I should have guessed something was going on.”

“No fault of yours, Tom,” said Smew, glaring at Hester, who sat silent and scowling beside her husband. “If certain people hadn’t gone racing off ahead of the rest of us and started shooting…”

Several other Vinelanders muttered in agreement. They had always respected Hester for saving them from the Huntsmen of Arkangel, but they had never liked her. They all remembered the way she had killed Piotr Masgard, killed him when there had been no more need for killing, and hacked and hacked at his body long after he was dead. Small wonder that the gods would send bad luck to a woman who could do such things. It was just a shame they’d waited sixteen years to send it, and that it had fallen on her nice husband and her lovely daughter too.

Hester knew what they were thinking. “I was only defending myself,” she said. “I was defending all of us. I promised Freya once I’d look after this dump and guard it from harm, and that’s what I was doing. You want somebody to blame, blame him.”

She pointed at Caul, who sat awkwardly in a far corner. But nobody seemed to think badly of what Caul had done. His former friends had come asking for his help, and he had refused. You couldn’t expect him to betray them. They were his people.

“What were the Lost Boys here for, anyway?” asked Mr. Aakiuq.

“Lost Girls too,” said Smew, still glowering at Hester. “One of those kids she shot was just a girl.”

“But what brought them back to Anchorage after all these years?”

Everyone turned to look at Caul. He shrugged. “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. Thought the less I knew, the better.”

“Oh, gods and goddesses!” said Freya suddenly, and went running from the room. When she returned, she was carrying the empty casket that had once held the Tin Book of Anchorage. “Wren came asking about it,” she said. “This was what the Lost Boys came here for.”

“Why?” asked Tom. “It’s not worth anything, is it?”

Freya shrugged. “I didn’t think so. But here it is, gone. They must have asked Wren to get it for them and…”

“The stupid little—” Hester started to say.

“Be quiet, Het!” snapped Tom. He was thinking of Wren as a child, and of how, when she was frightened by thunder or a bad dream, he would hold her tight till she was calm again. He could not bear the thought of her trapped aboard that limpet, alone and afraid, with nobody to make it better. “I’m going after her,” he said again.

“Then I’m coming too,” Hester agreed, taking his hand. They had been parted once before, when Hester was a prisoner at Rogues’ Roost, and they had vowed then that they would never be apart again. She said, “We’ll go together.”

“But how?” asked Freya.

“I’ll help.”

Caul had risen to his feet. He circled the room with his back to the wall, lamplight gleaming in his eyes. “It’s my fault,” he said. “I thought maybe if I didn’t help them, they’d leave us alone. I didn’t think they’d turn to Wren. I’d forgotten how clever Gargle can… could be.” He put a hand to his throat, to the shiny red scars that the ropes had left where Uncle had tried to hang him. He said, “I remember Wren being born. I played with her when she was little. I’ll help. The Screw Worm’ll take you all the way to Grimsby if need be.”

“That old limpet of yours?” Hester sounded angry, as if she thought Caul was mocking them.

“I thought the Screw Worm broke down years ago,” said Tom. “That summer that you and Mr. Scabious dug out the harbor-mouth…”

“I’ve repaired her,” said Caul. “What do you think I’ve been doing with my time, down in the district? Picking fluff out of my belly button? I’ve been repairing the Worm. All right, repairing the Worm and picking fluff out of my belly button. She’s not perfect, but she’s seaworthy. No fuel, of course…”

“I reckon there might be a drop left in the old air harbor tanks,” said Mr. Aakiuq. “And we can recharge her accumulators from the hydro plant.”

“Then she could be ready in a few days,” Caul said. “Maybe a week.”

“Wren will be miles away by then!” Hester said.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Tom firmly. Usually it was Hester who was the firm one and Tom who did as she said, but he was utterly certain about this. He had to get Wren back. If Wren were lost, what would be the point of going on living? He took Hester’s hand, sure that she felt the same. “We’ll find her,” he promised. “We’ve faced worse things than Lost Boys in our time. Even if we have to go all the way to Grimsby, we’ll find her.”

Chapter 9 The message

Winding river systems of the Dead Continent. Fishcake knew his way back to the sea, for he had helped Gargle map these channels on the journey from Grimsby. It was simple enough to retrace the route that had brought the Autolycus through the Dead Hills to Vineland, except that all the way, Fishcake kept thinking, The last time we passed through this lake, Gargle was here, or, Last time we crossed this sandbar, Mora made that joke…

He had to do something. But what could he do? He had loved Gar, and he loved Gar still, but Gar was gone, and crying would not bring him back. What could he do? He had to do something…