Museum of Thieves Read online

  ‘So are you!’ said Goldie. ‘Olga Ciavolga said you mustn’t go after her!’

  Sinew’s harp pinged angrily. ‘I’m not going to leave her there. She saved my life once.’

  ‘Then you should listen to what she tells you,’ said a deep voice, ‘and not go rushing off like a thoughtless pup.’

  It was Broo. He loomed in the far doorway, looking as dangerous as Goldie had ever seen him.

  Sinew flushed and opened his mouth to reply. Then he looked down at his hands, and the anger seemed to drain out of him. Toadspit slipped back through the gap. In silence, the three of them put their shoulders to the Gate and pushed it shut. Sinew took a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock.

  No one seemed to know quite what to do then. Sinew leaned against the Dirty Gate, his harp silent, his hands dangling awkwardly at his side. Toadspit kicked at the wall, his whole body lost and angry.

  ‘Sinew, what did the Protector say?’ asked Goldie.

  Sinew’s face went blank for a moment, as if he had forgotten where he had just come from. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘She’s going to send for the Fugleman straight away and order him to stop the Blessed Guardians. I told her it was urgent.’

  He unslung the harp from his back and began to pace up and down, plucking at the strings. ‘Of course I didn’t know about this latest madness then, the planks and the hammers.’ He shook his head. ‘Great whistling pigs, it’s not urgent any more, it’s desperate! What are they thinking of? Who’s behind it? Are they mad? Are they vicious? Do they have any idea what they’re messing around with?’

  The notes that he plucked seemed to twang and snap at the air. The grass on the other side of the Dirty Gate rippled. The stink of gunpowder grew stronger.

  ‘Sinew,’ rumbled Broo. ‘You are making things worse.’

  Sinew’s head jerked up. He listened to the fading notes and his face went pale. Quickly he put his hand on the harp strings to mute them. Then he folded his long legs, slid to the floor and leaned back so that his shoulders were pressed against the wall.

  And he began to play the First Song.

  It seemed to Goldie that the notes of the harp floated through the room like sunlight. Gradually, the grass on the other side of the Dirty Gate settled back to a shiver. The air cleared a little. The sense of danger remained, but it wasn’t quite so close.

  ‘The museum’s still listening to us,’ murmured Sinew. ‘We can be grateful for that at least.’

  Toadspit snorted. ‘It’s listening for now. But what happens if the Protector can’t stop the Blessed Guardians?’

  ‘She can,’ said Sinew. ‘She has to.’

  ‘What if she can’t?’ said Goldie.

  Sinew chewed his lip. ‘Imagine a kettle coming to the boil. If you hold the lid down and don’t let any steam escape, the pressure will build and build. Eventually the whole thing will explode.’

  ‘You mean the museum will just blow up?’

  ‘Not exactly. But if the pressure gets too great, everything on the other side of the Dirty Gate will break out into the city. War. Famine. Plague. All the old evils. There’s nothing on this side that can stand against them. Thousands of people will die. The city will fall.’

  Goldie felt as if a cold hand had touched the back of her neck. She thought of Ma and Pa in the House of Repentance, with the soldiers from behind the Dirty Gate marching towards them. She shivered.

  ‘The museum should never have become so full of wild and dangerous things,’ said Sinew. ‘But the people of Jewel are like Guardian Hope, with her planks and hammers. They tried to nail life down. They wanted to be completely safe and happy at all times. The trouble is, the world just isn’t like that. You can’t have high mountains without deep valleys. You can’t have great happiness without great sadness. The world is never still. It moves from one thing to another, back and forth, back and forth, like a butterfly opening and closing its wings.’

  As he spoke, the music seemed to twist and twine around his words so that Goldie wasn’t entirely sure who was talking, the man or the harp.

  ‘Many years ago,’ said Sinew, ‘Olga Ciavolga and Herro Dan and I made a promise to each other. That one day we’d bring some of the wildness back to the city. Not the big stuff. Not wars and famine and plague. Just vacant blocks and dogs and cats and birds. And secret places for children to hide when they want to escape from the eyes of adults.’

  Broo rumbled his approval. Morg clacked her beak. Sinew took his hands off the harp strings, and the music continued on its own for a few bars, curling around Goldie like a waking dream.

  ‘We’ll do it, too,’ said Sinew. ‘One day.’

  ‘If we survive,’ muttered Toadspit grimly. ‘If the city is still here.’

  The Fugleman took a long time to answer the Protector’s summons. An insultingly long time. When at last he arrived, he strode in the door, sat down and put his boots up on the desk.

  The Protector flushed with anger. She felt like throwing him out on the spot. But the news Sinew had brought was critical, so she promised herself that she would put up with her brother for now. She would make sure that the Blessed Guardians were stopped. Then she would throw him out.

  ‘I believe I told you,’ she said in a cold voice, ‘that there was to be no Resident Guardian in the Museum of Dunt.’

  The Fugleman smirked. ‘And I took your instructions to heart, dear sister.’

  ‘There are Guardians there right now!’ snapped the Protector. ‘And they are causing untold trouble!’

  ‘But they arrive in the morning and they leave at night. They could hardly be called resident.’

  The Protector banged her fist on the desk. ‘Don’t play word games with me, brother! I want your people out of the museum immediately.’

  The Fugleman leaned back in his chair and yawned. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘That was not a request. It was an order. There are forces in the museum that are not to be trifled with. You will withdraw your Guardians at once!’

  ‘No,’ said the Fugleman again.

  The Protector’s scalp prickled, and for the first time in years she found herself remembering her seventh birthday. Her father, a talented whitesmith, had made her a mechanical dog. When she wound it up with a tiny key, it whirred along behind her, wagging its tail.

  She had loved that dog the minute she saw it. And so had her brother – loved it even more because it was hers. Loved it especially because it was hers.

  He was only five, but by nightfall he had somehow persuaded their father that the dog was really meant for him. With an awkward apology to his daughter, their father handed it over. Within a day the dog was broken, and the clever little key lost forever.

  A chill ran through the Protector. She stood up, knowing that she must do something that no Protector before her had ever done. And, for the sake of the city, she must do it quickly. ‘Guard!’ she shouted.

  The door opened and the lieutenant marshal of militia marched into the room. His back was straight. His eyes were shadowed by the peak of his cap.

  The Protector nodded towards her brother. ‘Arrest him.’

  The lieutenant marshal didn’t move.

  ‘Are you deaf?’ said the Protector. ‘Arrest him!’

  Still the lieutenant marshal didn’t move. The Protector thought she saw his eyes dart from her to her brother and back again. A trickle of fear ran down her spine.

  ‘What is this?’ she said, as calmly as she could.

  Slowly her brother got to his feet. He sighed, as if he regretted what he was about to do. He put his hand on the Protector’s shoulder.

  ‘You’ve been looking tired recently, Your Graciousness,’ he murmured. ‘The Seven Gods think it’s time you had a nice long rest . . .’

  .

  oldie was asleep when it happened. The song of the harp had lulled her so well and she was so tired that, despite everything, she had slumped down next to Sinew, closed her eyes and drifted off into a dream.

  She was i
n the Great Hall of Jewel, and the air above her was full of clockwork birds, every one of them as blue as the distant horizon. But instead of twittering sweetly, the way they were supposed to, they squawked, ‘Pla-ague! Pla-a-a-ague!’ Then they tumbled out of the air and lay broken on the floor.

  She bent down and picked one of them up. Its eyes were bright with fever. ‘There are strangers in the back rooms,’ it growled.

  And then the growling was all around her, and someone was shaking her awake. ‘Goldie! Goldie!’

  She sat up quickly. Toadspit was kneeling beside her. Above him loomed Broo, as big as a bear and as black as night. The growling came from deep within him.

  ‘THERE ARE STRRRRANGERS IN THE BACK RRRRO-O-OMS!’ he said again, in a voice that rumbled like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

  Sinew was already on his feet with his harp slung over his back. ‘It must be the Blessed Guardians. Quickly! We must—’

  But before he could say more, there was a great creaking and groaning of hinges, and the Dirty Gate swung open.

  Goldie, Sinew and Toadspit threw themselves against it. But although there was no one on the other side, they couldn’t force it shut. It seemed to be pushing against them, like an animal that has tasted freedom and refuses to go back in its cage. It was only when Broo added his great weight to theirs that the gate creaked back into place.

  Sinew took the key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. ‘I did this before,’ he muttered. ‘I know I did. How could—?’

  ‘How could it open by itself?’ whispered Goldie.

  On the other side of the Dirty Gate, the long grass surged and rattled. Sinew shook his head in frustration. ‘The Protector should have acted by now! I told her how important it was!’

  ‘We cannot wait for her any longer,’ growled Broo.

  ‘No,’ said Sinew. ‘We must stop these intruders ourselves.’

  They ran back through the dusty rooms even faster than when they had come. Morg flew ahead, crying, ‘Sto-o-o-op them! Sto-o-o-o-op th-e-e-e-em!’ in a voice like the scraping of dry bones.

  Broo was only seconds behind the slaughterbird. He would have outrun them all, but Sinew shouted, ‘Broo! Wait!’

  The brizzlehound slowed just enough for them to catch up.

  ‘I want you to stay out of sight,’ panted Sinew. ‘All of you. I’ll deal with this on my own.’

  ‘No!’ said Goldie.

  ‘We’ll all go!’ said Toadspit.

  ‘The children are RRRIGHT, Sinew,’ growled Broo. ‘The Guardians play with the lives of everyone in the city. I will SHAKE them like RRRRATS. They deserve no better.’

  Sinew shook his head. ‘Toadspit and Goldie mustn’t be seen. And I’d rather they didn’t know there’s a brizzlehound in the museum.’

  They argued with him as they ran, but Sinew wouldn’t change his mind. And so, just before they came to the Staff Only door, Goldie and Toadspit ducked behind a cabinet. They took Morg and Broo with them, although the brizzlehound shivered and growled in his desire to defend the back rooms against strangers.

  Sinew strode forward alone, unslinging his harp. Goldie peeped around the side of the cabinet. What she saw made her gasp in dismay.

  Beside her, Toadspit muttered, ‘I’m going to kill them.’

  The Staff Only door hung half off its hinges. Its frame was crisscrossed with planks, nailed into place to stop it shifting. Guardian Hope, Guardian Comfort and their young assistants were milling triumphantly through it.

  Sinew strode towards them. ‘Stop!’ he shouted. ‘You must go no further!’ At the same time, he played a string of notes on his harp. The combined sound seemed to freeze the Blessed Guardians in their tracks.

  In the sudden quiet, Sinew spoke – and played – again. ‘There are things in this museum,’ he said, ‘that are more terrible than you can imagine. If you keep going, you will all die. And so will your brothers and sisters, your mothers, your fathers and your children.’

  The young Guardians stared at him, open-mouthed. So did Guardian Hope and Guardian Comfort, but only for a second. Then Guardian Hope’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘Lies!’ she cried. ‘He’s just trying to protect his little secrets.’

  ‘He’s trying to protect you!’ whispered Goldie. ‘He’s trying to protect all of us!’

  ‘I’m going to kill them,’ muttered Toadspit again.

  ‘We are on the Seven’s business!’ said Guardian Comfort loudly. ‘We won’t be stopped by these pathetic threats!’

  ‘Indeed we will not!’ snapped Guardian Hope. ‘Advance!’

  The young Guardians looked at each other uncertainly. None of them moved.

  Sinew’s fingers plucked a ringing note from the harp strings. ‘It’s true that there are secrets here. But they won’t bring you wealth or fame or glory, if that’s what you’ve been told. They’ll only bring death, to you and to everyone you love.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ screeched Guardian Hope. ‘Abomination! Don’t listen to him!’

  ‘Turn back now,’ said Sinew. ‘Turn back and you’ll be safe.’

  ‘Turn back,’ whispered Goldie.

  ‘No!’ Guardian Hope’s face was purple with rage. ‘Move forward at once! I order you! Anyone who doesn’t move forward will suffer the awful displeasure of the Seven!’

  The young Guardians began to mutter among themselves. Even Guardian Comfort looked uneasy.

  ‘Silence!’ shouted Guardian Hope.

  The muttering grew louder. Feet shuffled nervously. Eyes darted from Sinew to Guardian Hope and back again.

  ‘It’s working,’ whispered Goldie. She turned to Broo and Toadspit. ‘They believe him!’

  She was right. One by one, the young Guardians put down their hammers and nails. They turned their backs on Guardian Hope and Guardian Comfort. They began to retreat . . .

  ‘Stop – right – there!’ cried a deep voice.

  Goldie’s head jerked up in dismay. She saw the young Guardians shuffle to one side, leaving an open pathway.

  Through it strode the Fugleman.

  He swept up to the Staff Only doorway like a sum- mer storm. He carried a sword in his hand, and he jabbed at the display cases as he passed, as if he was afraid of nothing.

  In his wake trailed a string of gazetteers, clutching notebooks and pens. When they saw the dust and cobwebs that lay beyond the broken door, they rolled their eyes in dismay and muttered to each other.

  The Fugleman didn’t seem to notice the dust at first. He stopped in the doorway, his handsome face serious. ‘It is my painful duty to inform you all,’ he said loudly, ‘that Her Grace the Protector is unwell.’

  There was a gasp from everyone listening. The gazetteers unscrewed the lids of their portable inkpots and began to scribble in their notebooks. From behind the cabinets, Goldie saw Sinew’s face turn white.

  ‘I’m sure that I speak for the whole city,’ continued the Fugleman, ‘when I say that I hope she will be better soon. May the Seven hold her in the glorious cup of their hands.’

  Goldie flicked her fingers so hard that it hurt. Beside her, Toadspit was doing the same. One of the gazetteers called out, ‘Your Honour, can you tell us what’s wrong with the Protector?’

  ‘My physician is with her now,’ said the Fugleman. ‘He will report back to me soon. We should have an answer in time for tomorrow’s gazettes.’

  Another gazetteer raised her hand. ‘Sir? Who’s running the city?’

  ‘Her Grace has given me the honour,’ said the Fugleman. ‘And in the short time that I have been in charge—’

  The rest of his words were drowned out by a roar of approval from the Guardians.

  Goldie stared at the Fugleman’s handsome, lying face. ‘What’s he done to the Protector?’ she signed to Toadspit.

  ‘Listen!’ signed Toadspit.

  The Fugleman was talking again. ‘In the short time that I have been in charge,’ he said, ‘I have uncovered a terrible plot. The blackguards who set off the bomb in my offic
e, who so callously destroyed a young life, came from very close to home.’

  He pointed his sword at the high ceilings and the cobwebs. ‘As you can see, this building contains venomous insects. I suspect that there is disease as well.’

  The gazetteers shuddered.

  ‘But,’ said the Fugleman, ‘there is something even worse, something that defies belief. I have proof of it here.’ He took a thin blue book from his pocket and waved it in the air. ‘This museum harbours a secret army – an army that plans to take over our city!’

  The uproar this time nearly deafened Goldie. The gazetteers and the young Guardians pressed towards the Fugleman, shouting questions. Even Guardian Hope and Guardian Comfort looked startled.

  Only Sinew and the Fugleman remained calm. Sinew played a loud thrum on his harp. It cut through the shouting like a knife. ‘Listen to me,’ cried Sinew. ‘The museum had nothing to do with the bombing—’

  ‘It is true, is it not,’ interrupted the Fugleman, ‘that there is a place within these walls called the Dirty Gate?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sinew. ‘But—’

  ‘And is it also true that on the other side of the Dirty Gate there is an army of ruthless killers?’

  ‘Well, yes. But—’

  ‘You hear him!’ trumpeted the Fugleman. ‘Condemned by his own words!’

  ‘Stop interrupting! Let him explain!’ Goldie whis- pered.

  ‘You’re making a terrible mistake,’ said Sinew. ‘Talk to the Protector! She’ll tell you—’

  ‘Aha!’ cried the Fugleman. ‘It was the Protector herself who insisted that I deal with this awful danger! “You are the only one who can save us, Fugleman!” she said. “You must act quickly before we are all destroyed!”’

  ‘The Protector would never have said that!’ cried Sinew.

  The Fugleman ignored him. He raised his sword in the air. ‘Guards!’ he shouted.

  There was a tramp of feet and a squad of militia pushed through the crowd. The Fugleman pointed his sword at Sinew. ‘Arrest this man!’

  The militiamen cocked their rifles. They eyed Sinew warily as if he might be one of the ruthless killers himself. They began to walk towards him.