Museum of Thieves Read online

  They lined up at the foot of the stage and waited for the official whitesmith to come and remove the children’s silver cuffs. The hall was filled with onlookers. In the front row, a dozen gazetteers were already making notes for tomorrow’s gazettes.

  Ma patted Goldie on the arm. ‘Now you’re not to be frightened, sweeting.’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Goldie.

  ‘Of course you’re not,’ said Ma quickly. She hesitated. ‘But when you’re Separated, you will watch out for slave traders, won’t you?’

  Frow Berg leaned towards them. ‘And poisonous insects.’

  ‘Runaway street-rigs,’ said Pa.

  ‘Sharp knives,’ said Frow Oster.

  Goldie heard a faint whump somewhere in the distance. She looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed it.

  ‘Marauding birds,’ said Herro Oster. ‘Mad dogs. Any dogs at all!’

  ‘D-d-dirty water,’ stammered Herro Berg. ‘Filthy water. D-d-disease-ridden, child-drowning water! That’s the one that worries me. And g-getting lost. Whatever you do, d-d-don’t get lost.’

  Goldie had heard these warnings a hundred – no, a thousand times before. She ducked her head and grinned at Favour, but her friend was nodding seriously at the familiar list.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Ma. She took a small parcel from her pocket. ‘We bought you a little something, sweeting, to celebrate.’

  It was a compass, of course. The traditional Separation Day present was always either a compass (so you could find your way home again if you were lost) or a whistle (to call for help if you were attacked by slavers).

  Goldie made surprised, pleased noises when she saw the compass. But secretly she wished that she had been given a folding knife, so that she could fight her way out of trouble. Or a spyglass for looking at far-off places and dreaming of the day when she’d be old enough to leave the city of Jewel and its Blessed Guardians far, far behind.

  Twenty minutes later, Goldie and her friends stood on the enormous stage, along with a hundred other children and their parents. This was to be the biggest Separation Day in living memory. Every child in Jewel between the ages of twelve and sixteen was about to be given their freedom.

  Goldie’s cuff and guardchain were already gone and she was tied to Ma by nothing but a white silk ribbon. Her left arm felt hot and strange. Her body buzzed with nervous impatience as the Protector walked up to the podium.

  The Grand Protector of Jewel wasn’t really very grand. She wore crimson robes and a gold chain, but she was only a little bit taller than Goldie’s ma, and her hair was the colour of straw. Above her head, the glass dome of the Great Hall was awash with lights. Clockwork birds whizzed from pillar to pillar on silver wires. Clockwork butterflies opened and closed their wings.

  The Protector pushed her eyeglasses up onto her nose and faced the audience. ‘There was a time,’ she said loudly, ‘when there was no such place as the city of Jewel. Instead, there was a nasty little seaport called Dunt, stuck on the south coast of the Faroon Peninsula like a pustulous wart on an old man’s chin. And a pustulous wart of a place it was too, full of disease and danger.’

  Goldie heard a rustling in the audience as everyone settled in to listen to the well-known story. But, for once, the Protector didn’t remind them of how their ancestors had come here from Merne to establish a colony. She didn’t tell them about the Native Wars and the Beast Wars and the Wars of Independence, and the floods and murders and famines, and the Year of Despair, when children died like flies. She didn’t tell them about the heroic struggle of a few people to save the remaining children, and how those people became the first Blessed Guardians.

  Instead, she smiled and said, ‘But that was a long time ago. For more than two hundred years the city has been progressively cleansed of its dangers. The canals have been fenced, the vacant blocks built upon. The animals and birds have been driven away. Vile Dunt has become beautiful Jewel. We no longer need to be so vigilant.’

  Many people were nodding, but Goldie could see some who obviously didn’t agree. In the second row of the audience, Guardian Hope’s face was dark with anger.

  ‘These children behind me,’ said the Protector, ‘are about to take us into a glorious future.’

  She paused. Goldie glanced at her classmates. Favour was chewing her fingernails. Fort was smiling, but there was something fixed about his smile, as if he had put it there earlier and forgotten about it. Plum and Glory were white-faced with nerves, and Jube was jiggling from one leg to the other. Goldie heard Herro Oster hiss, ‘In the name of the Seven, Jubilation, can’t you be still for five more minutes?’

  The audience laughed nervously. The Protector smiled again. ‘His Honour the Fugleman,’ she said, ‘will now deliver the Blessing.’

  There was silence in the hall. No one moved. ‘Where’s the Fugleman?’ Goldie whispered to Ma.

  As if in answer, there was a shuffling in the audience. ‘Make way, make way!’ cried Guardian Hope, and she stepped up onto the stage, making a great business of patting her robes into smooth folds and straightening her hat.

  The Protector peered at her over the top of her glasses. ‘Is this a change of plan?’ she said. ‘No one informed me of it. Where is your leader?’

  ‘Your Grace,’ said Guardian Hope. ‘His Honour should be here, but it seems he has been delayed. Perhaps we should also delay the Separation.’

  Goldie’s heart lurched. But the Protector said mildly, ‘If the Fugleman is not here, Guardian, I’m sure you can administer the Blessing.’

  ‘Oh no, that would not be—’

  ‘Now, Guardian,’ said the Protector in a voice that was no longer mild.

  Guardian Hope fussed some more with her hat, then scowled at the long rows of children. ‘Do you swear to remain vigilant and not endanger yourself or others,’ she muttered, ‘even when you are no longer under the care of the Blessed Guardians?’

  Goldie’s mouth was suddenly dry. She answered in chorus with a hundred other voices, ‘I swear.’

  ‘Do you swear to honour the Seven Gods and their plans for you, as revealed through the Blessed Guardians?’

  ‘I swear.’

  ‘Do you swear to avoid Blasphemy and condemn Abomination, wherever you find them?’

  ‘I swear.’

  Guardian Hope hesitated. Goldie clenched her fists so tightly that her nails bit into the palms of her hands.

  The Protector cleared her throat. ‘Continue, please.’

  ‘Then shall you be Blessed.’ Despite her reluctance, Guardian Hope’s voice rose in the old familiar rhythms. She named the Gods one by one, in order of decreasing importance so as not to offend any of them. ‘May Great Wooden never send his Black Ox to fetch you in the night! May the Weeping Lady blame someone else for her tears! May Thunderer, Dreamer and the Locksmith forget your name! May Helper never decide you need her help! And may Bald Thoke take his jokes elsewhere.’

  Goldie flicked her fingers as each name was spoken.

  ‘Blessings upon you, Blessings upon you, thrice Blessings upon you. So it is done!’ As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Guardian Hope stalked off the stage, as if she wanted nothing more to do with the proceedings.

  ‘Lieutenant marshal?’ murmured the Protector.

  The lieutenant marshal of militia had been standing to one side. Now he handed the Protector a small pair of scissors. The Protector took a piece of paper from the pocket of her robes, squinted at it, and said loudly, ‘Golden Roth.’

  A shiver ran through Goldie. She was to be first! She stepped forward with Ma and Pa beside her.

  The Grand Protector smiled, her eyes sharp and clever behind her glasses. ‘Hold out your hand,’ she said.

  Goldie held out her hand. The white silk ribbon stretched tight.

  ‘By the grace of the Seven Gods,’ cried the Protector, ‘and in accordance with the Guardianship Act, let this child be Separated!’

  She raised the scissors. Ma gave a little squeak of pr
otest, but said nothing. Pa squeezed Goldie’s shoulder. In the audience, the gazetteers dipped their pens into their portable inkpots and began to scribble furiously. Goldie held her breath . . .

  There was a terrible thumping from the far end of the hall, where the big wooden doors had been closed to keep out the summer heat. The Protector hesitated.

  ‘Let me through! Let me through!’ cried a muffled voice.

  Go away! thought Goldie. Don’t interrupt!

  One of the militiamen guarding the doors pulled them open a little way. ‘Hush!’ he said. ‘Her Grace is just starting the Separations.’

  A man pushed past him, his black robes torn and dirty, his face streaked with blood. ‘Disaster!’ he cried. ‘Murder! The children—!’ And he fell to the floor in a dramatic faint.

  .

  he people in the audience surged to their feet and pressed towards the fallen man, all shouting at once.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘What children?’

  ‘Don’t tread on him; watch what you’re doing!’

  ‘What’s he mean, murder?’

  ‘Get him a chair! Get him water!’ shouted the Protector, and she thrust the scissors into the lieutenant marshal’s hand, jumped down from the stage and began to push her way through the crowd.

  Ma hugged Goldie close. Pa wrapped his arms around both of them. ‘The children,’ he whispered. ‘What’s happened to the children?’

  Goldie’s left wrist felt as if it was on fire. She put her other hand in her pocket and her fingers closed around the little blue bird. Hurry, she thought. Hurry up and finish this so we can get back to the Separation.

  One of the militiamen carried a jug of water through the crowd and poured a little of it over the intruder’s head. He groaned and sat up. Someone gasped, ‘It’s the Fugleman!’

  Goldie stared down at the dishevelled figure in amazement. His Honour the Fugleman of Jewel, leader of the Blessed Guardians and spokesman for the Seven Gods, was a tall, handsome man who never appeared in public unless his black hair was as smooth as a raven’s wing and the silver braid on his robes gleamed.

  But now his robes were in tatters and his forehead was covered in blood. Beneath the blood, his face was white with ash and horror.

  The crowd fell silent. The Fugleman looked around as if he didn’t know where he was. ‘There was— There was an explosion,’ he croaked. ‘The children—’

  He stopped, unable to go on. Goldie remembered the faint whump she had heard. An explosion!

  ‘Great Wooden preserve us!’ whispered Ma, flicking her fingers and tightening her grip on Goldie.

  ‘Give him a drink,’ ordered the Protector.

  The Fugleman gulped at the water until the jug was empty. He wiped a bloody hand across his mouth. Then, shaking uncontrollably and stopping every few words to catch his breath, he told the horrified crowd what had happened.

  ‘An excursion . . . this morning . . . just four children with their Guardians . . . I had invited them to visit my office before the Separation ceremony. The Seven Gods forgive me.’

  His voice was little more than a whisper, but it seemed to Goldie that it carried from one end of the hall to the other.

  ‘We were in the . . . library . . . showing them the portraits . . . the Fuglemen who have gone before me . . . great men all of them . . . serving the Seven, taking care of the city’s children—’

  He stopped again. For an awful moment, Goldie thought he was going to weep. A single tear ran down his face, cutting a channel through the ash. He wiped it away and continued.

  ‘It was like . . . being hit by a great blow. My Guardians . . . threw themselves across the children to protect them. None of us understood what had happened. We were deafened . . . the noise, the falling plaster . . . the walls collapsing about us. The children—’

  A groan broke from Pa. Ma was sobbing openly, and she was not the only one. The Protector held up her hand for silence.

  ‘When we could see again,’ said the Fugleman, ‘we found that the children were safe – shocked but safe. All except one – a young girl from—’

  He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘A young girl from . . . Feverbone Canal. She was . . . dead.’

  There was instant uproar in the hall. Goldie could hear her own cry of horror echoing from every throat. Ma and Pa clutched her even tighter. Dead? Dead? A child? In Jewel? It was as if everyone’s worst nightmare had come true.

  The Protector’s face was as white as paper, but again she held up her hand for quiet. ‘When you came in,’ she said in an almost-steady voice, ‘you cried murder.’

  ‘I thought—We thought it must have been a watergas explosion,’ said the Fugleman. ‘An accident. But a witness saw . . . two men running away. Strangers. And my Guardians found the remains of a . . . device. By the Seven, Your Grace, it was no accident. It was . . . a bomb.’

  The next few minutes were a blur of noise and shouting. Goldie felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her. She saw the Protector wave the lieutenant marshal to her side. He seemed to be arguing with her. The Protector snapped at him, and he marched back up onto the stage and stood next to Goldie, his face a stiff, angry mask.

  The Protector hurried out of the hall with the rest of the militia close behind her. The crowd parted to make way for them. Everyone’s face carried the same shocked expression. A bomb? In Jewel?

  ‘Impossible,’ muttered Pa over and over again. ‘Impossible!’ Ma’s tears soaked the shoulder of Goldie’s smock.

  Down in the body of the hall there was a flurry of movement as the Fugleman rose wearily to his feet. People rushed to help him, but he waved them away and dragged himself up onto the stage.

  ‘My friends,’ he began in a heavy voice.

  Gradually the crowd became quiet again, although many of them were still sobbing.

  ‘My friends. Danger is all around us. Who can tell where it will strike next? We must beg the Seven to shield us.’

  Goldie murmured a quick prayer, and flicked her fingers. Don’t protect us, Great Wooden! Don’t shield us, Weeping Lady! You’ve done enough! Go somewhere else! Please!

  ‘The Grand Protector has gone to deal with this tragedy,’ continued the Fugleman, ‘as is her duty. But if she was here, I’m sure she’d agree with me. The wishes of the Seven Gods are clear. Now is not the time for change. This Separation is hereby cancelled.’

  For a moment, the Fugleman’s words didn’t make any sense to Goldie. She had been waiting for this day all her life. It couldn’t be cancelled. Not even for a bomb and a dead girl. It wasn’t possible.

  Was it?

  Her hand – the one that held the little flying bird – felt icy cold. At the same time, there was a heat inside her, as if someone had kindled a fire in her innards. ‘Pa?’ she whispered, trying to control her voice. ‘Can the Fugleman do that?’

  It seemed that he could. He was already beckoning the whitesmith back up onto the stage.

  Pa sighed. ‘Dearling, it’s too dangerous to go ahead with it now. Perhaps next year the Protector will try again.’

  ‘Or the year after,’ said Ma, trying to cuddle Goldie and push her towards the whitesmith at the same time.

  The heat in Goldie’s innards was getting worse. In the back of her mind, the little voice whispered, You can’t wait that long. You have to Separate today.

  ‘I can’t wait that long!’ said Goldie. The words seemed to burst out of her. ‘I have to Separate today!’

  Guardian Hope’s head snapped around. ‘Unnatural child! There’s been a murder! Where’s your fear? Where’s your trembling?’

  ‘She’s upset, that’s all,’ said Ma quickly. She put her hand on Goldie’s forehead. ‘It’s the shock. She’ll feel better soon.’

  ‘I won’t feel better!’ said Goldie. She knew that she was making things worse, but she couldn’t help it. ‘They promised we could Separate today! They promised!’

  Everyone in the
hall seemed to be looking at her now, but she didn’t care. All she knew was that she couldn’t bear to have the silver cuff fastened around her wrist again, and the guardchain snapped into place.

  The Fugleman was staring at her. ‘Who is this child who questions the holy will of the Seven?’

  Guardian Hope smirked. ‘Her name’s Golden Roth, Your Honour. Always a troublemaker. I’ve only just taken the punishment chains off her.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should put them back on,’ said the Fugleman. ‘Until she has learned her lesson.’

  ‘She hasn’t done anything wrong!’ cried Ma. ‘She’s just a little upset.’

  ‘Upset?’ The Fugleman spat the word out. ‘Your daughter is not upset, Frow. Your daughter is foolish! Wicked! If she does not obey authority, then she deserves to wear the punishment chains.’

  ‘No!’ said Goldie, who seemed to have lost all control of her tongue.

  ‘Unless of course,’ said the Fugleman, ‘you would prefer that we take her into Care.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Pa. Goldie could feel him shaking, but his voice was calm. ‘My wife didn’t mean to complain, Your Honour. Our daughter will wear the punishment chains, won’t you, dearling? There now, of course you will. That’s settled then.’

  Guardian Hope climbed up onto the stage with the heavy brass chains in her hand. The Fugleman turned back to the crowd and drew himself up to his full height. ‘This tragedy makes one thing clear,’ he said loudly. ‘We need more Blessed Guardians in this city!’

  No! thought Goldie.

  ‘We must have a Resident Guardian in every public building!’ cried the Fugleman. ‘Someone who can protect our most precious possession, our children!’

  A cheer rose from the crowd.

  ‘Remember,’ cried the Fugleman. ‘When We Endanger Ourselves, We Endanger Others.’

  ‘It Is Our Duty to Be Safe!’ Guardian Hope chanted the age-old response, and the crowd joined with her in a full-throated roar.