Secret Guardians Read online

  ‘Try to get just salt,’ she said. ‘If there is too much rock mixed with it, they whip us.’

  Otte slid to the ground and began to chip at the salt. All around them the other children were working without pause. Chink chink chink went their picks. Rattle rattle went their buckets. Someone spoke. Someone else started coughing and couldn’t stop.

  At first, the work was easy. The crystals broke from the wall and fell into Duckling’s bucket, and it wasn’t long before it was half full.

  But then the salt began to get in her mouth and up her nose. It made its way into the cuts on her hands, and into her eyes. The pick grew heavier. So did Duckling’s heart.

  Beside her, Pummel was working far too hard. ‘Slow down,’ whispered Duckling. ‘You’ll wear yourself out.’

  Pummel’s face was grim in the yellow light. ‘We’re slaves, Duckling. We’re supposed to wear ourselves out. We’re supposed to die down here.’

  ‘We won’t,’ said Duckling. ‘We’ll get out somehow—’

  ‘I know we’ll get out,’ said Pummel. ‘Arms-mistress Krieg will come for us, even if Lord Rump doesn’t.’

  Duckling shook her head. ‘They don’t know we’ve been caught. They don’t know we’re here.’

  Pummel stopped working, stricken. ‘I’d forgotten. I was depending on them.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Duckling. She lowered her voice. ‘Have you tried the raashk again?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not working at all. Have you tried your witchery?’

  Duckling nodded. ‘It’s gone, just when we need it most.’

  At their feet, Otte whispered, ‘I did not know.’

  ‘Didn’t know what?’ asked Duckling.

  ‘I did not know there was a place like this in Neuhalt,’ said Otte. ‘Not with slaves. Not with slave children. When we get out, we will have to take them with us.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Pummel.

  ‘It’s going to be hard enough to get ourselves out,’ said Duckling, ‘without worrying about everyone else.’

  ‘But we must,’ said Otte. ‘We cannot leave them here.’

  And Pummel added, ‘If we could only get our witchery back—’

  ‘Shhh!’ whispered Duckling, glancing around. ‘Keep your voices down. We don’t want to tell everyone our business.’

  ‘Why not?’ whispered Pummel. ‘They’re in the same trouble as we are.’

  ‘I don’t trust them,’ said Duckling. ‘I don’t trust Sooli.’

  Pummel’s eyebrows rose. ‘You only met her a few minutes ago. And she was nice to us, though she had no reason to be.’

  ‘She’s got reasons,’ said Duckling. ‘I just don’t know what they are yet.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Otte.

  ‘There’s something odd about her. And she’s watching us – no, don’t look.’

  ‘Of course she’s watching us,’ said Pummel. ‘We’re new. I’d be watching us too if I was her.’

  Duckling shook her head. ‘Just be careful, that’s all. Somehow, we’ve got to get out of here. And if we trust the wrong people, that won’t happen.’

  Every now and again a bell sounded in the distance, and the children stumbled through the tunnels to the bucket shaft, with Pummel carrying Otte on his back. Sometimes Rusty came down with the bucket and perched on the edge of it, shouting at the children to hurry up and stop being so lazy. Sometimes he brought his whip and snapped it around their ears.

  Pummel hacked at the salt until his shoulders ached and his mouth was so dry that he wanted to throw up. One of the smallest children brought around a tin can full of water, but they were only allowed a sip each, which wasn’t much better than not having any at all.

  Once, Otte went into a trance and started setting out bandages and potions, while Pummel and Duckling shielded him from the other children. A few minutes later, a boy dropped a pick on his foot.

  When the children realised that Otte might be able to mend them, they clustered around him so closely that he was lost to sight.

  Pummel felt a flare of panic. We’re supposed to be guarding him—

  But Duckling was already wading through the crowd, pushing the children gently to one side. ‘Give him a bit of room,’ she said. ‘I don’t reckon he’s got bandages for everyone, so we’d best keep them for those in the worst shape. Who was it hurt his foot? Ooh, that looks nasty. Can you do anything about a big gash like that, Otte?’

  Some of their precious drinking water went to wash the wound. Then, as the Heir of Neuhalt bandaged the boy’s foot, Duckling said to the fascinated children, ‘He’s clever, isn’t he? I’ve seen him bandage a cat with a sprained leg; you should have seen that cat squirm. But it fixed her, just as it will fix – what’s your name? Spinner? And you’re from Faroona? I’m Duckling, pleased to meet you. This is Otte, and that’s Pummel over there. He’s from a farm – any of you grow up on a farm? Do you dream about cows, like he does? I tell you what, I wouldn’t mind a couple of nice milking cows down here!’

  There was a whisper of exhausted laughter from the children.

  ‘Though they’d probably get lost,’ continued Duckling, ‘and we’d never find them again. Have any of you explored all these tunnels? Yes? And there’s no other way out? Speaking of lost, Otte needs new crutches. Is there something down here we could use? Oh well, it was worth a try.’

  Pummel wished he could talk so easily to strangers. He wished he could put people at ease, and think of all the things that needed to be thought of. He should have asked about new crutches himself, instead of standing there like an idiot.

  With the bandaging done, they all went back to work. The day wore on.

  And on.

  And on.

  At last the bell rang three times, and everyone dropped their picks. Some of the children groaned and stretched. Others just stood there blank-faced, as if even groaning was too hard. Then they picked up their buckets and began to drag them along the tunnel.

  This time, Duckling took Otte up on her back, so Pummel stayed to help a girl who was struggling with her bucket.

  ‘She is not well,’ said Sooli from the other side of him. ‘She has been growing weaker and weaker for days.’

  ‘Can we tell someone?’ asked Pummel. ‘Get help?’

  Sooli’s mouth twisted. ‘Who would help slave children? The Monster wants every one of us dead.’

  She looked at Pummel. ‘But you are different. You are kind. I could tell it as soon as I saw you.’ She took the extra bucket from his hand. ‘Now come, or we will miss supper.’

  Pummel followed her through the tunnels, trying not to notice how the walls and ceiling bulged. He’d never minded the dark, but this was something else.

  There’s slavery in my own country, he thought, and I never realised.

  Supper arrived in the same bucket that the salt had gone up in. As it clanked to a halt, the exhausted children divided themselves into three groups, and each group took it in turns digging into the watery stew.

  Sooli beckoned Duckling, who was still carrying Otte on her back. ‘You will eat with me. I will help you.’

  Duckling handed Pummel a spoon.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ asked Pummel.

  ‘Someone gave it to me,’ said Duckling. ‘It belonged to a boy who died.’

  Pummel winced. ‘We’re eating with dead children’s spoons?’

  ‘This is no time to be fussy,’ said Duckling. ‘We’ve got to keep our strength up.’

  The stew tasted of salt and not much else, but Pummel ate hungrily and so did Duckling. Otte’s white mice emerged from his sleeve, sniffing the air, and he shared a spoonful with them.

  Behind them, someone muttered, ‘That’s enough. You lot always take too much.’

  Someone else said, ‘It’s not us who takes too much, it’s you.’

  ‘Greedy toads!’

  ‘Flea-ridden dogs!’

  And suddenly Pummel found himself in the middle of a brawl.


  He was bigger than most of the children, and healthier. Sooli was trying to drag the fighters apart, but Pummel simply grabbed them under the arms and dumped them on opposite sides of the bucket, saying, ‘You should be helping each other, not arguing. You’ve got to stick together.’

  No one was hurt. But the children who had fought glared at each other, and when the bucket was empty they stayed separate, like dogs with different territories.

  Duckling yawned and stretched. ‘Where do we sleep? I don’t suppose they take us upstairs and tuck us into nice comfy beds?’

  ‘We sleep in the night cave,’ said Sooli. ‘It was dug out of the rock many years ago by children who never saw the sun again. They lived and died in the mine.’

  ‘I don’t like all this talk of dying,’ said Duckling. ‘Are you sure you’ve tried everything? There isn’t another way out? A back door?’

  ‘Do you think we love it here so much?’ asked Sooli. ‘Do you think we stay for the joy of darkness and the happiness of hunger? If there was another way out, would we not have taken it?’

  ‘I was just asking,’ said Duckling.

  Sooli shrugged. ‘There are certain Saaf magics that might free us. But I do not have those magics.’

  Pummel almost showed her the raashk right there and then, just in case it was one of the magics she was talking about. But he kept silent. He would talk to Duckling about it first.

  The night cave was cramped and smelly. The air was sour. Sooli handed Pummel, Duckling and Otte a threadbare blanket each, and pointed to a spot in the middle of the cave.

  ‘You will sleep next to me,’ she said. ‘Do not wander by yourself; the younger children believe there are monsters in the tunnels. I think the only monsters are the Margravine and the guards, but it is still not safe to roam. You might fall down the privy hole or one of the old shafts.’

  And with that she left them, and made her way to the other side of the cave where a small girl was sobbing helplessly. Sooli wrapped her arms around the child and murmured to her, stroking her hair until she quietened.

  Pummel’s ma had taught him to count his blessings at the end of every day, and he could usually find at least one or two, even in the worst circumstance. But now? He thought and he thought, and there wasn’t a single one – except for the fact that Sooli had befriended them.

  Duckling was tired and sore, and all she wanted to do was go to sleep and forget about escaping until the morning. But she couldn’t.

  She lay still until the whispers had died away, and there was no sound except the groaning of the rock and the slow breath of fifty children.

  No, there are more than fifty now, she thought. A few more turned up just before supper. They must have been working at a different salt face.

  On the other side of the night cave, one of the boys whimpered in his sleep. Duckling shivered at the thought of what it would be like, chipping salt all day every day, with no hope of escape.

  The sooner we’re out of here, the better.

  The tallow lanterns had been turned down low, and all she could see were lumps covered in tattered blankets. She edged past Otte and nudged Pummel. When he woke she put her mouth close to his ear and breathed, ‘I’m going to explore, see if I can find another way out. A back door.’

  ‘But you asked already,’ whispered Pummel. ‘And Sooli said there wasn’t another way.’

  ‘No she didn’t.’

  ‘Yes she did. You weren’t listening.’

  ‘No, she talked around it. She never actually said—’

  ‘I think we should ask her about our witchery,’ whispered Pummel. ‘You heard what she said about Saaf magic. She might know why the raashk stopped working. And your breeze too. She might be able to fix them.’

  Duckling’s silence must have gone on for too long, because he added, ‘I know you don’t want to tell anyone about it, but I’m trying to protect Otte. I’m trying to get him out of here.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Duckling.

  Her eyes were growing used to the dim light now, and to her astonishment she saw an uncertain expression flash across Pummel’s face. ‘What’s the matter?’ she whispered. ‘You think I’m not trying to protect him?’

  ‘I … don’t know.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? I helped save him from Old Lady Sk—’

  Pummel interrupted her. ‘You know when you were trying to find Lord Rump’s pills? In the cart? I believed you. I thought he was dying.’

  ‘Of course you did. Everyone did. That was the whole idea.’

  ‘And when you told people that we were orphans, and looked all pitiful and sad? And when you told Boz and Rusty that we were looking for our sick ma? If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve believed that too. You’re such a good liar that I can’t tell the difference.’ Pummel shook his head in frustration. ‘I know you saved us from Old Lady Skint, but that’s not the point. How can I trust you when I can’t tell if you’re lying? How can I trust a word you say?’

  For a moment, Duckling was speechless with the unfairness of it. She’d done her very best to look after Otte, and because she’d done it so well, Pummel trusted her less than ever.

  She wanted to argue. She wanted to use all her tricks of persuasion on him, until he believed her. That’s what Grandpa would have done.

  But Duckling was trying not to be like Grandpa anymore.

  So instead of using tricks, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I swear I’ll tell the truth from now on. No matter what. I won’t lie to you. I – I won’t lie to anyone!’

  ‘Really?’ The note of doubt in Pummel’s voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Duckling felt as if she’d just thrown herself off a cliff, with no idea where she would land. Pummel was right to sound doubtful. Could she really tell the truth? To everyone?

  I’ll have to, she thought grimly. I don’t reckon I can get Otte out of here by myself. I need Pummel to trust me.

  And because he didn’t, not yet, she added, ‘I won’t lie and I won’t keep stuff from you. I’ll be the most honest person you’ve ever met. You won’t recognise me.’

  At that, Pummel almost smiled.

  Which is a start, thought Duckling.

  But she still wanted to explore, and because she was determined to be honest, she said so.

  Pummel shook his head. ‘You heard Sooli. It’s too dangerous.’

  ‘What if she’s lying? I don’t trust her.’

  ‘You don’t trust anyone. But you could be wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m wrong,’ said Duckling.

  ‘But you might be, mightn’t you?’

  Duckling nodded slowly. She was generally very good at telling when someone was lying. But Pummel was right – sometimes she made mistakes.

  Maybe she’d made one this time. She’d thought Sooli had dodged her questions, but maybe that was just the way the other girl talked. As for that strange smile when they’d first met, she could be wrong about that too.

  ‘We have to stick together, all of us,’ said Pummel. ‘It’s our only chance. I think we should ask Sooli about the witchery.’

  Duckling was too tired to argue anymore. She remembered how Sooli had comforted the little girl. ‘All right, we’ll ask her,’ she said. ‘First thing in the morning.’

  Then she rolled onto her other side and went to sleep.

  The Harshman marched through the day, and through the night too, pausing only to kill a couple of peasants. Their blood was nothing like the rich blood of the Margravine, but it was enough to give him fingernails – long, twisted things that he scraped along tree branches and fences as he passed to show how much he loathed the countryside.

  It was calm. It was peaceful. It was even worse than the city.

  When he had killed the Heir and crowned himself Margrave, he would flatten the whole place and turn it into something that suited him. He would send his armies in and out of the Strong-hold whenever he wished. He would have battles. And massacres. And fiel
ds full of corpses instead of fruit trees. For as long as he lived there would be no more peace.

  And he intended to live forever.

  His iron teeth clattered with delight at the thought. His first act as Margrave would be to start a war. No, first he would wipe out the Saffies – men, women and children. Then he would start a war.

  Wars were good. Wars sorted out the weak from the strong, and the clever from the stupid. Perhaps he would start two at the same time. Or three. He would turn the entire population into soldiers, whether they liked it or not. All of them. Including the babies. (They would not be able to wield a spear, so he would give them blunderbusses instead. Anyone could fire a blunderbuss. Even a baby.)

  But this was all in the future. He was not yet at his full power, and would not be until he had killed the Heir.

  Sniff sniff sniff. Sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff. Yes, there was the scent. And with it were two other scents that the Harshman had come to loathe. The girl and the boy who had stopped him killing the Heir last time.

  They would not stop him again. He was very sure of that.

  The first person Duckling saw when the waking bell rang was Otte. Three of his mice were trying to clean his face, and the fourth was curled up under his chin for comfort. He looked as if he had been crying in the night.

  When he saw Duckling was awake, he pushed the mice gently to one side and whispered, ‘You heard what they were saying yesterday. They called the Margravine a monster. They think she put them here.’

  On his other side, Pummel woke up with a groan. He wriggled a couple of times, as if he was trying to find a more comfortable position on the hard rock, then gave up and lay flat on his back.

  Duckling squinted at Otte. ‘It might be true. She might like having a whole bunch of slaves working for her.’

  Without opening his eyes, Pummel mumbled, ‘What are you talking about?’

  In a whisper, Duckling explained.

  Otte said, ‘The Margravine does not know about the slaves, I am sure of it. I used to have lessons with Brun, so he could learn about the world outside the Strong-hold, even though he would never see it. According to the Privy Council, the salt mines are run entirely by machines. They even gave us drawings so we could see what the machines looked like. No one said anything about slaves. Or children being worked to death.’