Frances Hardinge - Cuckoo Song

‘Only that we should disembark here and wait, and go no further into this town, and draw no attention… and at midnight the Architect will arrive in his chariot and lead us to the haven.’

‘Is the haven the—’ Pen began, then cut off with a little gasp of fear and frustration. Trista guessed what the smaller girl had wanted to ask, for the same question had flitted through her mind. Is the haven the Underbelly? Due to the magic promise, however, she could no more ask the question than Pen could.

‘How much have you been told about the haven?’ Trista asked instead, desperate to know if her guess was correct.

‘Nothing – only that it is safe.’ The woman narrowed her eyes and gave Trista an inquisitive look, clearly inviting her to say more.

‘It is safe,’ Trista whispered, hoping that she sounded confident. ‘I shouldn’t say any more about it here though. You will see it soon enough.’

The woman inclined her head, and drifted on through the tea shop. Trista was unnerved to notice the stranger talking to a number of the other seated Besiders, each of whom turned to gaze at Trista and give her a small, deferential nod.

‘I…’ Violet shook her head and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I… didn’t catch all of that. It was like listening through fog.’

‘These Besiders are all newly arrived from outside Ellchester,’ Trista whispered. ‘I don’t think they understand towns, and they can’t blend in well, so they’ve been told to stay here and wait to be picked up. That’s why the Architect is leading midnight rides – it’s so he can lead them to a new home – a haven.’

‘By leading them over the roofs?’ Violet raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s probably the only way to get them all there safely,’ Trista murmured back. ‘I certainly wouldn’t trust them to follow a map. Look at them – some of them are having trouble with spoons .

‘But the important part is, the Architect is starting the midnight ride here tonight. We already know that he takes Triss with him when he rides. It means that I might have a second chance – if I’m still alive at midnight, I can follow the ride across the roofs, and try to save her!’

‘Don’t let her, Violet!’ squealed Pen with deafening force. The waitresses glanced across at her with curiosity, and she dropped her voice again to match the whispers of the others. ‘She’ll get hurt!’

‘Pen’s right – it’s out of the question!’ Violet’s eyes were wide and serious. ‘Trista, last night the chase nearly tore you apart, and you still lost them! We… We’ll have to find a way to follow them on the motorbike.’

‘But… the fuel tank’s nearly empty…’

‘It will have to last!’ retorted Violet, and this time Trista caught the edge of panic intertwined with the determination.

Of course. Violet without her motorcycle was Violet with her wings clipped. She needed her wings, so as to be ever on the move. Her nightmares were always a step behind her. The unending, all-swallowing blizzard, the iron skies and forests of thorned wire, the hungry tempest of ice and darkness and loss…

…and snow. Soft, treacherous, all-covering, all-revealing snow.

‘Violet,’ Trista said softly, ‘when you stay still, how long does it take before the snow starts to fall?’

‘It varies.’ Violet tipped her head back and studied Trista interrogatively. ‘Sometimes as much as five hours, sometimes as little as two. Why?’

‘I…’ Trista bit her lip. ‘I’ve just had an idea. It’s true, I did lose the riders last night. They dropped, and rose, and changed direction so quickly I couldn’t keep track of them, not without moving fast enough to rip myself to pieces. But I saw them, Violet! Some of them were flying, but others were leaping from roof to roof, like me. And the Architect’s car was driving – up walls, over roofs, along the roads. They touch down – and if there’s snow , they’ll leave tracks.’

Violet stared at her. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that I… ?’ She broke off, and was uncharacteristically speechless for a moment. ‘But I can’t!’ she hissed at last. ‘I don’t control this. I don’t summon the snow, it chases me.’

‘I know.’ Trista glanced furtively round the room, then clasped Violet’s hand in both of hers. ‘You’re so brave, and fearless, and… and I know you’re ready to drive into any kind of danger. I know you’d fight the Architect and Mr Grace and the bird-things and the police and everybody until they were black and blue. And I know this is the one thing you don’t want to face, and it’s really scary and difficult, but—’

‘But you want me to stop running.’ Violet finished Trista’s sentence and cut it dead. ‘You want me to wait for the snow.’

Trista hugged one of Violet’s arms and buried her face in her jacket.

‘I know you want to protect me,’ she said very quietly, ‘but you can’t. Whatever you do, I only have this day. I want to make it matter. Please, please let me do some good with it. Let me choose .’

Violet said nothing. Nothing was not a yes, but neither was it a no. Trista felt Violet’s hand gently rest on the back of her head. Just for those few seconds their silence felt like a little fortress against the world.

‘Pen,’ said Violet, in tones of affectionate irritation, ‘will you please stop doing that?’

Trista looked up in time to see Pen with her hands pressed against the window, sticking out her tongue at somebody down in the street.

‘He started it!’ Pen exclaimed defiantly. ‘It’s rude to stare!’

‘Pen, the Besiders are staring because they think I’m one of them!’ Trista pointed out.

‘But it wasn’t one of the Besiders.’ Pen dropped back into her chair and filled her mouth with crumpet. ‘It was the man who didn’t eat his lunch.’

‘What?’ A spider-tingle of alarm crept up Trista’s spine.

‘He was over there.’ Pen pointed to a nearby table. ‘And they brought him sausages, but he didn’t eat them. He just went away.’

‘Violet,’ Trista whispered urgently, ‘that’s where the young man was sitting – the one with the…’

The newspaper. Over on the abandoned table, draped over the neglected plate, was a copy of the Ell Chronicle. The trio exchanged glances.

‘We need to get out of here right now ,’ hissed Violet. She rose from her chair and then froze, still half stooped. Looking down into the street, Trista could see exactly what had caught her eye. Two policemen were hurrying across the road towards the entrance of the tea room.

Violet pressed the heels of both hands against her temples and stared down into the street. She was breathing quickly, in a way that made her nostrils flutter.

‘Violet…’ Pen’s voice was a rising curl of panic.

‘I’m thinking,’ Violet said through her teeth. Some resolution clicked into place behind her gaze and she gave a short, sharp nod. ‘Follow me – quick!’

The three of them weaved hastily between the tables towards the back of the dining area, to the dark doors of the ‘conveniences’.

‘In here!’ Violet shoved open the nearest door, and the girls bundled in after her.

Immediately Trista knew they were in the wrong place. The walls were a sombre olive instead of powder-pink. It smelt strange, a little like cologne and men’s hair cream…

‘Violet, this is the wrong—’

‘Shh!’ Violet braced herself against the door. Her gaze fell on Trista and Pen and she gave them a dark, wry smile. ‘Both of you – listen to me. When I say run, you run. You don’t wait for me. You find somewhere to hide. Do you understand?’