Emily Rodda - The Third Door

‘What—what are you saying?’ Rye stammered, suddenly feeling as if he was choking.

‘Do you keep up the pretence even now?’ Jett made an impatient movement, pushed himself up from the floor and slumped back onto his chair.

‘I know what you know, Keelin ,’ he said, in a flat, exhausted voice. ‘I know that today at sunset more skimmers than Weld has ever seen will stream from the holds of cargo ships into the giant tank where the pipeline meets the sea. I know that those skimmers will surge through the pipeline, unseen and without troubling a soul in New Nerra or Riverside. I know they will explode into the Fell Zone and fly on, over the Wall. And I know that tonight Weld will end, and that when Farr’s barbarians enter it tomorrow morning, there will hardly be a soul left alive to defend it.’

His head flopped forward till his chin touched his chest. He shuddered all over then was still, as if he had suddenly fallen asleep or fainted.

And as Rye struggled against the ghastly pictures the man’s words had conjured up, a memory came to him on a wave of sickness.

He saw himself standing in front of a red wall, reading a large sign:

He saw himself creeping through a vast vault of sleeping skimmers. He saw himself pressing the light crystal to the strange, round, black-rimmed door in the back wall of the vault, and staring out at an oily, heaving sea.

And he saw the ships that waited at anchor there, each with a black circle marked low on its side—a circle to which a tunnel could be attached.

Rye! You did not tell me this! You did not mention ships waiting outside the Harbour building!

Rye’s head jerked up as Sonia’s voice rang in his mind. Sonia had shared his vivid memories and had drawn her own conclusions. He could feel her panic.

‘Why did you not tell me, Rye?’ she asked aloud. Her voice was shaking.

Rye searched for an answer. ‘It—was a detail. It did not seem important.’

How feeble the words sounded, in the face of the fearful images flying unguarded from Sonia’s mind to his! Weld facing a skimmer onslaught too great for it to bear. Annocki and Faene huddled in the damaged Keep, trying to comfort terrified, injured children while ravenous skimmers ripped and tore at the gradually crumbling walls. The Warden fluttering uselessly, never considering for a moment the idea of throwing open his private door and ushering everyone he could find down to the Chamber of the Doors, and safety.

Rye wet his lips. ‘Jett is only guessing,’ he said, hardly recognising the sound of his own voice. ‘What he says cannot be true!’

‘It can,’ said Sonia flatly. ‘If Sholto was here, he would tell you the same. We wondered why the Master has not invaded this place. Now we know. He does not need to invade. He and Farr are working together. Farr sends the Master Riverside hogs to work in the Diggings, food for the workers in the Harbour, myrmon for the Harbour healers. The Master sends Farr skimmers, and the means to conquer Weld.’

‘No!’ Rye shook his head violently. ‘Farr is—a good man, and a great leader. He would never ally himself with the Master!’

‘Farr may not know what the Master is,’ Sonia said, her voice hard. ‘He may think he can control him. He will learn better, I imagine, when at last the Master’s own territory is empty of jell.’

She moved to the open window, leaned on the sill and looked out. ‘There is jell in plenty in those fields, we are fairly sure of that. And according to Dirk the earth of Weld is full of it. The Master will not be able to resist mining such rich sources for long—even for the sake of hogs and myrmon.’

His mind reeling, Rye joined her at the window and looked out at the countryside spread out below him like an embroidered quilt. From this great height it seemed strangely unreal and at the same time familiar, like a place he had once seen in a dream.

He stared out at the chequered green and gold of the fields, at the gently rolling hills beyond, at the pipeline and the river with the road running in between. The Fell Zone seemed to float on the horizon like a dense green cloud. The sky above its highest point was stained an ugly brown.

Rye narrowed his eyes and bent forward, peering at the brown smudge. Was that—could it be …?

He turned and snatched up the far glass from the table. Pressing it to his eye he focused on the brown patch of sky then slowly lowered the glass a fraction.

And there, directly below the sickly brown haze, was the steep, bare rock of the hollow mountaintop. The stain in the sky was the exhausted breath of Weld. Rye’s stomach turned over. Abruptly he took the glass from his eye, and realised that Sonia was looking at him enquiringly.

‘Weld,’ he mumbled. ‘You can see it from here.’

Her mouth tightened as she nodded.

Fearful of what she might go on to say, Rye made a show of looking down, as if searching for Dirk and Sholto. There were more people pressed together at the base of the watchtower now, and the number of soldiers guarding the iron door had increased to five.

The little park behind the watchtower was deserted. The old people and the children had left, no doubt because of the growing noisiness of the crowd. The park was bathed in sunlight and bright with flowers. Right in the middle, encircled by a low, clipped hedge, a small tree spread its graceful branches over a large stone tablet that perhaps bore the park’s name, or a list of the founders of Riverside.

Rye’s eyes blurred as he looked down at the green patch of peace. The tree could easily be a bell tree. Almost he could imagine that he was looking down at the garden in the Fleet guesthouse, where Sonia and Faene had walked not so long ago, their hair loose and shining in the sun, their light dresses floating in the gentle breeze.

That garden had been a place of peace, too. Until Olt’s Gifters came.

I cannot regret causing Olt’s death, Rye thought suddenly. I cannot! But I can try to stop the evil that flowed from it. And by chance I have the means.

He touched the bundle hanging from his belt. It was less bulky now, because Sholto had the book, but the gold casket was safe.

‘If Farr is in league with the Master, or if he is not, does not matter,’ he said aloud. ‘We will take the disc to the Fellan as we planned.’

‘Time is short,’ Sonia murmured. She was still staring out the window, staring at the horizon. At Fell End, where the pipeline ended? At the forbidden forest? At the murky cloud that marked Weld? Rye could not tell.

As he looked with her, a tiny flash caught his eye. On the road beyond the hills something was winking like a tiny beacon. He lifted the far glass.

Six people on horseback were moving towards Fell End. The leader had a short, broad sword in his belt, and it was this that was catching the light. He sat tall in the saddle, and was bareheaded.

It was Farr. Rye knew it. The three councillors were riding behind him, and behind them were two soldiers. Their shadows were long and dark, flickering along the road like spirits bearing them company.

Rye’s heart seemed to stop. Suddenly it was as if a spell had been broken—a spell that had held him for too long in this small square room where everything could be seen distantly, from above.

If Jett was right, sunset would mean the end of Weld.

A plan sprang into Rye’s mind, fully formed. He dug his fingers into the brown bag, searching for the charms he needed. ‘We must go!’ he exclaimed.

Sonia turned sharply, her eyes startled.

Rye clambered onto the windowsill, pulling her with him. ‘Farr has left Riverside,’ he panted, holding up the red feather. ‘It looks as if he is on his way to—to Fell End!’