Emily Rodda - The Third Door

‘And what of Sonia?’ Sholto murmured.

‘I will be with Rye, of course,’ Sonia said without hesitation.

Of course. Warmth flooded Rye’s mind.

‘Rye—’ Dirk began.

‘There is no time,’ Rye said, shaking and blowing on the feather in an effort to dry it. ‘Keep safe.’

He did not have to say anything to Sonia. She had shared his thoughts and knew his plan as well as he did. Already she had taken off the faded cord she wore around her waist and was holding it in readiness. If she had any doubts about the plan’s wisdom she was keeping them to herself. He felt nothing from her but that same, steady warmth.

Quietly they hauled themselves onto the damp, splintery deck of the barge. Silently they crept towards Farr. And when they were close enough, but not too close, Rye pushed back the hood.

18 - The Head of the Serpent

Rye heard Councillor Barron bellow and Janna give a piercing scream. He saw Farr’s head jerk round, Farr’s eyes blaze at the sight of two copperheads standing shoulder to shoulder on the barge, only paces away. He saw Farr thrust his wife behind him, into Barron’s arms, and raise his sword.

Then Farr looked into Rye’s face, and knew him.

‘Keelin!’ The rage in that one word seared Rye like a gale of flame. He stood firm. He made himself smile mockingly.

It was enough. Farr leaped onto the barge, snarling, a huge, terrifying figure. The sword slashed down with enormous force, hitting the shield thrown up by the armour shell, rebounding with a shuddering clang. And the big man was off balance, staggering …

Now!

Sonia’s cord whipped out like a snake and tangled around Farr’s ankles. He yelled and crashed onto the deck. The next instant Rye and Sonia were both upon him. As they thrust their arms through his heavy belt, Rye heard Janna screaming. He heard the crowd roar in dismay, and Barron squeal like a hog. And over all he heard Petronelle’s despairing cry, harsh as the screech of a stalker bird.

‘You swore to me, Keelin! Ah, you swore you would not harm …’

Up! Up! Up!

A blast of air sealed Rye’s eyes and snatched the breath from his lungs. And the next moment, the shouts and screams had faded, and wind was blowing around him, tossing his hair and cooling his face.

He forced his eyes open. He, Sonia and Farr were high above the ground. They were on the topmost point of the pipeline—perched on the head of the serpent. The giant trees of the Fell Zone rose in front of them, and directly below them were the great coils of clear tube piled against the barrier fence. They were where Rye had intended, but he had no idea how it had happened so fast.

‘Well, that was all very satisfactory,’ Sonia murmured. ‘So now we beg Chieftain Farr’s pardon and make him listen to us, is that it?’

‘Yes,’ said Rye. ‘And we stay here for as long as it takes. Nothing will happen while Farr is thought to be in danger, and no one will dare approach us up here, for fear we will let him fall.’

He turned to their silent captive. ‘We have done this only because we had to, Chieftain Farr,’ he began. ‘We had to talk to you. Our people are not your enemies—our people do not even know that you exist! You have been deceived! Your enemy is not who you think …’

His voice trailed off. It had suddenly become plain to him that Farr was not listening. The man was utterly still, staring straight ahead. Not a muscle in his face or body moved. The wind was ruffling his hair, but otherwise he might have been carved out of stone.

‘Something is the matter!’ Rye exclaimed. ‘He cannot hear me.’

‘He is pretending,’ Sonia retorted. ‘Or else—’ She peered into Farr’s motionless face and bit her lip. ‘Or else he is more closely linked to the Master than we thought. Remember what happened to Brand when he failed the Master at the Harbour!’

Rye nodded, his stomach heaving. But Brand had been killed. Farr was not dead, or even unconscious. He was simply—frozen.

‘What now?’ Sonia demanded.

Rye heard a change in the sound floating from below, and looked down quickly. The pursuing soldiers from Riverside were pounding towards the jetty, their horses’ sides gleaming with sweat. People were scattering before them, shouting to them, pointing up at Rye, Sonia and Farr.

As the soldiers reined in their horses, Rye saw with a jolt that Jett was among them. Jett’s tale had been believed. He had been released from the watchtower and allowed to join the pursuit.

Well, if he came here planning to kill Farr after all, he knows now that he cannot, Rye thought grimly. Farr is out of his reach. And then, in disbelief, he saw Jett free his feet from the stirrups, stand upright on his saddle, and jump for the pipeline, his arms held high.

Jett caught hold of the pipe and swung himself up onto its curved silver surface. For an instant he crouched motionless. Then he scrambled to his feet and, balancing like an acrobat, began walking towards the place where the pipe began to slope upwards.

Jett is a master Wall worker, Rye reminded himself numbly. Dirk could have done the same, before his arms were hurt.

And Jett had no fear of causing Farr’s death. Jett wanted Farr to die. The people below did not know that. No doubt they thought Jett was being foolishly heroic—bravely trying to save their chieftain without thinking of the danger.

Rye tore his eyes from the rapidly advancing figure and looked down at the sea of faces below. He saw Janna and Petronelle, clinging together. He saw Barron wringing his hands …

Then he glimpsed Dirk and Sholto on the fringes of the crowd. Sholto was gripping Dirk’s shoulder for support. Dirk was holding something loosely in his good hand. It looked like a skimmer hook.

I am dreaming, Rye thought dazedly. He blinked, and when he looked again the crowd had shifted and his brothers were no longer in sight.

Rye, Jett is still coming!

Rye turned his eyes back to the pipeline. Jett was on his stomach, creeping up the steep slope like a caterpillar crawling up a branch. He looked up, saw Rye watching him, and grinned, showing his bloody gums and broken teeth.

‘Go back, Jett,’ Rye heard himself call. He glanced at Farr, but Farr was still rigid, staring straight ahead, apparently seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

Jett paused, clinging to the pipe, the wind whipping his tangled hair. Sweat was streaming down his face, making runnels in the dirt and dried blood.

‘Back?’ he snarled. ‘Oh, no, Keelin! I have worked too hard for this, planned too long, suffered too much. I am going to kill the enemy of Weld!’

He began climbing again.

‘He is mad,’ Sonia hissed. ‘He knows he cannot touch us!’

‘He may not know he cannot touch Farr,’ Rye muttered back. ‘Or he may not want to believe it.’

But I have to make him believe it, he thought. If he tries to attack us, he will surely overbalance and fall to his death. And Jett is a man of Weld. He is a Wall worker, like Dirk, Joliffe and Crell. He is someone’s brother, someone’s son.

‘You felt our power in the watchtower, Jett!’ he roared. ‘You cannot kill Farr while we protect him.’ As he spoke, he suddenly realised that he could not see Jett as clearly as he had before. He glanced up. The sky was orange, streaked with grey clouds. The sun was going down.

‘The light is going!’ he shouted. ‘Go back, Jett, before you fall!’

‘I will not fall.’ Again Jett looked up and grinned. ‘And you cannot make me fear sunset either, so do not try! I know as well as you do that there will be no skimmers abroad tonight. Tonight they were to be sent through the pipeline, and all that has been stopped. Ha! How Farr must be cursing you for losing your nerve and trying to escape!’