City of Lies - Lian Tanner [39]
“Morg,” she said, holding the burning rope carefully away from the coal scuttle, “I want you to carry this up to the roof. Put the scuttle down near the edge, where it won’t tip over, then drop the rope into it and get out of the way. Don’t let anyone in the street see you.”
The slaughterbird shuffled her wings, glaring at the cat. The cat glared back.
“Morg!” said Goldie sharply.
The bird glared one last time at the cat. Then she grabbed the handle of the coal scuttle in her beak, wrapped a claw around the rope and launched herself upward.
“Come on,” Goldie whispered to the cat, and she ducked back out the gate and squeezed through the crowd until she was standing next to the fire bell.
“Bald Thoke, god of thieves and jokers,” she whispered, slipping the lever out of her waistband, “I think you’ll like this. I hope you’ll like it.”
In front of her, the dancing was growing wilder than ever. Some of the sailors were trying to pick a fight.
Now, she thought. Now, Morg! NOW!
She looked up at the roof and saw the first puff of smoke. Her hands felt stiff and clumsy, but she gripped the lever and swung it against the bell, again and again and again and again and again.
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG!
The sound stopped everyone in their tracks. The music died away. A fizgig sputtered out in someone’s hand.
In the sudden silence, Goldie pointed to the roof of the house, where the smoke was billowing across the face of the moon in a great black cloud. “Fire!” she screamed, at the top of her voice. “Fire! Fire!”
It didn’t seem to matter that the smoke disappeared as quickly as it had come. In this flammable city, everyone knew what to do. They leaped into action, and buckets of sand and water appeared from nowhere.
The sailors pounded on the front door of the house. There was a shout from inside. “Go away.”
“Are you mad?” cried the sailors. “The place is on fire!”
They had forgotten about the Festival and speaking in lies. They kicked at the door until it crashed open. Goldie saw Cord trying to block their entrance. One of the sailors waded into him with his fists, but Cord managed to fight his way to a flight of narrow stairs, where he stood his ground, shouting over his shoulder, “Smudge! Git down ’ere!”
It was not only the sailors who had forgotten their lies. Fear had driven the Festival from everyone’s minds.
“We’ll be burned to the ground,” shrieked a woman behind Goldie. “They won’t let anyone upstairs to fight it.”
“Won’t they just?” cried her companion. “We’ll see about that!”
There was no time to waste. Goldie wriggled through the crowd. But before she could reach the gate, a hand grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.
The bandmaster thrust his face into hers. “What’s this?” he hissed. “What’s this you’ve dragged us into? It’s him, isn’t it. Didn’t I beg you not to get us mixed up in his business? Didn’t I? What’s he going to think when he hears that my band brought all these people here tonight? He’s going to think I was part of it!” He shook his head in fear and anguish. “Let me tell you, boy, you’ve signed my death warrant, and that of all my fellows, as surely as if you’d taken that little knife of yours and sliced our throats open!”
With a roar, he pushed her away and shouted to his musicians, “Come on, we’re getting out of here.” And he and the rest of the band clanked away down the hill.
Goldie watched them go, her hand over her mouth. Had she really signed their death warrants? No, she couldn’t bear it—
She pulled herself together. There was no time for regrets. She must get Bonnie and Toadspit out before it was too late.
She slipped through the gate, ran down the passage and dragged the coil of rope from its hiding place. Inside the house, the noise of the brawl was growing. Someone was ringing the fire bell again.
Goldie tore off her boots and shinned up onto the roof of the lean-to. The bars of the first-floor window