City of Lies - Lian Tanner [69]
Within seconds, the deck of the ship was swirling with noise and movement. There were snotties everywhere, shouting and leaping and dancing. Goldie couldn’t keep track of them. The cat slunk behind the covered dinghy, out of reach.
Guardian Hope’s face was blotchy with rage. “That’s enough!” she shouted. “Stop this nonsense or I’ll see you all whipped!”
Still they ignored her. Goldie saw her take a small pistol from her pocket and point it at the sky.
The shot, louder than a thunderflash, stopped the dancers in their tracks. The snotties cowered against the rail. Down on the wharf, the band members froze, their lips trembling on their instruments.
But before Guardian Hope could spit out the angry words that hovered on her lips, the air around the ship began to hum and swirl.
Smudge’s slab face lit up like a candle. “It’s a Big Lie!” he cried. “I can feel it. Someone’s gunna get a Big Lie!”
He was right. Goldie could feel it too. The Festival was still going and there were still Big Lies on the loose. No one had called this one, but it had come nonetheless.
“Who’s it for? Is it me?” cried Smudge. “Oh, Bald Thoke, please let it be me!”
Goldie could see the same longing in the eyes of Cord and the snotties. Only Guardian Hope looked annoyed by the interruption. “We haven’t got time—” she began.
The twisting, curling air swooped past her, wrenching whatever she was going to say next out of her mouth. The edge of the wharf sparkled. The bandmaster squeaked in surprise.
“Quick, Cord,” shouted Smudge. “Ask me a question.”
“Don’t be stupid,” muttered Cord. “It’s not you. It’s them.”
He pointed toward the musicians, who were bathed in a swirl of flickering possibility. Sweetapple was standing on tiptoe, laughing and crying at the same time, “It’s us! It’s us!” Old Snot’s toothless mouth was trying to frame a question, but like most of the band, he was too overcome to speak.
Only Dodger had the wits to turn to the bandmaster and cry, “Who are we? Quick, before it goes. Who are we?”
The bandmaster was as stunned as the rest of them. “We’re—We’re—” he stammered. He swiveled his head this way and that, searching for inspiration. Goldie saw his eyes fall on Guardian Hope, who was also Flense, the woman who had had him whipped.…
He bared his teeth in a vengeful grin. “We’re hunters,” he cried. “Free and mighty hunters. And there”—he raised his baton and pointed straight at Guardian Hope—“there is our prey!”
With a loud crash, the shackles and chains fell from his ankles, and from the ankles of all his people. He grew taller, and more alert. Sweetapple’s limp disappeared. Dodger and the hairy trumpeter bristled with strength. Even Old Snot put down his drum and straightened up, as lithe and energetic as a twenty-year-old.
But that was not all. Having lived through a Big Lie herself, Goldie could see into the very heart of this one. She could see the faint haze around each of the hunters, which seemed to make them even taller and stronger, so that they reminded her of the heroes from the really old stories. She could see the furs they wore, and the massive hounds that prowled around them like long-legged wisps of smoke.
Guardian Hope had changed too. She was bigger than the hounds, and her head tilted under a huge rack of antlers. She sniffed the air and snorted.
The bandmaster’s head shot around. He pointed toward the Piglet.
With a muscular grace, Sweetapple raised her trombone—which was looking more like a spear with every passing moment—and began to stalk toward the ship. Dodger followed, a few steps behind. Goldie held her breath.
Guardian Hope lifted one great cloven hoof and put it down again. She shook her antlers. Then, without warning, she leaped over the rail and began to gallop down the wharf.
The bandmaster raised a shadowy bugle and blew. The hounds yelped and tore after Guardian Hope. With a roar, nearly all of the musicians followed them. Only Dodger stood firm, one eye shut, sighting along his trumpet at the fleeing prey.