City of Lies - Lian Tanner [8]
Goldie was so cold and stiff that she could hardly move. The end of Bonnie’s bow poked into her ribs, and the salty air had stuck her eyelids together. She thought that she had slept a little, but she wasn’t sure.
She and Toadspit had found this hiding place last night—a tarpaulin-covered dinghy, halfway along the deck of the fishing boat. Now the edges of the tarpaulin let in a glimmer of daylight. It was morning.
Goldie licked her dry lips. Ma and Pa would have woken up by now, and found her gone. Her heart ached at the thought. How would they manage without her? What if her disappearance made Pa’s nightmares worse? What if Ma’s cough turned into a fever?
Beside her, Toadspit lifted the edge of the tarpaulin, just far enough to see out. Goldie squirmed up to the gap and peered through it, grateful for the distraction.
The deck of the boat was covered with nets and barrels and ropes, and a pile of glass floats like huge green bubbles. In the stern, the sharp-faced man from the night before was standing beneath an open-fronted deckhouse. His legs were braced and he held a heavy upright pole that moved back and forth with the movement of the sea. His oilskin coat flapped in the wind.
As Goldie watched, he leaned toward an open hatch and shouted, “Hey, Smudge.”
A muffled reply came from somewhere below.
“Bring the snotty up,” shouted the sharp-faced man. “Let’s see ’er in daylight.”
Heavy footsteps crossed the lower deck; then a second man, the big one with the blond hair, clambered out of the hatch with Bonnie in his arms and dumped her on the deck next to the mast. Her wrists were tied and there were bruises on her forehead.
In the dinghy, Goldie felt Toadspit tremble with rage.
The big man fumbled behind one of the barrels and pulled out a flat piece of wood. “Um, Cord?” he said. Despite his enormous size, there was something childlike and eager to please about him. “You want me to change the name of the boat before someone sees us?”
“Yeah, go on.”
The ship heaved and slapped against the waves. As Cord worked the tiller, the sleeve of his coat fell back, and Goldie saw a bloodstained bandage.
Beneath the tarpaulin, her hands twitched out a message in the silent code of fingertalk. That’s who Bonnie stabbed with arrow.
Toadspit nodded. His eyes flickered back to his sister’s bruises.
When Smudge returned, he was carrying a different piece of wood. He held it up for Bonnie to inspect. “It’s a fake nameplate, see?” he said, as happily as if she were a friend, rather than a child he had stolen. “When we was in Jewel we was the Black Bob, but now we’s the Piglet. Ain’t that clever? Who’s gunna think of lookin’ for the good old Piglet? No one, that’s who.” He grunted with satisfaction. “It were my idea, weren’t it, Cord?” he shouted to the smaller man.
Out of the corner of her eye, Goldie saw something move. She nudged Toadspit. The gray-spotted cat that had darted across their path on the wharf was slinking around one of the barrels. It was a huge, gaunt, wild-looking creature with torn ears and a bony skull, and when it saw Smudge, it bared its fangs in a silent hiss.
Smudge leaped backward, an expression of horror on his face. “Where’d that thing come from? What’s it doin’ on the Piglet?”
“Musta come with us from Spoke.” The sharp-faced man, Cord, sniggered. “What’s the matter, Smudge? You’re not scared of that old fleabag, are ya?”
“Course not,” said Smudge quickly. He retreated another step, tucking his fists into his armpits. “It’s just—um—you remember Harrow’s fightin’ dog? Great big monster of a thing? A coupla months ago he set it onto that cat, for a bit of a laugh. And—” He lowered his voice. “And the cat killed it! I seen it with me own eyes! They reckon—they reckon it’s a demon cat. They reckon it can see things that ain’t there.”
Cord’s snigger turned to a snarl. “Don’t be more of a idjit than ya have to. Find out the snotty’s name.”
Without moving, Smudge mumbled, “Hey, snotty. What’s yer name?”
Bonnie sat up very straight. “My name is—Princess Frisia.” In the dinghy,