Nondula (The Waifs of Duldred Book 2) Read online

  ‘You ain’t thinking,’ said Jefee. ‘We can’t just wander through the Sizor quarter without reason and we couldn’t reach that window by ourselves.’

  ‘What about Lil? She might help us.’

  Jefee shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t count on it, not the way she’s been looking at you lately.’

  Gritty wrote the letter anyway and waited for a chance.

  As always at the time of a husbinding, tension among the Felluns was running high. Factions formed and fought. There was constant brawling in the sangaries. While the girls watched the fighting at a distance Elfee crept up behind Gritty and spoke in her ear: ‘I won’t be corked much longer then Ferralee will see how she wronged me and favour me even more and she will sell your story to the Felluns for gold and if you tell anyone I broke the corking, well then, I’ll have nothing to lose and I’ll just tell sooner and it will be the worse for you.’

  Gritty gave no sign that she had heard. She watched as the guards herded fighters wishing she could join in with Elfee as her match.

  Fellun games were all about strength. They lifted, hauled and hurled things that were never meant to be lifted, hauled and hurled. They clamped and tugged with their jaws and necks, and bore crushing weights on their bellies. In the show tents there were contests for the fastest blood clots. The winner’s blood barely flowed before it skinned over and set like enamel. The Bungs were proud of the plates of horny skin they sported on their backs and chests. The judges tested them by bashing skewers into their chests with mallets.

  The games ended with the noble sport of gravidity. The husbeaus put on lead-lined suits and helmets. The suits were loaded with stones till the men could barely move. Then they lumbered down the track. Every step was like wrenching a tree from the earth. The helmets crushed their heads into their shoulders. Their arms were plumbed, too heavy to do more than sway with each thundering step. The spectators roared, delighted by such a display of weightiness, gravity and inertia. Heaviness was power.

  Hangjaw was the winner. He stood on the podium, extremely dim of eye and wit. His arms hung low, seemingly by the weight of his hammer fists, and his jaw sawed from side to side. He was an unexciting champion. Rigaw strode up and pushed him off. Hangjaw lay flat on the ground. There were purple splodges all over his head where he had burst blood vessels in his efforts. He got to his knees. His own weight seemed too much for him. He lay back down again.

  ‘In the name of Gravid I challenge Ijaw to a bout.’ Rigaw’s bellow travelled up the tiers to the high stand where Ijaw and Bominata sat. The Bungs cheered. The Sizors jeered.

  Ijaw did not seem eager to take up the challenge. He was half the width of Rigaw and could not match him for strength or fury, though he had a stronger jaw and fierce tearing teeth. Bominata adjusted her ruby eye patch. Her other eye swivelled from one suitor to the other. Ijaw wore every piece of red finery he possessed: red hides, red furs and a garnet collar. Rigaw was a dull blob in the distance. She stroked Ijaw’s face then clamped his hand in hers. She led him down the red-carpeted steps to the arena. It was so quiet that everyone could hear her heavy tread and her wheezing. She came to the edge of the carpet and looked down as though she stood on a precipice. ‘Don’t fear, Your Density,’ said Ijaw. ‘There is ground beyond the carpet. Common ground to be sure. He patted her hand. ‘More carpet!’ he bellowed. Men unrolled a red path across the arena.

  Rigaw waited. He shaded the ground with a wide blot. He wore no collar but tilted his head back and pointed to his throat in a show of bravado.

  Bominata brought Ijaw to face him. She wheezed something into Ijaw’s ear. Ijaw bowed to her and in one move rushed Rigaw. He chopped at his throat and while Rigaw stood choking he clamped his teeth around Rigaw’s arm, piercing the leather easily. The jaw that could grind stone continued closing on skin and muscle. Rigaw recovered and brought his fist down on the back of Ijaw’s head.

  ‘Cease!’ shouted Bominata.

  Rigaw stopped but the force of rage in him was barely pent. Ijaw rubbed his head and backed off unsteadily. Bominata stood between them. She looked boldly into Rigaw’s face and raised Ijaw’s arm. The Sizors rocked the stadium. Rigaw steamed, billowed and boiled. He took a step towards Bominata. A row of armed guards blocked his path.

  Rigaw had to do something with his rage. He called for a gravidity suit. The stewards brought it and filled it with stones. Rigaw asked for more and more till it seemed impossible that he would move at all. They lowered the lead helmet. He stood alone on the starting line, then he cried out. He kept up the long cry of rage while he staggered the length of the track. He reached the end and threw the helmet into the crowd where it would have killed anyone less dense than a Fellun. He raised his arms in triumph and paraded in front of Ijaw and Bominata. The Bungs cheered. Fights broke out all around the stadium and spilled into the arena. The guards closed around Bominata. She calmly pointed out incidents to Ijaw, taking pleasure in the violence.

  At last injuries slowed the fighting. Felluns wove around like drunks with puffy faces and blood clots swinging from their noses. They began to settle. Drinks were served. The Felluns were assured of their own strength, heaviness and aggression, the thickness of their hides and the sludge in their veins. To round off a great day they came together to snigger at the tiny, birdy Chee girls who were actually going to fly.

  At one end of the stadium was a very high platform and a very small pool. The Felluns watched as the Chee showered down one after another like arrows hitting perfect centre every time. After that each dive was more complex, with twists, flips, straddles and somersaults. They dived alone and in pairs. It was incredible that they hit the water and not the ground. Elfee was poised for the final thriller, the most difficult dive of all: a falling V, two and a half turn, spindle twist. It was invented by Ferralee who famously pulled it off with a triple turn. Other girls had broken their backs trying. Elfee took a breath and raised her hand. The board dipped and she sprang. Up and up. Down. Three turns! She drilled the water in a spinning flash. The other divers gasped and clapped. Elfee had risked her life to equal the diva. The Felluns barely murmured. It was all too fast for them to see.

  Ferralee smiled. ‘That is how to come back from your mistakes,’ she told the line of girls. Elfee climbed out sleak and dripping. Ferralee made a shape with her hand like a gaping bird’s beak.

  ‘Elfee’s back in favour. Ferralee’s just uncorked her,’ said Jefee.

  ‘Oh, Lor’,’ said Gritty. ‘She’s talking to Ferralee and pointing at me. It’s over. I got to get this letter off now.’

  Jefee held her arm. ‘You’ll never do it. I’ve told you it needs three rows...’ Elfee was coming towards them. Jefee quickly changed the subject: ‘And Mecanee told Sarralee told Luilee that Rigaw was...’

  ‘Gritty,’ the grinning Elfee interrupted, ‘Ferralee wants you in the drill room. I’d say goodbye to Jefee. You might not see her again.’

  Ferralee sat on the springing bench as though she had no need of support; she could have sat down in air. She pointed to the floor and Gritty sat cross-legged in front of her. Being looked at by Ferralee was a disturbing thing.

  ‘I hear things about you,’ said Ferralee. ‘Elfee thinks you are not a Chee. I agree with her.’

  ‘Ma’am.’ Gritty kept her hands folded and her head low. It seemed too late for lies.

  ‘Neither are you a Nondul, though I have seen a flash of the Nondul air about you. Who are you, Grittee?’

  ‘I don’t think it matters any more, ma’am. I’ve failed and you’ve found me out. My friend is going to die. You give me up as a spy and I’ll go the same way I ’spect. You’ll get your gold earrings, so at least someone stands to benefit. I only wish I could leave a note for Gert. I should have listened to Gert.’

  ‘You have got a low opinion of me.’

  Gritty looked up. ‘No ma’am. I’ve the highest opinion of you. I’d like to dance like you some day, but I guess I ain’t going to last that long.’

 
; ‘Now you’re getting very close to self-pity. It is a useless thing.’

  ‘Forgive me, ma’am, but you just scuppered my last hope.’

  ‘Right. Enough of that, who is going to die and who is Gert? Give me the facts and let me help.’

  Gritty told Ferralee everything.

  As Ferralee listened she got up and walked around. ‘Gavelar,’ she said as Gritty finished. ‘Do you have the letter with you?’

  ‘Yes’m.’

  ‘And you are hoping that Yehvo will take it to Nondula for you. Time is very short but if there is a way she will find it. I know her well. I work with her against the Felluns. That is why I ask the girls for their stories. I don’t do it for earrings.’

  ‘No offence meant, ma’am. It’s just what I heard.’

  ‘Yehvo gave me a sign to choose you on the day of the trials.’

  ‘So you didn’t pick me for my dancing?’ Gritty’s pride was hurt.

  ‘I saw talent but you had not prepared enough. Yehvo thought you might be trained to work with us. I’d like to know more about you and the lands beyond the storm wall. One day I will travel to a place where I can be truly free.’

  ‘That’s what we tried to do ma’am. Like you, we thought there was a better world the other side of the storm wall but it hasn’t worked out like that.’

  ‘Well, there’s no time to discuss it know. I must find Lil before she disappears into her cupboard.’

  ‘Lil – does she work with you?’

  ‘Lil is our best source of information but she doesn’t work with anyone. She hates the Felluns more than she hates the Chee, but she strikes against both when it suits her. I will help you Grittee. We have different aims but we are on the same side. Give me the letter.’ Gritty remembered Yehvo’s words – tread carefully, she has a foot in both camps – and hesitated. ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Ferralee. ‘What else are you going to do with it?’

  Gritty gave her the letter.

  Dreshes were known to be deaf and dumb. It meant that Lil could go anywhere and no one paid her any attention. To the Felluns she was merely a walking plank who did a good job in the launderie. That the plank was stalking through the Sizor quarter in the early evening, that it paused beneath a window and moved on was nothing to them. If they registered Lil at all they didn’t see the green blur flashing over her. Lil barely knew what had happened herself. She had felt a strong but fleeting grip on her arm and shoulder, and pressure on either side of her neck.

  In fact, Ferralee had used Lil as a ladder, stretched high to the hole in the wall, then launched herself away. Lil walked on. She did not look back at the wisp of green flowing fast down the corridor.

  Yehvo’s dog, Trotty, was a tiny half-starved thing, but he had a jenie. He lived to be a post dog. He watched the post window nightly as though his life depended on it. Cats, rats and warning barks made his ears twitch, but if his eyes began to slide or his head to turn, he pulled them back to the window and watched till all of Fort Offel slept. Night after night he returned and waited.

  It was only a short while since the last letter so the scent of Ferralee was unexpected. It woke all his nerves. He stood on his hind legs, fixed his eyes on the slit and whined. Then he heard it, the scuff of something coming through. He sprang with delight and snatched the letter from the air, then he was off, trotting. He circuited the north side of the fort and dodged through the Brawlagate between the legs of two Felluns.He pattered lightly across the empty marketplace and into the serf quarter. There he trotted through the darkest parts of the darkest alleys. Yehvo’s door had fallen off so he trotted straight in. She fussed him with one hand while reading the message. There was the simple lettering of a young girl, begging for help from her heart and underneath was Ferralee’s wildly loopy script approving the request. Yehvo grinned to herself. She had read Grittee’s last note with interest and guessed that something important was brewing, but she hadn’t expected this. The girl was from another land. She had not come alone and these strangers were stirring up the Nonduls. It was high time. Yehvo was ready to back her all the way.

  What Gritty asked for would be very difficult. Trotty was too old to run the Scrubluns in a night. The only sure way to get the message there on time was to steal a horse. It was enough to get Yehvo killed, but she was an old woman and what better way to die?

  Luck was with her. There were horses stabled on the plain ready for the next day’s hunt. The celebrations had been too much for the guards. They slept drunkenly. The old woman and the dog mounted a giant horse as though they were running up a hill. Yehvo perched like a child, her bird-thin legs hanging down with Trotty balanced in front of her. She clutched the mane and urged the horse on. It didn’t move till Trotty nipped its neck, then it lumbered forward. For a horse it was rather dull and once set on a course it placed one hoof in front of another till told to stop. Trotty had to bite it till he was tired of biting before it could be made to gallop. Yehvo had never ridden before but her tumbler training made it easy for her. In the moonlight she didn’t appear much more than an extra bit of mane flying along. She let Trotty down at the edge of Nondula Forest, instructing him with clicks and ear taps. Then, with a branch for a whip she spurred the horse back to Fellund.

  Trotty threaded the trees. His light paws made the barest scuttering. Another dog would have stopped often and rooted with its nose deep in the leaf bed but that could wait. He was on a mission and a post dog could not ask for more.

  20 Hareboy

  Oy’s arm was still sore, but it was not the arm that kept him awake. In the morning the keeper brought him warm hare’s blood to drink.

  ‘It will give you some kick,’ said Burf, but Oy refused. ‘Look, I’m trying to help you. I ain’t never tried to help anyone before so why I’m doing it is anybody’s guess. Suppose you do make it to the pen in one piece; I’ll speak up for you, tell ’em there’s a use for you down here. Fact is, the animals are quieter when you’re around and I get a longer lie in. Go on, drink it.’

  ‘No, thank you, Burf. I can’t outrun a pack of dogs no matter what I drink.’

  ‘Your fool choice,’ said Burf, with some annoyance. ‘Let’s get you across to the pound.’

  A cart waited to take them to the dog pound in the Scrubluns. The driver secured Oy in the back of the cart by roping his wrist. Once there Burf untied the rope and pushed Oy away with a gruff, ‘At least try,’ of which he was deeply ashamed. The poundsman claimed Oy, dropped a shift with Rigaw’s insignia over his head, and caged him.

  Oy knelt with his head bowed. It was too cramped to sit upright. He could see into the other cages which lined the walls of the yard. There were grubby-faced children in pairs, mostly a boy and a girl. None of their faces showed fear, only concentration: a concentrated effort towards survival. They eyed each other across the yard. Some gripped the bars, others chewed their nails. Booted legs passed and repassed the cages.

  Oy felt a jolt as his cage was picked up and moved aside.

  ‘That one’s to go up last,’ said the poundsman. ‘Take number three to start. They’re fast and fresh.’ The children in cage three came to their knees, primed like cats ready to spring. ‘That’ll wind the hounds up. Leave first blood for this one if we can.’ Oy felt a bang on top of his cage.

  ‘They’re ready,’ came a more distant voice.

  ‘Take them down.’

  Oy heard shuffles, calls of ‘Good luck,’ from the Chee, the clang of a gate, a rush of air, and then a terrible baying. The baying was close to screaming. A short time later he heard another clang. The hounds were loosed. Oy watched them streaming past his cage, their wild barking curving away and after that, hooves. The noises were sometimes distant, sometimes nearer. Then there was a quiet time. This was hard to bear. Oy pictured the hounds feasting in silence. At last he heard returning hoof beats. The dogs poured back through the gates. Oy was repelled. The ripper dogs were colourless, almost hairless, with transparent undersides like ghost shrimps. One or two were darken
ed with blood like lice after feeding. Oy could see remains in their swollen bellies. What was in that one’s belly? It was bloody but he thought – he hoped it had fur. The horses were coming in. The children from cage three rode in with the Felluns. They were dirty and scratched. The girl had a leg wound, but their faces were determined and defiant. Like the Porians, the Chee were survivors. Oy thought that he was not.

  A tented platform had been raised at the edge of the marshes, with a pyramid of steps to the royal table. The nobles were ranked beneath. Curtains hid the servers and butchers. The hunt was timed to end there in one of two ways. Either the children escaped into a pen or the dogs caught them.

  Gritty helped lay the tables with knives and teeth of various sizes, then she carried trays of beer flecked with liver. The Felluns crowded the steps laying bets as the hunt drew near. Gritty stopped to watch as the quarry came pounding over the rise followed swiftly by the hounds. Both the boy and the girl were very fast. They swung into the pen and closed the gate. They were flushed and exultant. The frustrated hounds bit each other.

  ‘Their third escape,’ said Lahnee. ‘That means they go free. If you can call it freedom, being sent back to the camps.’

  The Felluns were disappointed. They looked to their plates for blood. But no one could eat till Bominata finished her eggs. Gritty watched from one end of the platform. Lil’s voice came from the curtains beside her. ‘Disgusting isn’t she? That eye of hers, it’s like a dog’s bottom with a seed in it.’

  ‘What’s she eating?’ said Gritty.

  ‘Kingfisher eggs. She eats them like sweets.’

  They watched as Bominata placed another fistful of eggs in her mouth. Bits of shell stuck to her lips and there was yolk on her chin.

  ‘Anything that’s hard to get she must have it,’ said Lil. ‘The eggs are so rare now, no one’s allowed to eat them, except by her invite. Why anyone wants to eat an unborn bird in its slime is beyond me.’