Fetcher’s Song: The Hidden Series 3 by Lian Tanner

Author:Lian Tanner [Tanner, Lian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2015-11-20T16:00:00+00:00

THE FERRY

Gwin was having trouble breathing. I have to go on that ferry!

All around her, people were whispering more or less the same thing.

‘Leave us behind?’ said one old woman, in a horrified voice. ‘But we’re burying my poor daughter and her baby first thing in the morning. I’ve got to get across!’

‘Don’t start fretting yet,’ said her companion. ‘Maybe the Master’ll change his mind.’

The man directly in front of them said over his shoulder, ‘Masters only change their minds when they might gain from it.’

‘They’ll gain all right if I miss my daughter’s burial,’ muttered the old woman, crossing her arms. ‘They’ll gain a clout over the head! See if they don’t!’

The man said, ‘You need a hammer, missus? I’ll lend you mine.’

‘Shhhh!’ murmured the companion. ‘Don’t say such things! You’ll get us all sent away.’

‘I’m past caring,’ said the old woman. ‘They take everything we’ve got, and still they want more.’ But she fell silent all the same.

Petrel turned to Rain. ‘Will he change his mind? What d’you reckon?’

‘I do not think so,’ whispered Rain, who was still hiding behind Sharkey. ‘Uncle Poosk does not care about other people.’

‘Then what do we do?’ Petrel’s face was desperate. ‘How can we save the cap’n if we can’t even get on the stinking ferry?’

No one had an answer for her.

Meanwhile, the ferryman was almost falling over himself in his desire to be agreeable. ‘Leave them behind? Certainly, sirs! Should we leave the quarterly tithe behind too, to give you more room? No rush for it, after all.’

Poosk eyed him. ‘Where is it?’

The ferryman pointed with his chin. ‘That pile of boxes and bags, gracious sir. Forty per cent of produce, going to the Citadel as required. There’s grain from last year’s harvest, and cabbages, and the last of our winter apples – we’d never say no to the Citadel, I’m sure they need it more than we do—’

The old woman hissed, so quick and sudden that only the people around her could tell where it came from.

A shiver of excitement ran through the waiting crowd. Everyone knew that the Citadel had no need of extra grain or cabbages. The Devouts had too much already; they grew fat on it while the villagers starved. But no one dared protest, not where they might be overheard. Not usually.

Poosk scanned the crowd, his face hard. Then he turned back to the ferryman. ‘There are carts waiting for the tithe on the other side?’

‘Yes, gracious sir.’

‘You may load it.’

‘Yes, sir!’ And the ferryman shouted to his crew, ‘Get the tithe on board.’

Night fell fairly quickly at this time of year. As the sky lowered and the villagers whispered, Gwin heard a flutter of wings overhead, and a small feathered body landed on her shoulder.

The pigeon. She’d forgotten all about it. It must have been following her ever since she left the mountains, flying high above the rale until it came to Quorky.

If only I could send it for help, thought Gwin. If only Hob and Bony and their friends would come striding down from the mountains to rescue Papa and Nat.

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