Читать книгу The Cradle of All Worlds - Jeremy Lachlan - Страница 14

THE CAGE AND THE CURATOR

The worst thing about being known as the Cursed One is that when you’re just minding your own business, following instructions from a secret message, you can somehow end up being chased, drowned, trapped in a fishing net and smacked in the head with a shotgun. My head hurts, my mouth tastes like a rotten sock full of seaweed, and I’m pretty sure there’s a dead fish trapped in my undies. I feel for the little guy, but at least its troubles are over.

Mine, it seems, have only just begun.

‘Welcome back to the world of the living, Jane.’

I’m sprawled on the floor of a cage. A cage lashed to the back of a wagon parked in a poky old boat shed. My cloak’s long gone, my tunic’s still damp, my wrists and feet are tied, and there’s a rag stuffed in my mouth. A little rowboat’s leaning against the wall to my right, surrounded by a clutter of crates and anchors. To my left –

Oh no.

Winifred Robin’s staring down at me.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I am not going to hurt you. I trust you already know my name.’ I nod, just the once, my eyes fixed on hers. She doesn’t shy away, doesn’t blink. ‘Good. I am the curator of the Museum of Otherworldly Antiquities. Sorry about the cage and bindings, but I had no choice. I will remove your gag but you must understand, crying out for help would be rather pointless.’ I flinch as she reaches through the bars. ‘Easy now. Easy.’

I lean towards her, transfixed by the jagged scars crisscrossing her face, neck and hands. Are they claw marks? Battle wounds? Really, really bad paper cuts?

‘Lovely,’ the woman mutters, throwing the spit-drenched gag to the floor. ‘There was another quake while you were in the water. Just a tremble, really, but I am afraid your little escapade has set everybody on edge. They feared you might summon another upon waking.’

I try to spit the dirty taste from my mouth. It doesn’t work. ‘Listen, lady –’

‘Winifred.’

‘Right. Winifred, whatever. Look, you’ve got the wrong idea here. It wasn’t my fault the jetty broke. If those idiots hadn’t chased me out there in the first place –’

‘I do not care about the jetty.’

‘Then tell everyone I was only following the mayor’s orders. Where’s my cloak? Check the pockets. There’s a photo inside with a message on the back, and –’

‘I know of the message.’ Winifred plucks a silver hip-flask from her cloak, throws it through the bars onto my lap. ‘Drink. It is tea infused with a sprig of feverfew. A herb to soothe your head.’

‘Sure it is.’ I nudge the flask aside. ‘Thanks.’

‘For goodness’ sake, girl, I am not trying to poison you. If I wanted you dead I would have let you drown. I understand it may be difficult for you to believe, but I am on your side.’

‘My side? I’m sorry, but did I wake up on a different island or did you accidentally whack yourself in the head as well? You do know who I am, right?’

‘Of course.’

‘But you don’t hate me.’

‘No.’

‘You’re not scared of me? Not even a little bit?’

Winifred sighs, cocks an eyebrow.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘If you’re my pal, why throw me in a cage?’

‘That is . . . complicated.’ Winifred wanders over to one of the grimy windows set into the boat shed’s double doors. ‘What would you say if I told you every man, woman and child on Bluehaven was in grave danger and you were the only person who could help them?’

‘I’d say you’ve clearly been sampling too many of your special herbs.’ I pick up the flask with my bound hands, give it a cautious sniff. ‘Why?’

Winifred turns around. ‘Because every man, woman and child on Bluehaven is in grave danger and you are the only person who can help them.’

Silence fills the shed, but not for long. A bubble of laughter swells in my gut and bursts from my mouth. I can’t help it. It’s a real shame, too. Unable to stand the taste in my mouth any longer, I’d just decided it was safe to take a swig of tea. It was hot and sweet and it really did make my head feel better. Now it’s gone up my nose and down my chin.

Winifred isn’t impressed. ‘This is no laughing matter, Jane.’

‘But – but this is a joke, right? Some sort of prank for the festival.’

‘Unfortunately for us all, it is not.’ Winifred circles my cage like a shark. ‘The tension that has existed between you and the rest of the townsfolk is about to reach boiling point. Mayor Obi and I came to an agreement long ago – gods bless his soul – but Eric Atlas is not as understanding, or as forgiving. I was talking to him before you woke up. He is furious about what transpired earlier. Convinced you tried to drown his son.’

‘That’s a load of rubbish! I told you, check my cloak. Atlas told me to meet him –’

‘No,’ Winifred says, ‘he didn’t.’

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It was her. It had to be her. I can tell by the way she’s looking at me, the sparkle in her goddamn eyes. ‘It was you. You gave me the photo. Why?’

‘Because sometimes fate needs a little nudge in the right direction.’

‘What fate? What the hell are you talking about?’

Winifred stops pacing, grips the cage bars. ‘Everything is about to change, Jane. Something terrible is about to happen to this island – terrible yet absolutely necessary. Atlas will come for you soon. Do not fight him. Play along. You must trust me.’

‘Trust you? Lady, I don’t even know you.’

‘But I know you, Jane Doe.’ Winifred swivels her wrist and plucks another photograph from her sleeve. ‘Better than you can possibly imagine.’ She places the photo on the cage floor, strides over to the big wooden doors.

‘Hey,’ I shout, ‘you can’t leave me here. If you’re on my side, help me.’

‘I am helping you,’ Winifred says. ‘I wish I could tell you everything now, but dusk is steadily approaching. Answers will come.’ She nods at the photo. ‘Trust me.’

I lose it when she leaves. Kick at the cage, try to untie my feet with my hands and my wrists with my teeth, but the knots are all too tight. I even hurl myself into the wooden bars and try to tip the wagon over. The damn thing doesn’t budge. With nothing left to do, I swear under my breath and shuffle over to the photo.

I freeze.

‘No way . . .’

It’s similar to Dad’s photo: crinkled, soft at the edges, could’ve lived in Winifred’s pocket for years. But this one is of me – baby me, I’m sure of it. Even though the photo’s sepia-toned, my amber eyes shine a little too brightly. I’m sitting in some sort of library, smiling up at the camera, wearing one of the books as a hat.

I flip the photo and frown. There’s some kind of symbol drawn on the back. An almost-triangle, like a shark fin or a thorn, surrounded by a circle.

And beneath the symbol, another message.

Everything happens for a reason.