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Welcome to stories from among the stars. You're listening to the book eaters by sun yi dean. Narrated by katie ehrich.
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Chapter 11 Ramsay at the Charge Present Day when the game is going against you, stay calm and cheat. George MacDonald Fraser Flashman the Charge. Ramsey looked at Eland, the latter frozen with indecision. Get the dragon and get out of here, both of you. He shot to his feet. The centre of the train station had become a swirling maelstrom of ink sodden paper, courtesy of the corpses Devon's friend had left behind. Passersby were screaming and security or police or both would be here any moment. Wait. Elan sounded panicked. What about Kinsey's orders? Fuck Kinsey. Get out before the humans arrest you. Ramsey called over one shoulder, sprinting after his sister's fast disappearing form. I'll be in touch. This whole situation was so typical of Devon. Even when they were children she would charge ahead into the woods, into ravines, over cliff edges and up sheer walls, never thinking of what awaited, never giving thought to whether a tree branch might snap beneath her feet, whether gutters and pipes not made for climbing could hold her weight, or just whether whatever the fuck she was doing was a good idea, full stop. She didn't bloody think. And it had always fallen to him, this job of chasing her down, of bailing her out or rescuing her sorry arse when she got into trouble. She would have disagreed with his assessment and spun her selfishness as a choice on his part. So stay at home then, would have argued that she'd never forced him to participate in her escapades. I never asked you to come with me, dummy. But she thought that way because she lacked responsibility and insight. Ramsay lacked neither. It was the responsibility of men to rescue women from themselves, and men of the families did not shy from duty. Duty bade he run after her. He just wished she didn't run quite so fast. Shops, faces and peeling paint walls flew by as he bounded and sprinted in her footsteps. He stormed through it all, aggrieved by the chaos and sloppiness. Wasn't all Devon's fault, if he's being honest. In fact, his commander Kinsey bore the lion's share of the blame. If Ramsay had been in charge, they'd have hung back, followed at a distance. They should have tried to find out why Devon was travelling with a ravens car and where she was going rather than leap in to accost the woman. But Kinsey hadn't been around to lead the men himself, nor had he left any specific instructions other than Intercept any raven's cars you find. Even though that was clearly a stupid course of action. The only Ravens car who knew anything worthwhile was Killick himself, and capturing one of his useless siblings would only have risked scaring the bugger off. Too late now. The most senior knights had panicked, acted reflexively to follow Kinsey's tentative orders, and got shot for their trouble. Now their quarry was spooked. The humans had noticed them. Disaster a mess everywhere. They'd be lucky if Killik didn't go into hiding after this. Ahead, Ramsey caught a glimpse of Devon's tall form as she flung herself and her two companions aboard. The 10:15 saw, and as he forced his legs to pump a faster speed, how the doors to their carriage slammed shut, engine beginning to gather momentum. Hell of a jump from here to the train. He went for it anyway. Was out of options otherwise. Carriages pulled away from the station and he leaped in a great muscle tearing. Bound 15ft near enough and it worked. He landed, hands clamping onto the external handrails that bracketed the doors, feet scrabbling for purchase on the hanging step, sweat breaking out across his skin. The 10:15 to Edinburgh departed from Newcastle Station into the darkness of a Northumbrian winter night, gathering to a pace that even a knight would have found impossible to match. Eaters were fast, but not that fast. A few seconds to breathe while his heart slowed to a reasonable beat. Feet braced firm, Ramsey wrenched the doors partway open, half squeezed, half stumbled inside, panting from exertion, relieved to have salvaged something from this mess. The last carriage was not meant for passengers, a staff only compartment with machinery lockers and a broken snacks trolley. The one occupant, a lone middle aged ticket collector, shot to his feet, pale with shock. Humans always had a kind of nervous energy that reminded Ramsay of chickens. The ticket collector fluttered at him. Sir, passengers are not supposed Ramsey swung a hard punch to the temples. The man dropped nothing personal, mate. He bent over the unconscious figure and scavenged himself a new identity. Night begone. Ramsay shed his appearance as a snake sheds its skin, tossing aside his own clothes to don the conductor's kit. A black uniform jacket, buttons intricately rough, didn't fit well, though he was both leaner and broader than the man whose clothes he'd taken. Fabric pulled tight across his back. Seams pinched his shoulders. Small considerations. He pushed them aside, kept dressing the transmitter under his shirt, pressed its hard edges against his ribs as he changed his secret weapon against Dev for keeping her in check. He patted it fondly. Flat cap next pulled low across the forehead, changed the shape of his face. He liked that the jaunty angle made him look harmless. The trousers and shoes he left alone, his own dark slacks and leather brogues would do. The ticket machine came last. Slung over one shoulder, the heavy metal weight of it felt good. Could pretend he had a gun like lads in films. Like that Raven's car bitch. A red scarf hung from a peg. He plucked that off, wound it around his neck. It hid his mouth, made him look stockier. Hopefully enough that Hester wouldn't recognise him if she saw him again. Disguise complete, he hoisted the semi naked ticket collector under the armpits and tossed the man, still unconscious, through the half open carriage exit. The soft body tumbled and rolled soon out of sight along the disappearing length of track. Perhaps the man had survived. Or perhaps not. It didn't matter. What did matter is that he would not wake up on the train at an inconvenient time and cause problems. Ramsay checked for the emergency hunting knife strapped to the inside of his leg and relocated it still sheathed, of course, to an inside jacket pocket. Time to find Devon. He paused at the entrance of the connecting passageway before entering the next carriage, first to listen and then to look. Minimal chatter and nothing of his quarry. Several people tried to show him tickets or buy new ones. Ramsay told them the machine was broken and they left him alone. The next carriage and the one after that were the same, thickly populated with tired, sweaty humans trying to make it home before the start of their pointless holiday. Also notably empty of his sister and her companions. The smell of so many people in close quarters made him glad for the scarf he bore. At least no one tried to buy a ticket. Six minutes after boarding, Ramsey located his sister. He caught the sound of a child laughing while out in a connecting passageway, mixing with the low, unfeminine pitch of Devin's voice. Alert and wary, he paused by the exit of the fourth carriage, listened at the loosely shuttered door of the fifth carriage. Don't get too comfortable. We're not home and dry yet. A lilting northern sounding voice. Must be the Ravenscar woman who killed his men with such efficacy. Wish I brought more bullets, just in case and all that. Ramsey listened, intrigued. He'd always fancied owning a pistol. Done a bit of target practice for fun once or twice. The paperwork required for them was awkward though, as it would be for any regular book eater. You're a ridiculously good shot, Devin. Unmistakably her voice. Four clean kills in a handful of seconds. All moving targets. Where did you get the gun? He'd heard enough, had to move quick. Ramsey took out the transmitter. Holding it in one hand with his thumb on the button would look like a walkie talkie to the casual observer. The ticket collecting machine he held in the other hand, trigger finger ready. He opened the shuttered door with an elbow and shuffled in. All three of his quarry sat on the floor of the connecting passage between carriages, and all three looked up sharply as he entered Hester Raven's car. He recognised her at once, had studied the files and family photographs to death, was nondescript, having neither a beautiful face nor an interesting figure, dressed like a recovering hippie. If he hadn't already seen how deadly she was, he would have dismissed her entirely. The boy, Kai, was also visually uninteresting. Small, slight, dark haired, nothing to indicate the true monstrous nature beneath. Devon, though, looked like a poster child for dykes on bikes. T tall and wrangly hacked off hair, all black clothes and far too much leather slouched against the wall like some delinquent city youth, a far cry from the lace skirted girl in braids he recalled from long ago. His sister blanched with shock as he walked in. Disguises didn't mean much at their level of familiarity. Her gaze dropped to the transmitter held firmly in his fist, and her jaw tightened. Evening, ladies, ramsey said, still half buried in the winter scarf hat pulled low almost to the eyebrows. Comical under other circumstances. I'm afraid we don't allow passengers to sit on the floor in this part of the train. Mind if I move you along to the carriage? You two get seats, devon said, climbing to her feet. I'll buy us tickets and catch up in a second. Did you say we were heading to Edinburgh? Edinburgh? Yes, said Hester after a pregnant pause, and Ramsey could sense the tension rolling off her. Reluctant to share information, he guessed, but she moved off quickly enough with Kai at her heels, probably keen to avoid further questions. When the connecting doors shut after them, Ramsey said calmly, if I were actually hunting you, you'd be finished. You've 10 seconds to give me an explanation for that massacre back there. How did you even get she began, then wisely checked herself for once, swallowing the question. Your men attacked us first. What was I supposed to do, grab a gun? I might as well admit I'm a traitor and working for the families. She looked guiltily over one shoulder, as if the Ravenscar woman might burst through crying vengeance. None of that tar. A simple heads up about what you were doing, where you were going and who you were with. Would have been nice. Ramsay wasn't going to blame his superior in front of her. At the moment we have an entire squad dead and fuck knows what'll happen to the two people I left behind. Again, what was I supposed to do? She bit back. Her gaze kept going toward the transmitter. Here's a thought. Don't come running after us next time. I didn't know she had a sodding gun. In any case, as she told you who she is. Sweat made his palms slick, but he kept a firm grip on the transmitter and a cool six feet away from Devon. Couldn't be too sure she wouldn't try anything. Or what she wants from you, obviously, devon said, clearly annoyed. She's a raven's car and has taken me straight to Killick like you wanted. Isn't that the whole point of me dragging Kai through this hell? It is, yes. He fiddled with the ticket machine. Stupid thing. Hard to work one handed. But he didn't dare remove his thumb from the transmitter. Where is she taking you? Is Edinburgh your final destination and what's been agreed? Somewhere in Scotland, that's all I know. Fairly sure Edinburgh isn't the final destination. Only a place to change over. Leather clad, arms crossed. They're offering me redemption, but I must agree to live under Ravenscar rules. It's complicated. Interesting, he mused. Still, it doesn't matter what they're asking for because you won't be hanging around or living with them long term. No, this all ends once we find Kiloc. He finally got the stupid machine to spit out two tickets and proffered them carefully across the distance between them. How long till the next stop? What even is the next stop? 18 minutes till we arrive at Berwick on Tweed. She snatched the tickets from his grasp. Don't you eat train schedules for your local area? Aren't you a sarcastic cow? Ramsey had better things to fill his brain with than train schedules. That was her job. Here's what we do. Five minutes from now I'll be pulling the emergency stop and turning off the lights if I can access them. When that happens, convince this Hester Ravens car that knights must have made it on board and that the three of you should disembark early. You want us to abandon the train? She said, incredulous. What will you be doing? Making your lie into truth, naturally. Me, my knife, and a carriage of shrieking innocence will give you all the panicked stampeding needed to fuel the story of knightly pursuit. Christ, Ramsay, how many people are you planning to kill? None, you dolt. Only frighten them enough to get a few running and screaming up and down this train. My fucking chickens, he thought. With him as the fox. But why? She hissed. What's the point of all that theatre? The point is the disruption itself, he said sweetly. You may not trust me at present. No shit. But I am invested in your success, at least for this moment in time. So ruin Ms. Raven's car's plan. Keep her off balance. Still get to your secret location. But on our terms, not hers. In short, stay alive, Devon. And stay smart. Remember, Killick didn't send this sister of his because he thought she was incompetent. This cow killed four trained men tonight without blinking. Don't let her keep any edge on you. Devon surprised him by sucking in her cheeks and saying, fine, then we might as well go the extra mile. Make it particularly convincing. Send a knight or two out to scout for us. Give us bogeymen to hide from and dodge. He nodded again. Not a bad idea. We'll track your phone and send a knight to intercept the pair of you along the road. If I can get one out in time. Have a little car chase or something. Ramsey ran his tongue over his teeth. But keep this one alive, please. I'm tired of cleaning up bodies and nights are not indefinitely expendable. Quite the opposite these days. I can't promise that. Just do your best. Ramsay flicked her forehead like he had when they were children. She scowled. Don't get any funny ideas about running off with these people and their magic pills, eh? Because I will always catch you when you run. Always remember that. She curled her fists, said nothing. Go, he said, waving the transmitter, before I change my mind on this entire venture and blow your son into next Thursday. The one security he held against her, the ability to end Kai's life from a distance at the press of a button. And remember, I'm not the only one with a transmitter. Of course I remember. I was already going. Devon whirled away from him and back toward the carriage ticket still clutched to her chest. Make it convincing, he called after her. You have a lot riding on this. She didn't look back, but he caught the flinch of her shoulders and was satisfied. Ramsay watched her leave, then drew out his knife, eyed the carriages he'd come through, remembering the smell of them, anticipating their noisy, tiring chaos, the claustrophobic way they'd crashed around him. Get on with things, he told himself, and tightened his grip around the hilt. Chapter 12 the Princess and the Goblins 8 years ago it was foolish indeed thus to run farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been seeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in at his leisure. But that is the way fear serves us. It always sides with the thing we are afraid of. George MacDonald, the Princess and the goblins Pursuit wasn't immediate. For the first half hour Devin fled blindly through the tangled trees, both elated and unnerved to hear nothing but silence. Before long she was cut and bruised from stumbles in the woods. I'm very lost. No going back, though. She pushed onward through snow encrusted trees and mulchy half frozen earth and came up against a tall barbed wire fence the edge of Fairweather Manor. The land beyond was unknown to her. No going back. Devon flung herself against the fencing, toes and fingers easily finding purchase up and over. She landed in an awkward roll on the other side and set off in the snow toward where she thought Birmingham was a big city surrounded by roads only a couple of hours drive. Finding the Winterfields home would surely be a matter of ease. The families were not on her side. This realisation struck Devon like a bell ringer with a gong mallet, shaking her all the way through, even as her lungs burned and her feet pounded the underbrush, nose full of the scent of evergreens and fresh snow. The families were her blood relations, people she loved and had been loved by her entire world. They were now her great enemy. In fact, they always had been. However loving her childhood, her flesh was still theirs, her goods for the selling like pigs or chickens raised for the slaughter. She had developed affection for her keepers and they for her, but that did not stop her from being consumed. Pig farmers still chewed their bacon with enjoyment. Affection only made cruelty rueful. In the distance behind her trilled a soft, high whistle. Pursuit. Her skin broke into goosebumps and Devon ran harder. She hadn't done much running about since Salem's birth, but desperation lent her strength. Evasion should still be possible if she could get somewhere with people where the knights might be shy to a cost. Except she feared dashing across the moorland out in the open with knights streaming toward her on motorcycles, dragons clinging to their backs. Here at least she could lose them for chunks of time, hide her tracks and her noise in the tangle of frosted woodland closer to a town and she might have made it. As it was, less than two hours after leaving the manor, she had knights fanning out on all sides, barely 50 metres away, and Ramsay among them. She couldn't see him, but she'd heard him shouting, knew his voice too well. Other figures darted with furtive strides, all of them black clad and wearing ubiquitous motorcycle helmets. A snapshot flashed through her brain as she ran, Lewton bending over a newborn Salem the Tongue. Has anyone checked? Dragons lived at the periphery of her world as voiceless apparitions. She knew them to be twisted, crazed children who sported proboscis instead of buckteeth, who hungered for mines instead of books, like a kind of watered down zombie who lived in a night run facility somewhere near Oxford because they could not be trusted to resist their own hunger, even with redemption to hand. She knew too, that they were now wielded by knights to troubleshoot family problems, as an uncle had once put it. Devon, it seemed, was now a family problem, one they had no compunction about solving in violent or lethal ways. Should she step out of line if a dragon caught her, he'd unfurl a hideous mosquito tongue and stick it down her ear, a gross parody of intimacy, and suck her life, memories, entire psyche away in less than a minute. Ramsey called out something in Latin. The high pitched whistle sounded again and fear like Devon had never known before riddled her body with sudden weakness. She zigzagged in a blind panic, too breathless to even scream. Girl, stop. The closest dragon had a voice like a bullhorn and he wore no helmet. Veins ran dark beneath his abnormally pale face, the skin pallid from lack of sunlight. So much for voiceless, faceless or mindless. Fear lent fire to her feet. She didn't stop, choosing instead to sprint across a dry brook and up a crumbling bank. Devon ducked beneath a set of low hanging branches and crashed straight into a living nightmare, another mind eater who had somehow circled in front and now flung himself at her. They both fell to the ground, struggling. He was even taller than she and more thickly built. Dark eyes bulged, the pupils mere pinpricks. He tried to hold her down, spittle flaying from parted lips, lips hiding a proboscis tongue. Revulsion surged into strength and she headbutted him hard. He howled like a wounded wolf, blood splattering from his nose. Devon shoved him to the side, rolled to her feet and lost the breath from her lungs as two more dragons barreled her over. Outnumbered three to one. Devon punched, clawed, kicked with a fierceness that surprised and exhilarated her. She'd tussled with her brothers as a child, but not for years and never like this. Fear melted away, freeing her limbs and tightening her reflexes. It wasn't enough. One moment she was ripping someone's hair out by the fistfuls while kicking another person in the shins. The next moment she was somehow down on the ground, the first man kneeling on her chest with his hands around her neck while a second grabbed her legs and the third pinned her wrists. She never even saw the knights arrive, didn't notice them filtering through the trees, or hear Ramsay shouting lorcum tenetum to the dragons. A snapping sound like an oversized rubber band, followed by a pinch in her chest. A sky's worth of lightning bolts flooded Devon's body. Pain crackled through her muscles. It felt like strings of acid winding through her flesh, the longest five seconds of her life before the Taser burst finally ended. Her mouth was full of blood. She'd bitten her tongue. None of her limbs worked and wooziness crept into her skull. Someone gave a sharp whistle and the dragons withdrew, making grumpy, huffing noises. Im sorry, Dev. Ramsey came to stand over her Taser. Gunn still pointed at her. But you have to learn, and this is your lesson. If you run, we will always catch you. I will always catch you. Devon stared up at him, crucified by a mix of emotions. She should have been getting up to flee but left the g wade. Her bones and her body cringed in remembered agony. Was a Taser supposed to hurt so much? Or was this a particular agony that only book eaters felt? Back in the day? They had ways of dealing with girls like this, said a green eyed knight stepping into her field of vision. Fit girls with ankle tags and all sorts. Maybe your sister needs one of those, huh? Nah, she won't do it again. Ramsey nudged her with his toe. Will you, Dev? She tried to speak, couldn't. Tried to spit. Couldn't do that either. Breathing was a challenge. Nights filtered through the trees around her, soundless and eerie. No, not soundless. She was losing sound and sight. Dizziness encroached, bringing blackness with it. She woke the next morning and lay in bed feeling sick. Someone had finally changed her out of the silly party frock and into an aunt's prim nightdress, the collar itchy around her neck with unnecessary lace. A part of her wanted to get up, try again, run for the hills a second time. Her body refused to budge. She was weak from not eating and from too much running. Weak too, with fear and trauma. Dragons were a terrifying thing. To her shame, she still hadn't moved several hours later when Ike came by carrying a selection of books on a platter. I hear you have not eaten since returning to us from the Winterfields yesterday, he said. Can I persuade you to Take some sustenance. He wasn't calling her princess at least, and she would never call him uncle either. Devon remained curled in her bed and staring straight ahead, ignoring the proffered food. She did not want to eat anything he had handled. Ike set the platter down untouched. I am sorry about the hunt, but you left us little choice. Devon found it hard to care about his apology. What happens now? Will you put a tag round my ankle? Track me like a wild animal? He blinked. A tag round? Oh, good Lord. No one has done that in years. In any case, it was only ever knights who resorted to such barbaric practices. You are still a daughter of this house. Your daughter. Just bloody say it. I'm your daughter and will be treated as such. He wouldn't say it, only looked at her, tight lipped and brow furled. The great fortress she could not crack. Bastard, she whispered. As for what happens when we leave you to consider your actions and your options, said Ike with skin crawling gentleness. You have one more marriage contract to fulfil and one more child to offer up. I don't want to get married again. The idea of a second wedding made her bile. Rice once it had given her goosebumps of excitement. Devon. He interlaced his fingers, looked vexed. You do not have a choice. None of us do. The survival of our species depends on every eater playing their part. Do you understand how few fertile women remain of our kind? How difficult it is to negotiate marriages that not only benefit the six families but prevent too much inbreeding? A spark of fire flared in her chest. Easy for you to say. It's not your body and your child who gets taken away. You would do no different in my place. His calm assurance was steeped in an arrogance so thick she could only be dumbfounded at the assertion. If it's any consolation, it will not be like this forever. When we start rolling out the IVF treatments, we will no longer need the Knights to arrange and enforce marriages. The next generation of girls, your daughter included, will find things a little easier. Someone knocked before she could attempt to formulate an answer. Ike twisted in his seat. Ay, yes. Speaking of your daughter, I have arranged a guest to come and visit. Devon had barely enough time to sit up straight before Lewton Winterfield walked in unaccompanied. Aside from his formidable manners and well pressed suit you. Devon struggled to keep her face straight and her reeling emotions under control. She was torn between demanding he return her daughter, begging him for correspondence, and trying to rip out his throat indecision snarled up the words in her chest. I'll see myself out. Ike sketched a swift bow and left. Lewton looked at her very carefully, as if they had only met for the first time, and he wished to memorise her features. I suppose you hate me. There was nothing to say to that. She gave his question the silent contempt it deserved. I am sorry about this business with Salem, luton said, as if they were discussing real estate. But then, he was a surveyor out in the human world. If it's any consolation, the first child is the hardest, or so I'm told. The next will be easier. I don't want it to be easier, she said, finding her voice again. I want to raise my daughter. They all loved apologising, she thought bitterly. She'd had three apologies today. Still, counting didn't stop anyone behaving abominably. I am well aware of what you want. Lewton held out a hefty pendant on a steel chain produced from the depths of a pocket. I brought you something. Take it if you wish. Or leave it if you don't. The pendant spun, catching the light. A fix circular disc with embossed carvings on the outside. Pride fought against curiosity. Curiosity won. Devon snatched it off him. Her nail found a catch. A locket. She flicked it open. Not a pendant or a locket at all, but a compass. And a beautiful one. The needle wavered uncertainly. On the inside of the lid someone had fitted a picture of Salem. It must have been recent, perhaps a couple of months before her third birthday. She was sitting out in the gardens that Devon knew so well. Smiling and adorable. Sunlight caught the elfin features. The exterior pattern is the Winterfield coat of arms, though we have some differences in personality. You have performed your duties well and provided my estate with a healthy daughter of whom I am very fond. He cleared his throat. I am told you are struggling with the transition home, in part due to my handling, and I thought it might be appropriate to provide you with a memento to make things easier. Devon snicked the compass shut, fingers curled tightly around it. You took away my child and want me to be grateful because you've given me a trinket in exchange. Fuck you. You're not forgiven. His eyebrows rose. Is that so? Well, if you do not want the compass I didn't say that. Devon made a deliberate show of dropping it into her nightshirt pocket. Someday I'm going to come back, hang it around your neck, and walk off with my daughter. That is pure fantasy and won't happen, he said with a certainty that burned her to the marrow. Here is what will happen. I am going to tell Salem about you and keep your memory alive. What are you I am going to tell Salem about you, he repeated. I'll give her pictures of you since she misses you very badly right now, and I will tell her that her mother will come back to see her one day, but only if her mother loves her enough for her 10th birthday. Perhaps you'll be well out of your next marriage by then. He waved a finger. Behave and play your part, Devon, and you will make that rendezvous with Salem. But if you back out of your second marriage and cause trouble, I will be forced to tell your daughter that you do not love her and do not wish to see her. You're lying. A desperate kind of terror seized Evan's joints, eroding her earlier fury and courage, just like you were lying before. Believe what you like. I came here to do you a favour, not field your paranoid accusations. Luton got up and walked out. She shrieked curse words after him, aware of how feral she sounded. No one took any notice. Outside her room, someone drew the bolts to lock the door in place. Voices murmured as her guards exchanged places. Everything locked down, closing down. Her pitiful escape attempt had ended. No drawn out fight or even a last stand. Simply hunted, bagged, and dragged back. She was becoming the wrong kind of princess, the sort that fell in with goblins and got locked away in towers. Shame crept through her veins and grief hit like a mind eater's punch. How stupid she had been to think anyone would listen. How naive. They. They must think her an idiot girl, believing whatever lie the patriarchs offered up. Her threat to Lewton was an empty thing carrying no weight, which she could not enforce. Devon the daft, Devon the dolt, Devon the deceived. The stitches that held her life together were collapsing into dust. The families were strong, entrenched, practiced. She was nothing, head full of their carefully selected books and empty of practical knowledge. Dull realisation grew around her like choking vines. The only way out was to behave. Every time she defied the family, someone else paid the price. She still didn't win by following rules, but at least she lost less badly. Be passive. Be good. Bear the next child. Get a modicum of freedom. And even if they did not allow her to visit Salem, she would still have more freedom after her marriages were completed and some of the duties settled on her shoulders were lifted. That meant she would not see Salem this year, or next, or even the next. Awful almost beyond enduring. But the alternative was worse. To act too boldly inviting more restrictions to run the risk that Lewton would make good with his promise and convince Salem that Devon did not wish to see her. If Devon ever wished to see her daughter at all, she would bear the misery, the heartache, the impatience of her need. She curled up on the floor, hands locked around the compass, and willed herself to breathe. Chapter 13 in the company of Wolves present day but curing mind eaters of their hunger did nothing to solve the fertility problems that have plagued this species. For that problem, the Book Eaters did what they have always done encourage human technology to advance from the shadows and then borrow from it the basics of IVF they mastered long ago. Easy to do when one can learn human medical science just by having a hearty lunch of textbooks. But the great difficulty in using such technology lies in adapting it to tricksy eater biology and putting it into practice safely. And what kind of world will it be, I wonder, when bookeaters can freely have children? A terrible question for the future. Amarinder Patel Paper and Flesh A Secret History Go. Devon half shoved, half barrelled Hester and Kai towards the nearest train exit. She'd gotten back to the carriage where Kai and Hester were seated and had just enough time to say, I think I've seen knights on the train. When the engine had ground to a halt. The lights had failed almost straight away. Shortly after Ramsay had gone to work with his knife, rousing fear and horror in human passengers, who in turn had fled blindly through the now pitch black carriages, crying murder and seeking help. With all his antics, Devon had encountered no difficulty in convincing Hester and her son that the knights had gotten aboard their train or that all three of them should abandon the journey. They staggered out, along with a spill of other people into a frosty Northumbrian night amidst the sprawling, empty wild fields. From behind them on the train, several people were screaming. The sky above hung malignant, clouded over and moonless, perfectly atmospheric. Hester stumbled, falling against Devon's shoulder. They steadied each other and kept running through the tall, half frozen grass, trying to put distance between themselves and the beleaguered 10:15 train. They'd gone perhaps 200 metres when Hester exclaimed, wait. And jerked to a stop. My handbag is missing. I don't have it on me. Devon twisted round. What's so important about a handbag? Is that rhetorical? Hester had already swiveled away to squint across the 300 metres of wild fields. The train was barely visible from the gentle swell of the land. My wallet and mobile phone and My gun were in there and the bag itself cost 400 quid, though I suppose that doesn't matter. Her aggrieved tone suggested that it did in fact matter. The biggest loss is the gun. It was an heirloom. Do you want us to try to go back? Devon said, looking uneasily at the train. Ramsey, she knew, would not take kindly to seeing them return. No, not worth the risk. Her hands clenched briefly, then uncurled. Still, I had pencils in there. My sketchbook too. Sketchbook? Devon said, nonplussed. She'd never heard of a Book Eater drawing, though it was technically possible. They just weren't creative in that way as a species, were they? Your drawings, Was it important stuff? Hester gave a deprecatory laugh. No, I guess not. She scraped up her loose hair, wild from running, and tied it back with savage efficiency. Let's just go before I change my mind about that, kai said. Where exactly are we headed? The closest town, which is probably Arnic. Hester plucked at her mud speckled skirts. Get there, get transport, and nip across the border into Scotland property. I think what he meant was where's our end point? Devon said. Which bit of Scotland are we going to? That's not safe for you to know yet. Hester started trudging away. Devon exchanged glances with Kai. He shrugged. The three of them straggled through the scratchy nettles and overgrown fields, the musky scent of soggy earth and tangled weeds clogging up Devon's nostrils. She sneezed twice. No snow out here. Just chilly and damp. After another half kilometre they reached a two lane road that wound like a curving ribbon of black ice. Devon peered down each direction, flexing her still bare toes on the slicky frozen road. No people or pursuit, but also no cars or houses. Hester squinted at a road sign. Looks like this is a 1,086. If we have any sense at all, we should be steering clear of the town and walking to the next place along the next town. Kai wilted. But I'm tired now. Do we have to walk all night? He's right, devon said. We need sleep. All of us. I've been up for more than a day and not eaten nearly enough for a long trek. She was indeed bone tired, but beyond that Devon also wanted time to observe this woman and to learn more about what might await them at the Ravenscar household. The only concrete assurance they'd been offered was a single dose of redemption, while the rest was a blank unknown. It was well and good for Ramsay to Not give a damn for whatever lay in store. But it wasn't his neck on the line. It shouldn't take all night to get there, hester said, plucking at a loose thread on her sleeve. Whatcha mean shouldn't? How far are we going? I'm not supposed to tell you where we're going until we're there. Uncertainty made her seem smaller. It isn't safe. Oh, for heaven's sake. Listen, you're used to caution, I understand that, but we have to work together right now. How far are we going? Will you tell me that? Not where, just how far. About 80 miles, said the other woman guardedly. Devon ran a hand over her face. And you think 80 miles won't take all night? Well, obviously it would if we walked it, but it's a short drive in a car. Someone was supposed to meet us in Edinburgh once we got there. She grimaced. I'd ring them to check in, but my phone was in that sodding bag. We're nowhere near Edinburgh, nor is Edinburgh necessarily safe for us anymore. In the here and now we are very much without a car, which makes 80 miles one hell of a walk. Do you have a better idea? The other woman said, exasperated. I suppose you think we should bed down here and camp outside, not outdoors. Indoors. Kite pointed, his ragged sleeves billowing in a sharp winter wind. There's a bed and breakfast down the road. We could go there, then find another way to travel in the morning. Both women looked at him. Devon said, have you been here before? Sort of. The lawyer stayed once for a walking holiday in the moors. He travelled loads in these parts. Hester raised an eyebrow. The lawyer B and B. Sounds good. Devon didn't feel like explaining the lawyer or any of Kai's other half remembered victims. Let's go. I want to get off my feet. Hester threw up her hands. I don't have any money. My wallet was in that purse. I've got a few quid. A few? How much is that? Enough to cover us. Devon reckoned 20 grand could cover most B and B stays. All right, I give up. The two of you are so determined to stop, so we'll stop. Where do we go from here? I know where it is, kai said. Not far. I won't miss it. They set off again, this time through the half frozen grass and following the line of the fence. Devon walked alongside Hester while up ahead Kai navigated terrain that only a dead man inside his skull remembered. They'd know soon enough if his stolen memories were still accurate. I'm glad you're not a family trap, hester said, face obscured by curling hair. It was a possibility that crossed my mind. The night's still young, devon said with a lightness that belied her own internal cringing. Hester didn't laugh. Killick, my brother had a theory that you were both a setup. That Kai wasn't really your child. He's mine, and the whole thing was a ploy for the families to access redemption. She flushed. Anyway, it feels silly now to say that five minutes around the pair of you and that bond is clear as day. And he's got your features. He carries the look. Meta, devon said wryly. Can I ask something? A coup. I understand young men are ambitious and like to be patriarchs, but what did your siblings gain by running off to hide in the wilderness? You're not selling redemption anymore, or making any money, which must be tough. Maybe I'm missing something, but I don't understand why Kilik didn't just stay put. I knew Lot with him, the other families wouldn't have really cared about a change of power in your manner. I'm afraid Kilnick will have to explain that to you in person. It's extremely complicated and delicate. I guess, devon said, annoyed and frustrated. Every time she thought their conversation was going somewhere, she hit walls. It'll make sense when he does. I promise. The Ravenscar woman stepped over a patch of frozen mud. Gaze on the uneven ground in front of her, she said, almost as an afterthought. You're not at all what I was expecting. I. Devon said. And what were you expecting? Another me, I suppose. Before Devon could get her head around that cryptic answer, Kai turned around and called over his shoulder, I think I see it. That place just ahead. They all halted to have a good look. Rndyke Farm sprawled just off the road, only a few hundred metres from the small row of houses. A stone cottage crouched beneath its heavy tower roof like a squat grey turtle God of darkness. But it was prettily maintained, quiet and clean, with a hint of that British faux quaintness that such places traded in. The hour was closing in on midnight by the time Devon stalked up the gravel path with crunching footsteps, Kai at her side and Hester trailing a little behind. The entrance wasn't locked and the lights were still on, but no one was at the desk. Unsurprising, given the hour. The owner, a small framed woman called Nadia, was not pleased to be woken. She was even less pleased to see a gaggle of battered, unkept people demanding a room. Devon's Bare feet got a shocked side eye, but she had no good reason to turn them out, especially when Devon paid double for the hassle. Money had a way of curing human resentment. Twenty minutes later and a hundred quid poorer, the three of them were piling wearily into a cottage across the courtyard. The room held two double beds, freshly made up and decorated in a pastiche of rustic life that Devon found baffling was already an actual farm. Why pretend to be a fantasy one? Who's sleeping where? Devon said, even as Kai flung himself onto one of the beds. Hey, take those shoes off. In a minute. He melted into the pillow with a groan. I can take the couch if you want the other bed, hester offered. You look like you need the rest. Don't be daft. I'll bunk with Kai. I've done it often enough. I'm calling dibs on the shower, though. She ducked into the bathroom. Don't take too long, hester called from outside. There's only one toilet, you know. Devon rolled her eyes, then stripped off and ducked under the fall of icy water just long enough to rinse the grime from her hair and skin. Her feet were foul, but there was nothing to scrub with except a single bar of dried out soap that crumbled into gritty chunks when she picked it up. So much for a scrub she towed off and climbed back into her dirty clothes with reluctance. Well, she'd worn worse. Cleanish, or at least cleaner. Devon stepped from the bathroom to the relief of a frantic Hester, who promptly took her place and shut the door with pointed force. Ky lay curled on the bed, fast asleep. His shoes were still on. She pried them off and tucked him in. Tattered clothes and all, the boy reeked of sweat and dirt. He'd need a shower, too. Patches of eczema marred the joint between foot and ankle and also the crux of his elbows. She'd wondered if taking redemption again would help or worsen his skin. Decided it didn't matter. Careful so carefully as to not wake him, Devon tugged up the edge of his shirt, revealing the smooth scar on his abdomen, barely an inch across, little more than a silver line of skin. No flashing lights or uncomfortable lumps he'd ever complained about. No outward sign of the tiny, surgically implanted device embedded in his peritoneal cavity. Lying to him was wrong, but it seemed too heavy and strange for a five year old who already carried the sins of other people and many victims on his shoulders. He had enough to worry about. Sometimes she wondered if the device was really there, or had somehow deactivated. It seemed so improbable as a concept, but reality always reasserted itself. Devon had seen the surgery done, watched the stitches put in afterward. Her son carried death with him at all times and did not know it. And if she ever faltered, she only needed to think about Ramsay. Go, before I change my mind and blow your son into next Thursday. Every time he threatened Kai's life, as he had tonight and no doubt would again, she swallowed down the boiling stew of her overcooked rage and tried to play polite. He could end her son with the flick of a button. Scuffling sounds came from the bathroom. Devon dropped the edge of Kai's shirt and repositioned herself less suspiciously, just in time for Hester to emerge. In the space of ten minutes, the other woman had tamed her hair and uncreased her clothes. An impressive skill. You left this on the sink, by the way. Hester held out the compass. Oh. Devon snatched it back with lightning speed. Careless. So careless. Christ, she really was tired. Thanks, she added lamely. No problem. The Ravenschall woman sat on the other bed, the gap narrow enough their knees knocked, and began brushing out wet curls of hair with her fingers. Nice trinket. Family heirloom. Memento of my daughter. Hester paused mid finger comb. Oh, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have picked it up if it's fine. Devon opened the compass to display it. Have a look if you want. Everyone should see her daughter. She's lovely, hester said, subdued. Of course. All little children are beautiful. Devon snapped the compass shut and wound the chain around her palm. Adults, not so much. We've done too many things in our lives to be beautiful. An uncomfortable beat of silence, and then Hester gestured at the mini fridge. Do you want a drink? Her laugh sounded anxious. Pretty sure they have wine in that thing. Aye, I'd like that. Hester got up, dug through the mini fridge, and pulled out a bottle of cheap white. Can I ask you something? Were you happy as a child, growing up in your family? Yes. Devon didn't have to think about her answer. I was really happy. I had freedom. Or thought I did. Maybe it would be better to say I truly enjoyed doing the things I was allowed to do. I know everything was twisted and perverse by the end, but I still wish I could have given Kai some of that joy. Moors, heather, foxes, otters, sunshine and snow. Barefoot in a thunderstorm. All those things existed and had been hers. Yet she had managed only to pass on a legacy of pain. Makes sense. Hester filled a couple of B and B mugs since there were no glasses. I would have liked to have met happy Devon. I think your own life isn't exactly spun sugar either. I've hardly talked about myself. Hester set down the bottle, picks up the cups. It's what you don't say. You're too observant for your own good. Then Hester sat beside her this time almost shoulder to shoulder, a mug in each hand. Her proximity was a pleasant solidity. Here, take one. Thanks. The ceramic handle sweated condensation against her palm. So, do you have kids? No. Never had children. What? Really? Devon raised an eyebrow. The other woman was her age and a book eater. So how did you avoid that one random chance? Hester took a long drink, finishing most of her mug in one go. All healthy family women suffer from premature ovarian failure as a default. In my case, that failure came in childhood instead of in my late twenties. Devon didn't trust herself to answer. She was afraid to open her mouth and end up saying, how lucky are you? When that wasn't actually fair. She didn't know enough about Hester's life to judge whether infertility was lucky or not. She had no right to project that kind of assumption on someone else anyway. I feel so silly. I should have known that you'd have more than one child, the Ravenscar woman was saying. Where is she? Your daughter? Birmingham. I haven't seen her in seven years. Im so sorry. That must be hard, hester said. Low. She drained the last of her wine. I hope you don't mind me saying, but there's a strange comfort in knowing that you miss your girl. I don't remember my mother very well, but I like the idea that she's missing me somewhere. Me too, devon admitted. The response felt inadequate. Thousands of books eaten and she still lacked the language to say anything about her own matriarch. How did one give shape to absence, fill a black hole with light? As a child she'd imagined what it might be like to meet a mother as a young bride, pregnant and glowing. That hypothetical scenario had expanded into a fully fledged fantasy, one where Devon could envision reuniting with Amberley, the pair of them bonding over their shared experiences. These days she didn't like to think of it at all. She wasn't ready for the experience of encountering her mother in the flesh. She would never be ready. Just as well. It was unlikely to ever happen. When the silence grew too strong, Devon broke it down by saying, are you close to Killick. Do you know him well? Sort of. Hester yawned into her palm. I suppose I know him as well as anyone. He was a gentle boy and a good brother when we were growing up. Would you not describe him that way now? Devon said, feeling her way cautiously. Not really, no. I wish he listened more. Hester looked tired, or perhaps it was just the wine. Either way, her eyes were drifting closed, small forms slumping. Sometimes he frightens me. What do you mean? No answer. She looked down. Hester had passed out, her head still on Devon's shoulder. Never mind, she said, feeling oddly protective. She eased the Ravenscar woman to the nearby bed and plucked the wine stained cup from her lethargic fingers, stashing it on the side table. I think, devon said, that I'm not going to like your brother very much. Hester slept on, breathing deep. Time to complete her yearly vigil for Salem. She went to stand by the window, head pressed against the window frame, and flicked the compass open. The faded picture of a three year old girl peeked out. The vigil was never anything except painful, and this year was particularly excruciating. Somewhere in the south, her daughter would be rising in a few hours with a birthday party and pretty celebrations to mark turning 10 years of age. 10 years old. The birthday Devon was supposed to be turning up for, according to Lewton's agreement. And she would be absent, having abandoned one child to save another. No doubt Salem's father would relish the moment, she thought with bitterness. But none of Devon's choices had included the possibility of an ideal solution, and the conditions required for her to keep that promise would have meant giving up Kai for dead or worse. This was the best she could do. Her daughter would have to wait. I'm so sorry I can't see you after all, she whispered to the darkness, breath frosting on the unglazed windows. I'll come back for you when I can. She squeezed the disc until the ridges dug red lines into her fingers. Happy Birthday, Salem. Stillness entwined with her weariness, a particular kind of exhaustion that seemed years and years deep. Unwilling to disturb Kai or to invade Hester's personal space, Devon left her companions to their beds. She crammed her tall frame onto the faux rustic sofa and fell asleep.
- [61:12]
A
That's all for now. Thank you for listening. Make sure to follow Stories from Among the Stars on your preferred podcast app to get the next episode. Or if you just can't wait, you can buy the Book Eaters wherever books or audiobooks are sold.