Watching intently, Rye caught his breath. If this was acting, Farr was the best actor he had ever seen. The man’s face was anguished.
‘The council, too, is agreed.’ Councillor Sigrid stepped forward with a crisp swish of skirts.
‘The council has always wanted this,’ Janna snapped back. ‘But the final decision is Farr’s. He is the elected chieftain.’
Sigrid lifted her chin. Angry scarlet stained her high, sharp cheekbones. ‘The council, too, was elected by the people, Lady Janna. You were not!’
‘Now then, Sigrid!’ Barron chattered nervously, glancing at Farr’s rigid face. ‘Surely Janna has a right to try to influence her husband as she sees fit?’
Sigrid turned on her heel and stalked away. With an icy glare, Councillor Manx followed her.
‘Sorry, Farr,’ Barron mumbled. ‘I seem to have put my foot in it again. But I don’t like it when they say your wife and the old nurse lead you by the nose.’
Farr pressed his lips together, clearly biting back an irritated retort.
‘Never mind,’ he said curtly. ‘Manx and Sigrid will soon discover that I make my own decisions. Just as our enemies will learn that I can’t be frightened into sparing them. On the contrary, their attacks on me and those I love have made me even more determined to do what must be done.’
‘He is not pretending,’ Rye said slowly. ‘Jett was wrong about that, at least. Farr truly believes that Weld is his enemy. We must tell him it is not true. We must tell him—’
Dirk shook his head. ‘He will not listen to us, Rye.’
Rye set his lips. ‘I will make him listen! Sholto, give me the book.’
‘The—’ Sholto gaped at him. ‘Rye, the book will be nothing but pulp by now!’
‘Give it to me anyway,’ Rye said, and taking the sodden mass Sholto passed to him, he pushed it inside his shirt.
‘What are you planning, little brother?’ Dirk growled suspiciously.
‘In a minute, every eye will be on Farr,’ Rye said, pushing the loosened serpent scale into the bag of charms and digging the draggled red feather from his pocket. ‘That will be your chance to get out of the river and lose yourselves in the crowd. Many of the workers are almost as wet as you are. You will not be noticed. If things go wrong, get to Janna and tell her who you are. She will help you.’
‘And what of Sonia?’ Sholto murmured.
‘I will be with Rye, of course,’ Sonia said without hesitation.
Of course. Warmth flooded Rye’s mind.
‘Rye—’ Dirk began.
‘There is no time,’ Rye said, shaking and blowing on the feather in an effort to dry it. ‘Keep safe.’
He did not have to say anything to Sonia. She had shared his thoughts and knew his plan as well as he did. Already she had taken off the faded cord she wore around her waist and was holding it in readiness. If she had any doubts about the plan’s wisdom she was keeping them to herself. He felt nothing from her but that same, steady warmth.
Quietly they hauled themselves onto the damp, splintery deck of the barge. Silently they crept towards Farr. And when they were close enough, but not too close, Rye pushed back the hood.
18 - The Head of the Serpent
Rye heard Councillor Barron bellow and Janna give a piercing scream. He saw Farr’s head jerk round, Farr’s eyes blaze at the sight of two copperheads standing shoulder to shoulder on the barge, only paces away. He saw Farr thrust his wife behind him, into Barron’s arms, and raise his sword.
Then Farr looked into Rye’s face, and knew him.
‘Keelin!’ The rage in that one word seared Rye like a gale of flame. He stood firm. He made himself smile mockingly.
It was enough. Farr leaped onto the barge, snarling, a huge, terrifying figure. The sword slashed down with enormous force, hitting the shield thrown up by the armour shell, rebounding with a shuddering clang. And the big man was off balance, staggering …
Now!
Sonia’s cord whipped out like a snake and tangled around Farr’s ankles. He yelled and crashed onto the deck. The next instant Rye and Sonia were both upon him. As they thrust their arms through his heavy belt, Rye heard Janna screaming. He heard the crowd roar in dismay, and Barron squeal like a hog. And over all he heard Petronelle’s despairing cry, harsh as the screech of a stalker bird.
‘You swore to me, Keelin! Ah, you swore you would not harm …’
Up! Up! Up!
A blast of air sealed Rye’s eyes and snatched the breath from his lungs. And the next moment, the shouts and screams had faded, and wind was blowing around him, tossing his hair and cooling his face.
He forced his eyes open. He, Sonia and Farr were high above the ground. They were on the topmost point of the pipeline—perched on the head of the serpent. The giant trees of the Fell Zone rose in front of them, and directly below them were the great coils of clear tube piled against the barrier fence. They were where Rye had intended, but he had no idea how it had happened so fast.
‘Well, that was all very satisfactory,’ Sonia murmured. ‘So now we beg Chieftain Farr’s pardon and make him listen to us, is that it?’
‘Yes,’ said Rye. ‘And we stay here for as long as it takes. Nothing will happen while Farr is thought to be in danger, and no one will dare approach us up here, for fear we will let him fall.’
He turned to their silent captive. ‘We have done this only because we had to, Chieftain Farr,’ he began. ‘We had to talk to you. Our people are not your enemies—our people do not even know that you exist! You have been deceived! Your enemy is not who you think …’
His voice trailed off. It had suddenly become plain to him that Farr was not listening. The man was utterly still, staring straight ahead. Not a muscle in his face or body moved. The wind was ruffling his hair, but otherwise he might have been carved out of stone.
‘Something is the matter!’ Rye exclaimed. ‘He cannot hear me.’
‘He is pretending,’ Sonia retorted. ‘Or else—’ She peered into Farr’s motionless face and bit her lip. ‘Or else he is more closely linked to the Master than we thought. Remember what happened to Brand when he failed the Master at the Harbour!’
Rye nodded, his stomach heaving. But Brand had been killed. Farr was not dead, or even unconscious. He was simply—frozen.
‘What now?’ Sonia demanded.
Rye heard a change in the sound floating from below, and looked down quickly. The pursuing soldiers from Riverside were pounding towards the jetty, their horses’ sides gleaming with sweat. People were scattering before them, shouting to them, pointing up at Rye, Sonia and Farr.
As the soldiers reined in their horses, Rye saw with a jolt that Jett was among them. Jett’s tale had been believed. He had been released from the watchtower and allowed to join the pursuit.
Well, if he came here planning to kill Farr after all, he knows now that he cannot, Rye thought grimly. Farr is out of his reach. And then, in disbelief, he saw Jett free his feet from the stirrups, stand upright on his saddle, and jump for the pipeline, his arms held high.
Jett caught hold of the pipe and swung himself up onto its curved silver surface. For an instant he crouched motionless. Then he scrambled to his feet and, balancing like an acrobat, began walking towards the place where the pipe began to slope upwards.
Jett is a master Wall worker, Rye reminded himself numbly. Dirk could have done the same, before his arms were hurt.
And Jett had no fear of causing Farr’s death. Jett wanted Farr to die. The people below did not know that. No doubt they thought Jett was being foolishly heroic—bravely trying to save their chieftain without thinking of the danger.
Rye tore his eyes from the rapidly advancing figure and looked down at the sea of faces below. He saw Janna and Petronelle, clinging together. He saw Barron wringing his hands …