Rebellion (Chronicles of Charanthe #1), Page 2

  Chapter 2

  It was only after breakfast the next day that Eleanor's thoughts turned in earnest to wondering what she was going to do next. She'd slipped as much bread as she could carry into her pockets – that at least would buy her time to consider the options. She would go first to the cave, of course, and she knew she could stay there a night or two before she needed to venture out in search of food. She wished she could borrow a horse from the school stables, just for a couple of days, but she was in enough trouble already – she didn't want to begin her adult life as a fugitive.

  She said goodbye to her friends without tears, though Annette was sobbing uncontrollably, and she promised Gisele and Lucille that she'd call on them if she ever found herself in the vicinity of their new homes in Almont. She hugged them all before she left, though Sophie still shrank away from her a little, and then started to manoeuvre her trunk down the staircase.

  She'd decided she ought to leave the school by the front gates; suspicions would be raised if she headed straight into the forest, and she didn't want to be followed. She'd have to walk an extra couple of miles, but it was worth it to avoid the risk – the last thing she needed now was for anyone to discover her hideout. So she dragged her trunk down the driveway, and went a fair distance along the road towards Port Just before she reached a convenient point to turn into the trees.

  The going was tougher than usual, dragging a case which had been designed not for carrying but for stacking on the back of a cart, and she was confirmed in her view that she'd have to leave most of her things behind if she was going to make reasonable progress on the rest of her journey. Eventually she walked and climbed her way to the summit of the hill.

  It was then that she realised she didn't have a very good plan for how to get a heavily-laden trunk down a sheer cliff-face and into the cave.

  She pulled some rope from her bag, but preliminary testing suggested it would snap if she tried to lower the trunk down full, so she sighed gently to herself and began to unpack. She heaped her possessions onto the rocks, and in time she had achieved an empty trunk which she could easily lower down onto the ledge at the mouth of the cave. Picking up an armful of clothes, she proceeded to lower herself using her other arm, dropping lightly beside the case and dragging it into the cave with her.

  She scrambled back up the cliff to gather more of her clothes; several trips later she had managed to fill the trunk again, and there was no more to be done. She collapsed wearily on the bed, not even bothering to light a candle first, and closed her eyes to the world.

  When she awoke, she lit a couple of candles and picked up Stories of the Assassins from where she'd left it on the floor. Time to do a little research. She could hardly believe she was letting herself consider something so ridiculous, but apparently she'd made her decision. Normal life was an option no longer open to her.

  It was then she noticed the piece of paper tucked between the pages of the book. She was sure it hadn't been there before, and cursed herself for forgetting to check the cave for any sign of disturbance when she had come in. She'd been so busy moving her things, and so tired after an almost sleepless night, that she'd neglected to follow her usual routine. She unfolded the paper and read the short message. It just said: Good luck, Eleanor.

  She would have recognised his writing anywhere; the very sight made her fume with anger. What was he doing? Laban must have heard what she'd done, that was the only explanation for the note, so why wouldn't he give her more guidance than this? And moreover, why had he come and gone so quickly, without waiting to see her, if he'd been so sure she'd come back here?

  She glowered at the slip of paper for a while, then – deciding that was unhelpful – she screwed it up and threw it hard against the opposite wall. Feeling a little better, she opened the book and continued to read from where she'd left off.

  She was about halfway through before it occurred to her to skip back to the point where he'd inserted the note, suddenly wondering whether the placement was significant. He'd chosen to hide it in the book, after all, despite several more obvious places.

  It was the page she'd read so carefully yesterday, about students turning down their assignments.

  Coincidence?

  If not, he must have guessed what she was thinking, even before she thought of it herself. And his note, however short, could only be taken as encouragement.

  She sat up with a jolt, feeling all the mysteries of her childhood suddenly falling into place. The seemingly chance encounter with a mysterious man who'd just happened to have a raft of skills she'd been desperate to learn – yes, it certainly made more sense in this new context.

  She turned back to the book with renewed determination, and didn't stop reading this time until she reached the end of the final chapter. It was beginning to get dark outside, and Eleanor supposed she'd better start preparing for her journey – if she was going to get on with this new adventure, it would be best to set out early the following morning. She nibbled at a slice of bread, which was already starting to taste a little stale, and began to pull oddments of clothing from the trunk.

  Before long, she'd assembled a small pile of things which she intended to take with her. The prim blouses and blue-hemmed skirts of the school uniform were thrown aside; useless. She would take nothing which could not be described as essential: she left even the library book in her trunk. She had picked out a couple of pairs of loose trousers – in addition to the ones she was wearing – and a small number of tunic tops. She had stuck to dark, neutral colours, suspecting that she was more likely to want to blend in than to stand out from the crowd. She somehow managed to squeeze them all into the canvas bag alongside her knives and other oddments, and decided she would also take a blanket, which could serve as a cloak if it was cold during the day – she knew she couldn't be anonymous if she wore her school coat.

  Satisfied with her achievement, she settled down again to get a good night's sleep.

  She was surprised to find she woke late the next day – the scarcity of natural light in the cave had thrown her body clock out of kilter. Annoyed at herself, she got up quickly and swallowed down another couple of slices of bread before wrapping an old green blanket around herself, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, and scaling the cliff-face with a little more effort than it usually took her.

  She walked briskly down the hillside and through the forest back to the road, all the time heading purposely in the direction of Port Just. It wasn't far, she told herself, so she hadn't lost much by oversleeping. She was much too hot, with the heavy woollen blanket draped around her shoulders, but she thought she might need it later, depending on how easy it was to find somewhere to stay in the town.

  The track to Port Just was deserted, winding quietly between the trees, and aside from a few wild pigs Eleanor didn't see a soul until she came to the outskirts of the town. She was quite relieved, sure that she looked out of place in the summer heat, and she didn't really want to draw attention to herself any more than she had to. As soon as she saw the first houses along the road and knew she was coming into the town, she ducked off the path and searched the scrub until she found a hollowed out old tree-trunk in which she could conceal her possessions. Well, most of her possessions – she kept her favourite knife, as always, tucked away under her clothes.

  Feeling a great deal more comfortable once she'd abandoned the blanket, she virtually skipped the rest of the way down to the harbour. It was starting to feel like an adventure. A few rows of shoddy market stalls were arrayed around a small square which faced out over the sea, and dozens of people were bustling around doing their weekly shopping. A few scrawny chickens scratched for scraps around the food stalls; Eleanor knew she'd have to pick up something to eat, eventually, but first she wanted to find somewhere to stay.

  There was one small guesthouse, she knew, right by the sea at the end of the road. She would try them first. She strode confidently through the crowds, occasionally being jostled against one or other of the sh
oppers, and had nearly reached the guesthouse when she spotted the bulge of a purse under a man's coat.

  It wasn't something she'd ever tried before – she'd never had need to – but it seemed easy enough to slide her fingers between the drawstrings as she passed him. A scarily natural extension of her skills, she thought wryly, as she curled her fingers around a couple of large five-dollar coins and tucked them quickly into her own clothing. The girls had played games of stealth as children, trying to sneak up on one another without being noticed – Eleanor had been a natural, and this felt like the same game. She was a little ashamed of descending to petty criminality so quickly – Sophie's words the night before echoed through her mind – but she knew that she had little choice if she was to survive long enough to meet her destiny. Besides, she'd been careful not to take too much: she could have lifted the whole money-bag, but she felt it was fairer to take an amount that he wouldn't miss, though it would make all the difference in the world to her tonight.

  The front door of the guesthouse was a faded green, its paint flaking away to reveal the gently decaying wood beneath. They didn't get many tourists here, and though the government paid a living wage to the landlady, the allowance wasn't enough to stretch to a fresh lick of paint. Eleanor reached for the heavy bronze knocker, which was refreshingly cold beneath her hand, and rapped it twice. When the landlady came to the door, Eleanor put on her best smile. "Excuse me, do you have a room for tonight?"

  "Of course, dear," the woman gushed, beaming down at her and beckoning her inside. "Follow me."

  Eleanor followed her up the narrow staircase and into a first-floor bedroom. It was only a tiny room, but had a large window looking out over the sea, and Eleanor thought it was beautiful.

  It cost her half of what she had stolen just to pay for one night in the guesthouse, but it would be worth it: once she started out in earnest towards Almont, she knew she'd have to go days on end without a bed for the night. Once she had agreed the price and taken the key from the bedroom door, she headed back out into the street. She wanted food, and she needed to collect her belongings.

  The friendly people of Port Just weren't wealthy enough, on average, to attract the kind of opportunist thieves who bothered the inhabitants of cities such as Almont, so their purses were easy targets for Eleanor. She didn't want to take too much from any one person, so she dipped her fingers casually in and out of pockets and purses as she made her way along the street to fetch her bag. By the time she returned to the guesthouse, she'd collected several dollars in change. It was almost ironic, she thought, how the town's first small crime wave was being perpetrated by a woman who was supposed to have joined its police force. Still, she hoped the amounts she had taken would be small enough to avoid detection, even amongst the most down-at-heel residents of the Port.

  She treated herself to a substantial ham sandwich and a sticky fruit pie from one of the market stalls, and then settled herself happily by her bedroom window to watch the world go by as she ate. She spent an enjoyable afternoon just watching the sea and gently running over the varied assassin legends in her head, trying to decide where her fate should lead her next. Stories of the Assassins had said that the evidence for the location of the academy was inconclusive, mostly based on the places where young bodies had been found, presumed to be failed would-be assassins. Many legends pointed to Almont, but other sources suggested towns in much more remote parts of the country. But Eleanor had already made up her mind to start out for Almont the next day; she wanted to see the capital anyway. If she didn't find any leads there, she could worry more about other places to explore.

  She woke cheerfully after a comfortable night's sleep – the old guesthouse bed wasn't a patch on the luxury of Mersioc Regional School for Girls, but it was certainly more welcoming than the cave where she'd spent the previous night. Looking out of the window she saw that a heavy summer storm was brewing, and although the day was warm, thick black clouds darkened the sky. Eleanor didn't have to work too hard to persuade herself that it would be better to wait out the storm in Port Just, so she rolled over and drifted back to sleep.

  For the first time in her life, Eleanor allowed herself a proper lie-in. It was past midday when she woke again, and the rain was pounding on the window. She looked out. Most of the stallholders hadn't bothered to turn up at the market, or had already given up, but there was one bedraggled young man selling sausages. Deciding this was just what she needed to brighten up a dismal afternoon, Eleanor headed down the stairs and out into the street.

  The young sausage-seller smiled cheerfully at her, said she was pretty, and gave her a discount, which made her blush but also left her feeling a lot better about the day. Since she was already soaked to the skin, she decided to take a walk in the rain as she ate. She wandered away from the market square, which was boring when it was so empty, and wove her way between the small houses into the domestic heart of the town.

  When she spotted a man skulking in a doorway, trying to keep out of the rain, she couldn't resist the urge to practise her developing skills as a pickpocket; she would need to steal to survive in Almont, at least until she found her place, and it felt safer to practise in Port Just where the people weren't by nature suspicious. He was looking away from her, and she wandered up behind him and slipped her hand into his pocket as she continued past.

  In an instant, his fingers closed tightly around her wrist, as he put his foot out in front of her and tripped her to the ground. Eleanor struggled to wrench her arm free but the man held fast, and he was much stronger than she was.

  "Stupid little thief!" he said coldly, jerking her painfully to her feet so that they were standing face to face. She looked into his angry green eyes, glaring out at her from beneath waves of unruly dark hair. "Suppose you thought you'd make yourself a bit of extra pocket money, did you? You just wait until your school hears about this. One of Isabelle's, are you?"

  Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't be dragged back up to the school in disgrace, not like this, not so soon after she'd left with her head held high. He reached for her name bangle, and she reacted on instinct. "Let me go," she hissed, and in the same moment she had pulled out her knife with her free hand, and pointed the tip against his throat.

  The instant she'd done it, she knew she'd made a mistake. Although the girls were all taught basic hand-to-hand combat up at the school, carrying a weapon in the streets was a long way from normal even in Almont: in a town the size of Port Just it was virtually unknown. Yet the expression on this man's face was not just surprise, there was also – she thought – a brief flicker of recognition.

  She didn't have time to worry about what that might mean. In his shock the man loosened his grip on her arm just enough for her to free herself and she took the opportunity to run, her feet slipping on the stones as she sprinted madly away. She ducked between houses, taking as many random turns as she could to try and lose her pursuer.

  She'd been running for nearly a mile when she found herself in a blind alley. In the moment it took her to think about retracing her steps, she heard his footsteps echoing towards her, and she knew there was no way she could escape a fight if she turned back. Without a second thought she hooked her fingers into the masonry in front of her and began hauling herself up the wall.

  She'd tried to climb the walls of the school buildings before, when she'd been sure no-one was watching her, but had never found as much pleasure in it as in rock-climbing. Now, however, necessity ruled. Her fingertips scraped the cement uncomfortably, and jagged corners cut into her as she pushed herself upwards. She'd just reached the roof when the man rounded the corner and she pressed herself flat against the slates, holding her breath and willing him not to look up.

  He glanced suspiciously around the alleyway and Eleanor watched in horror, her body frozen, sure he was going to look straight up at her. However, he simply glowered at the empty street and turned on his heel, stalking off into the rain.

  Eleanor lay still for as long as
she could bear, afraid he'd come back or else be waiting for her just around the corner. Eventually the rain eased off, and she decided to risk clambering back down to the ground. She walked quickly and quietly back to the guesthouse, trying not to draw attention to herself, and nearly jumping out of her skin every time she saw someone in the street.

  Only once she was back in her room did she breathe a sigh of relief, but even that was short-lived: she knew that word would spread quickly, and she didn't want to risk being in the town when people heard that a thieving, knife-wielding redhead was roving the streets. The chance of quietly finding a cart that would take her some or all of the way to Almont also seemed likely to have disappeared, so she'd have to walk. She bundled her possessions swiftly together and crept down the stairs, left a couple of coins on the hallway shelf to cover her debts, and let herself silently out of the back door.