Nine: Barkle's First Prize

Six days after her family disappeared into Dream, Nell stood on a stone bridge above the Eisen River.

It rushed and roared through the heart of Piketon, turning pistons and wheels, flushing away the city's filth.

Dusk draped itself over the streets. The coal-gas streetlamps looked like winking eyes.

Nell was hungry and frightened. But the thing that had driven her to clamber up onto the bridge's railing was fury.

Her face was clenched like a fist. She kept thinking of all the things that she would say to her father, if she got the chance.

"But I won't get the chance," she said, out loud. "They tricked me. They left me behind like an old suitcase."

They had forced her to accept the role assigned to her at birth: They had subtracted her and divided her until there was nothing left.

She peered up into the fug of factory smoke that cloaked Piketon. Was there really such a thing as Father Tally? Were there angels hidden in the angles of the world?

She shook her head. No. She wouldn't fool herself. She would take her final reckoning without cheating or making-believe.

"I'm Nell," she said angrily. "I never wanted to be, but that's what I am. But you're even less, Father Tally. You're just someone's excuse."

"Who is it you're talking to?"

Nell swung around, only just remembering to hang onto the bridge rail. The black, filthy water swept hungrily below her feet.

A boy, roughly her own age, stood a few paces away. He had a round, rather common face, but his eyes were queer.

They seemed to be taking her measure in a way that was more adult than child-like.

"Aren't you scared?" he said. "Standing at the edge like that? Up so high? You wouldn't stand a chance if you fell."

Nell shook her head contemptuously. "I've been in scarier places than this. I can climb just about anything. Nothing knocks me loose, unless I let go."

The boy nodded thoughtfully. "You look agile enough. And you don't look like you weigh very much."

It was an odd thing to say. As if he were sizing up a prize sheep or a bushel of corn.

"You were talking to someone," he said. "Are you crazy or something? It won't do if you're crazy."

Nell felt her blood race. A moment before she had been thinking of throwing herself into the river, letting herself be swallowed up.

But now her anger had something to focus on. "I'm not crazy," she said, in a threatening voice. "I'll punch your ears if you say that again."

"You could try," said the boy.

He took something out of his pocket. The thing was so rare and special that it took a moment for Nell to realize what it was: a ripe, perfect pear.

"Look what I pinched," he said. "Do you want half?"

Nell swallowed. Her anger was tangled up in caution and hunger.

"Why would you share?" she said. "You never saw me before. People on Nail don't give things away for free."

"No," he admitted. "There's always a price, except when you steal. And no one steals from me."

"What is it then?" Nell said. "Tell me what you want up front and be straight about it, or else leave me alone."

The boy took out a business-like knife. She saw that it was deadly sharp, curved slightly at the tip.

With a practiced turn of his wrist, he cut the pear in half and tossed her the larger piece. She couldn't help but catch it in her free hand.

It was perfect: the skin green and tinged with red, the meat grainy and white. The sweet smell nearly knocked her off the bridge.

Before she could think, she took a bite. The juice covered her chin.

The boy took a bite too. He watched her, his eyes more thoughtful than ever.

"You caught that pair without even thinking," he said. "That's no easy trick."

Nell shrugged and went on chewing.

"My name is Marcus," he said. "And I think you might just do for my crew."

She made a mocking face. "What, your crew of pickpockets and quickfingers? No, thank you. I work honest for my nibs."

He shook his head and said, "It's true I pinch things now and then, when I want them bad enough. But that's not my main job. I'm a wire walker."

"You mean you crew on a dream ship?"

He nodded. Pointing upward with the knife, he said, "You ever been up there before? Up in the Dream?"

"Sure, plenty of times. My family are pilgrims."

"Where are they now, your family? Gone off? I thought so. When I saw you climb up on the bridge rail, I thought you must be alone."

Nell wanted to say something clever and hard, but her throat tightened. She thought she might break down and cry and the thought filled her with shame.

"Here's the deal then," Marcus said. "I'm looking for kids to work the shrouds aboard a ship. She's called the Blue Oriole. A clipper. One of the fastest around. I won't lie to you. It's hard work and tricky and dangerous. But Captain Marsh is a fair man and never cruel when he doesn't have to be. Anyway, working for him is no worse than throwing yourself into a river."

The proposition was such a surprise that for a moment Nell forgot her sorrow. Kids in every port in the Dream knew about shroud-walkers and their way of hunting children.

You had to be careful or you might get shanghaied and carried away from your home and family.

"I thought your sort just kidnapped young ones," she said. "When you need fresh crew don't you just carry them off?"

The boy shrugged and said, "I do it that way when I have to. Some of the kids I take will go aboard kicking and screaming. But when I can, I look for ones like you, ones that don't have nothing better."

Nell nodded. She looked at him for a long time. She could see that there was something truly strange about him.

He wasn't like any boy she had ever seen before. He stood too still. He never fidgeted once.

She turned back to look at the rushing water. In her hand was the bead from her father's abacus. The black stone represented all her life up to that point.

It felt heavy and cold, despite the grip of her hand.

"I heard once," she said, "that shroud walkers always take a new name when they join a crew. A nickname like, a new identity."

"That's right. You leave your lubber name behind."

"I want to choose my own name."

Marcus frowned and thought it over before saying, "It's not tradition, but I guess it's fair enough. What will it be?"

"I guess you can call me Nail. That's where you found me, isn't it? It's not much different from my old name. And nails are hard, right? They're hard to pry loose."

"Nail it is then."

She nodded and said, "I'll do it then. I'll join the Blue Oriole."

The little girl turned held out her hand and let the abacus stone roll through her fingers. It dropped without a sound into the current.

Marcus Barkle watched with satisfaction, taking another bite of his pear.

Next: Aramis the Amazing