Salt by Maurice Gee Page B

hills?’
    ‘I don’t know. There are worse things behind.’
    Pearl looked back but could see nothing. She emptied water out of her boots and put them on again, then trudged after Tealeaf over scurfy ground, through spiky grass. The hills rose almost as steeply as a wall. Tealeaf found a way up, turning between boulders and scrambling on goat tracks. They climbed for an hour, then turned for a last look over the wasteland. The sun had coloured it golden and picked out City beyond. The moon, faded to silver, was sinking below the faraway hill where the Bowles mansion, the Ottmar mansion and all the other great houses stood. Pearl could not pick them out. They’re nothing, she decided; but, in her exhaustion, thought longingly of her comfortable bed, and also, in her hunger, of the breakfast Tealeaf brought her each morning on a tray.
    Tealeaf would not serve her now, not in that way.
    ‘We’ll sleep here,’ Tealeaf said, putting down her pack in the shade of a boulder.
    ‘What if they use dogs to track us?’
    ‘Confusing dogs is one of the easier things.’
    Pearl stayed where she was, looking at City and the squat jumble of Ceebeedee. The dark stain of the burrows spread out to the south, with the sea shining white beyond it. East, and far away, smoke rose from the chimneys of the factory towns where workers stolen from the burrows spent their lives in slave labour. That, at least, was what Tealeaf had taught her – one of the secrets she kept. She could not imagine their lives. How could anyone be poorer than Tilly, who was not even a burrows-woman? She hoped that Tilly would be safe.
    Pearl began to turn away. Then she saw a movement on the golden plain – something shapeless, moving fast, leaving a cloud of dust. It took her a moment to work out what it was.
    ‘Tealeaf. Horses.’
    Tealeaf ran to her side. ‘Yes. From City. Hunting us. But now they’re chasing something else. See.’
    Pearl made out a figure in front of the horsemen, running towards the river, with something – a dog, was it? – loping at its side.
    ‘What are they doing?’
    ‘It’s a burrows-man and a dog. Our hunters are hunting him.’ She peered harder with her cat-like eyes. ‘He’s a boy.’
    ‘Can we save him?’
    ‘There’s no way. He’ll get to the river ahead of them, and get across, but they’ll catch him before he reaches the hills.’
    ‘What will they do?’
    ‘Kill him.’
    ‘Stop the horses. Push them back like you pushed the fangcat.’
    ‘I can’t. It’s too far. Even at the foot of the hills it will be too far. Come away, Pearl.’
    ‘How do you know he’s from the burrows?’
    ‘He has brown skin.’
    ‘Do burrows-people have that?’
    ‘Yes. A brown-skinned race. Come away.’
    The boy reached the river. He scooped the dog in his arms and waded across, then threw the animal down and ran again. The horsemen reached the river and milled about.
    ‘Tealeaf,’ Pearl cried, ‘it’s Hubert, my brother. See his dappled horse. He’s hunting me.’
    ‘But he doesn’t let it get in the way of his sport. See, they’re handing him his lance. He will make the kill.’
    Hubert, on his dappled stallion, rode high-stepping across the river. The Bowles emblem fluttered at the head of his lance. He spurred his mount onto dry land and closed quickly on the boy. Pearl watched in horror. She tried to scream out to him to stop, but no sound came from her mouth.
    The boy looked over his shoulder and stopped running. He turned and faced the horseman, who lowered his lance-point for the kill. He spurred the horse and it leaped forward. Then it whinnied suddenly, and shied and stumbled, throwing Hubert from the saddle. A puff of dust floated up from the place where he landed. He rolled on the ground, then came to his knees – and the boy, instead of running, stood and waited.
    Tealeaf had made a small cry as the horse shied. She fixed her eyes on the boy, watching every move.
    ‘My brother,’ Pearl cried.