Museum of Thieves Read Free Page B

to push her way through the crowd.
    Ma hugged Goldie close. Pa wrapped his arms around both of them. ‘The children,’ he whispered. ‘What’s happened to the children?’
    Goldie’s left wrist felt as if it was on fire. She put her other hand in her pocket and her fingers closed around the little blue bird. Hurry , she thought. Hurry up and finish this so we can get back to the Separation .
    One of the militiamen carried a jug of water through the crowd and poured a little of it over the intruder’s head. He groaned and sat up. Someone gasped, ‘It’s the Fugleman!’
    Goldie stared down at the dishevelled figure in amazement. His Honour the Fugleman of Jewel, leader of the Blessed Guardians and spokesman for the Seven Gods, was a tall, handsome man who never appeared in public unless his black hair was as smooth as a raven’s wing and the silver braid on his robes gleamed.
    But now his robes were in tatters and his forehead was covered in blood. Beneath the blood, his face was white with ash and horror.
    The crowd fell silent. The Fugleman looked around as if he didn’t know where he was. ‘There was— There was an explosion,’ he croaked. ‘The children—’
    He stopped, unable to go on. Goldie remembered the faint whump she had heard. An explosion!
    ‘Great Wooden preserve us!’ whispered Ma, flicking her fingers and tightening her grip on Goldie.
    ‘Give him a drink,’ ordered the Protector.
    The Fugleman gulped at the water until the jug was empty. He wiped a bloody hand across his mouth. Then, shaking uncontrollably and stopping every few words to catch his breath, he told the horrified crowd what had happened.
    ‘An excursion . . . this morning . . . just four children with their Guardians . . . I had invited them to visit my office before the Separation ceremony. The Seven Gods forgive me.’
    His voice was little more than a whisper, but it seemed to Goldie that it carried from one end of the hall to the other.
    ‘We were in the . . . library . . . showing them the portraits . . . the Fuglemen who have gone before me . . . great men all of them . . . serving the Seven, taking care of the city’s children—’
    He stopped again. For an awful moment, Goldie thought he was going to weep. A single tear ran down his face, cutting a channel through the ash. He wiped it away and continued.
    ‘It was like . . . being hit by a great blow. My Guardians . . . threw themselves across the children to protect them. None of us understood what had happened. We were deafened . . . the noise, the falling plaster . . . the walls collapsing about us. The children—’
    A groan broke from Pa. Ma was sobbing openly, and she was not the only one. The Protector held up her hand for silence.
    ‘When we could see again,’ said the Fugleman, ‘we found that the children were safe – shocked but safe. All except one – a young girl from—’
    He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘A young girl from . . . Feverbone Canal. She was . . . dead.’
    There was instant uproar in the hall. Goldie could hear her own cry of horror echoing from every throat. Ma and Pa clutched her even tighter. Dead? Dead ?A child ? In Jewel ? It was as if everyone’s worst nightmare had come true.
    The Protector’s face was as white as paper, but again she held up her hand for quiet. ‘When you came in,’ she said in an almost-steady voice, ‘you cried murder .’
    ‘I thought—We thought it must have been a watergas explosion,’ said the Fugleman. ‘An accident. But a witness saw . . . two men running away. Strangers. And my Guardians found the remains of a . . . device. By the Seven, Your Grace, it was no accident. It was . . . a bomb.’
    The next few minutes were a blur of noise and shouting. Goldie felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her. She saw the Protector wave the lieutenant marshal to her side. He seemed to be arguing with her. The Protector snapped at him, and he marched