Free Tribute by Ellen Renner

the landing door, close it behind me and crouch there. Blood pounds in my ears. What if the Tribute wants this floor? But I’m trapped now.
    The steady clump of her boots follows the stairs down. Closer and closer. I hold my breath, but the boots pass on without a break in rhythm. A wash of relief. I’m trembling slightly as I frown into the silence. The guard must have come from the room where Otter has taken Aidan. But why she was there, waiting for them?
    In less than a minute, I’m back on the floor above, encouraging my feet to silence as I approach the door where the guard appeared. I was right. They
are
in there. I hear raised voices from inside the room. Actually, one raised voice. The other is low and quiet. I recognise them at once: Aidan and Otter.
    â€˜
 …  go and get stuffed!
’ Aidan isn’t shouting. His voice is too full of concentrated scorn for that.
    â€˜What kind of man are you? You haven’t even got a proper name – you’re called after an animal, for fuck’s sake. You’re nothing but an intellectual eunuch – doing that monster’s bidding. Why don’t you slaves join together and fight back? He can’t kill all of you. You’re a coward! I’d rather be dead than be his creature.’
    â€˜You won’t be given the opportunity to choose.’ Otter’s voice is still quiet, but there’s an edge to it I’ve never heard before. The Maker has got under the Guardian’s skin, something I’ve never managed to do.
    â€˜The Lord Benedict has been extremely patient with you, Maker.’ The Guardian’s voice is heavy with threat. ‘But his patience is at an end. This is your workroom. It is equipped with every tool you might need. You will repair the clock shrine waiting on the work table. You will start immediately. Or you will be punished.’
    I edge closer to the door. I need to see inside. It’s tiny magic: even an adept would hardly notice. The door latch is made of oak, a stubborn wood. But I convince the wood fibres that they want to float on the thickening air. Slowly, carefully, I lift the latch with my mind, push the door open as far as I dare and peer inside.
    The Guardian is looming over Aidan, trying to intimidate him physically. The Maker is a head shorter and half as wide. Otter could break him in two with his bare hands and they both know it.
    Damn Aidan!
Why is he doing this? Why can’t he just repair the shrines? Pride? Sheer stubborn stupidity? Partly, but I think he doesn’t know what he’s facing. He doesn’t know my father.
    I start to call out, then press my hand over my mouth. I can’t help Aidan. I have to trust that Otter won’t actually kill him. If I interfere, Benedict will find out I’ve disobeyed him and probably put me under full surveillance. I can’t afford that now. Not when I might at last be of real use to the Knowledge Seekers.
    The emotion swirling around the room is making me dizzy.
Two people?
I never sense the Guardian – Otter is a blank. That means there’s a third person in the room. Someone terrified, almost to the point of collapse. I edge sideways until I see him cowering a few steps behind Otter – a little boy dressed in the black tunic of a Tribute. A thin child with bushy white-blond hair. His face is white with horror. His mouth is open as though he’s crying out, but he makes no sound. I hear it though – his unspoken scream. It wails inside my head.
    â€˜Your apprentice is waiting.’ Otter’s voice is hard. ‘Your tools are ready. Start working.’ The tension in the air rises like steam.
    I bite my lip, heart thudding.
Please, Aidan! Do as you’re told!
    But the Maker raises his chin, blue eyes narrowed and glinting. ‘Get stuf—’
    Otter’s hand lashes out and slaps the word from Aidan’s mouth. The force of the blow lifts the Maker off his feet and