Free Gullstruck Island by Frances Hardinge Page A

to do but play for time and pray. ‘And your friend has a strange accent . . .’ For about ten minutes she continued in this vein, sensing that the ice beneath her was becoming increasingly thin. At last Skein took out his pocket watch.
    ‘We must bring this test to an end soon. Miss Arilou, I shall leave for an interval to see if a letter has been left for me, but when I return you must have an answer ready.’
    Hathin waited for him to rise, and only when he settled himself back against the rock did she realize that he was leaving in spirit only. Of course, he had sent his mind to look for a note earlier – presumably he had not found it. A small part of Hathin’s mind wondered what message could be so important that he would flit off like this mid-test. But what did it matter? It bought her more time.
    When he had remained motionless for about a minute, she dared to scramble to her feet. She had to know whether Eiven had been found. Not knowing was unbearable. But at the same time she knew that she was secretly, guiltily hoping that Eiven, with her barracuda speed, had defied the current and made it to the boat where Prox sat. If she could only find her, there might still be a chance of passing the test.
    Hathin took one of the leather laces adorning Arilou’s wrist and tied it to a nearby pillar of rock to stop her wandering, then slipped away through the rocky labyrinth.
    At the water’s edge she found several searchers from the village. She could tell from one look at their faces that nothing had been seen of Eiven.
    ‘We’ll keep looking,’ Hathin was told. ‘Now . . . you go back and do the best you can.’
    The shadowed stone was clammy under Hathin’s hands and feet as she faced the possibility of a world robbed of Eiven by Hathin’s own failure.
    She thought of Mother Govrie’s eye hardening as Eiven’s had done, she imagined standing before the whole village drenched in failure . . . she saw the entire reason for her existence dropping away from her like rain into a dark shaft.
    By the time she returned to the place where she had left Arilou and the Inspector, the sky was metal and an orchestra of hollow fluting noises sounded throughout the Lacery as the wind found out needle-holes and crevices.
    Skein still sat motionless, his expression serene. Was he ‘back’? Had he noticed her absence? He said nothing to remark on her arrival. It seemed that he was still away from his body.
    Arilou, on the other hand, seemed restless. She still wore a starry, rapt expression, and had almost tugged her tether free. Occasionally she gave a bird-like twitch of her head, and her hands made soft clutching motions. She was murmuring under her breath, and as Hathin drew closer she realized that for once it was a single word, spoken over and over again.
    Could it be? Could the miracle have arrived? Arilou was staring out to sea, roughly towards where Prox’s boat would be bobbing on the restless water.
    ‘Kaiethemin . . .’ That seemed to be what she was saying. Hathin listened to it a few more times, but she could make no more sense of it than that. Still, what if this really was Prox’s whisper, mangled by Arilou’s soft mouth? Hathin had no choice but to pray that it was. Her time had run out.
    ‘I believe I know the word.’ Hathin marvelled at her own voice, clear and composed.
    Skein continued to stare out into some private sky. After a few seconds Hathin could only conclude that she had not been heard, that his mind was still far from his body. She reached out gently and touched his hand.
    For a second the world inhaled soundlessly. Then thunder rolled unseen cannonballs across the sky above. There was a downward rush of air, and raindrops struck all around like metal pellets, making the dust jump.
    Hathin withdrew her hand from the Inspector’s, pinching at her fingers and palm to rid them of their pins and needles. Invisible red ants were seething up her arm and surging forth to run over every inch of