Predator's Gold Excerpt

7/31/2019 Predator's Gold Excerpt

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BY PHILIP REEVE

Fever CrumbA Web of Air

Mortal Engines

Predators Gold

Infernal Devices

A Darkling Plain

Here Lies Arthur

No Such Thingas Dragons

Larklight

Starcross

Mothstorm


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P H I L I P R E E V E

PREDATORSGOLD

SCHOLASTIC INC.New York Toronto London Auckland

Sydney Mexico City New Delhi Hong Kong


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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was

reported as unsold and destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received

any payment for this stripped book.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or

by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission

of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions

Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

ISBN 978-0-545-22212-9

Copyright 2003 by Philip Reeve. All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. by arrangement

with Scholastic Childrens Books, an imprint of Scholastic Ltd., Euston House, 24 Eversholt Street,

London, NW1 1DB, UK. SCHOLASTICand associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of

Scholastic Inc.

12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 12 13 14 15 16/0

Printed in the U.S.A. 40

First Scholastic American paperback printing, June 2012

The text type was set in Rialto.

Book design by Steve Scott


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For Sarah and Sam


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1

Frozen North

Freya woke early and lay for a while in the dark, feeling hercity shiver and sway beneath her as its powerful engines sentit skimming across the ice. Sleepily, she waited for her servants

to come and help her out of bed. It took her a few moments to

remember that they were all dead.She threw off the covers, lit the argon lamps, and waded

through dusty mounds of cast-off clothes to her bathroom. For

several weeks now she had been working up the courage to have

a shower, but once again this morning the complicated controls

in the shower stall defeated her: She couldnt make the water

hot. In the end she just filled the hand basin as usual and splashedher face and neck. There was a sliver of soap left, and she rubbed

some into her hair and plunged her head under the water. Her

bath-servants would have used shampoo, lotions, salves, condi-

tioners, all sorts of pleasant-smelling balms; but they were all

dead, and the rack upon rack of bottles in the walk-in bathroom

cabinet intimidated Freya. Faced with so much choice, she chose

to use nothing.


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At least she had worked out how to dress herself. She picked

one of her crumpled gowns from the floor, laid it on the bed, and

burrowed into it from the bottom, struggling about inside until

she got her arms and head out through the right holes. The long,

fur-trimmed waistcoat that went over the gown was much easier

to put on, but she had a lot of trouble with the buttons. Her

handmaidens had always done up her buttons very quickly and

easily, talking and laughing about the day ahead and never, ever

getting a button through the wrong hole; but they were all dead.Freya cursed and tugged and fumbled for fifteen minutes,

then studied the results in her cobwebby mirror. Not bad, she

thought, all things considered. Perhaps some jewelry would make

it look better. But when she went to her jewelry room she found

most of the good pieces gone. Things were always vanishing these

days. Freya could not imagine where they went to. Anyway, shedidnt really need a tiara on her sticky, soap-washed hair, or a

necklet of amber and gold around her grubby throat. Mama

would not approve of her being seen without jewelry, of course;

but Mama was dead, too.

In the empty, silent corridors of her palace the dust lay thick

as powder snow. She rang for a footman and stood staring out ofa window while she waited for him to arrive. Outside, dim arc-

tic twilight shone gray on the frosted rooftops of her city. The

floor trembled to the beat of cogs and pistons down in the engine

district, but there was very little sense of movement, for this was

the High Ice, north of north, and there were no passing land-

marks, only a white plain, shining slightly with the reflection of

the sky.

Her footman arrived, patting his powdered wig straight.


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Good morning, Smew, she said.

Good morning, Your Radiance.

For a moment she was seized by an urge to ask Smew into her

quarters and tell him to do something about all the dust, the fallen

clothes, the lost jewelry; to make him show her how the shower

worked. But he was a man, and it would be an unthinkable break

with tradition for a man to enter the margravines private quarters.

Instead she said what she said every morning: You may escort me

to the breakfast room, Smew.Riding with him in the lift to the lower floor, she imagined

her city scuttling across the ice cap like a tiny black beetle creep-

ing over a huge white plate. The question was, where was it

going? That was what Smew wanted to know; you could see it in

his face, in the way his gaze kept flicking inquisitively at her. The

Steering Committee would want to know, too. Running this wayand that from hungry predators was one thing, but the time had

come for Freya to decide what her citys future was to be. For

thousands of years the people of Anchorage had looked to the

House of Rasmussen to make such decisions. The Rasmussen

women were special, after all. Had they not ruled Anchorage ever

since the Sixty Minute War? Did not the Ice Gods speak to themin their dreams, telling them where the city should go if it were

to find good trading partners and avoid trap-ice and predators?

But Freya was the last of her line, and the Ice Gods did not

speak to her. Hardly anybody spoke to her now, and when they

did it was only to inquire, in the politest possible way, when she

would decide upon a course. Why ask me?she wanted to shout at

them. Im just a girl! I didnt want to be margravine!But there was no

one else left for them to ask.


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At least this morning Freya would have an answer for them.

She just wasnt sure that they would like it.

She ate breakfast alone, in a high-backed black chair at a long,

black table. The clatter of her knife against her plate, her spoon

in her teacup, seemed unbearably loud in the silence. From the

shadowy walls, portraits of her divine ancestors gazed down at

her, looking slightly impatient, as though they, too, were waiting

for her to decide upon a destination.

Dont worry, she told them. Ive made my mind up.When breakfast was finished, her chamberlain came in.

Good morning, Smew.

Good morning, Light of the Ice Fields. The Steering

Committee awaits Your Radiances pleasure.

Freya nodded, and the chamberlain swung open the breakfast

room doors to let the committee enter. There used to be twenty-three of them; now there were only Mr. Scabious and Miss Pye.

Windolene Pye was a tall, plain, middle-aged lady with fair

hair done up in a flat bun which made her look as if she were

balancing a Danish pastry on her head. She had been the late

chief navigators secretary, and seemed to understand his charts

and tables well enough, but she was very nervous in the presenceof her margravine and bobbed little curtsies every time Freya so

much as sniffed.

Her colleague, Sren Scabious, was quite different. His family

had been engine masters for nearly as long as the city had been

mobile, and he was the nearest thing Freya had left to an equal.

If things had been normal, she would have been getting married

to his son Axel next summer; the margravine often took a

man from the engine districts as her consort, to keep the citys


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engineering classes happy. But things were not normal, and Axel

was dead. Freya secretly felt quite glad she would not be get-

ting Scabious as a father-in-law; he was such a stern, sad, silent

old man. His black mourning robes blended into the darkness

of the breakfast room like camouflage, leaving the white death-

mask of his face hanging disembodied in the shadows.

Good day, Your Radiance, he said, bowing stiffly, while Miss

Pye curtsied and blushed and fluttered beside him.

What is our position? asked Freya.Oh, Your Radiance, we are almost two hundred miles north

of the Tannhuser Mountains, twittered Miss Pye. Were on

sound sea ice, and there has been no sighting of any other city.

The engine district awaits your instructions, Light of the Ice

Fields, said Scabious. Do you wish to turn back east?

No! Freya shivered, remembering how close they had come tobeing eaten in the past. If they went back east, or turned south

to trade along the edges of the ice, the Huntsmen of Arkangel

were sure to hear about it, and with only skeleton crews to man

the engines Freya did not think her city could outrun the great

predator again.

Maybe we should bear west, Your Radiance? Miss Pye sug-gested nervously. A few small towns overwinter along the eastern

edge of Greenland. We might manage a little trading.

No, said Freya firmly.

Then perhaps you have another destination in mind, Your

Radiance? wondered Scabious. Have the Gods of the Ice spoken

to you?

Freya nodded solemnly. In fact, the idea was one she had been

turning around in her mind for a month or more, and she did


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not think it had come from any god; it was just the only way she

could see of keeping her city safe from predators and plagues and

spy-ships forever.

Set course for the Dead Continent, she said. We are

going home.

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Predator's Gold Excerpt