The slommerkin stopped its attack so abruptly that Sinew was taken by surprise. His fingers paused on the harp strings. Was this another illusion from Forgotten Dreams, or was it something else?
“Sinew,” growled Broo, backing slowly away from his opponent. “Do not STOP!”
“Sorry,” said Sinew, and he plucked at the strings again. The slommerkin shook its massive head, as if the notes of the First Song had at last wormed their way into its mind and it could not escape them.
Sinew’s hands and arms felt as if they were on fire, but he was in better shape than Broo. The brizzlehound was covered in blood and there was a deep gash down his shoulder and around his belly.
The slommerkin was wounded too. Its torn flesh trembled, and it hissed and roared as if it wanted to launch itself back into the attack. But it could not break away from the First Song.
Sinew took a deep breath and began to walk toward the creature. As he did so, he found himself thinking of the children again. Something had changed. He could tell. They were no longer where they had been a moment ago.…
He shook himself, and concentrated on the music. He made it sing with longing, with a desire for rolling plains and fat, slow cattle. For the sun, hot and glistening, and the huffing of newborn cubs. For slommerkin heaven, just beyond the Dirty Gate.
The slommerkin hissed again and lashed out with its tusks. Sinew jumped back a step, but his fingers did not miss a note.
“Come,” sang the music (twining in and out of the First Song). “Come to sun-on-the-skin and food-in-the-belly. Come to gobble-gobble-liver-and-hearts. Come to eat-all-you-want.”
The slommerkin’s tiny eyes blinked. It sank back on its torn haunches and scratched itself thoughtfully. Then, with a shudder, it heaved itself to its feet and began to make its way toward the Dirty Gate.
Sinew followed, with Broo limping beside him. His fingers never paused in their task. “Come! Come to roll-on-bones! Come to suck-at-marrow!”
The slommerkin moaned with hunger. The keeper and the brizzlehound drove it onward, through the Tench, through Lost Children and Dauntless, and across the perilous landscape of Knife Edge. Until at last they came to their destination.
The Dirty Gate lay deep inside the museum, in a long, narrow room with a stone floor and stone walls. There were no exhibits here, no display cases, just cold-hearted stone and, at the far end, the Gate itself, its massive iron strips twisted together like honeycomb.
The slommerkin paused halfway down the room, snuffing the air. Sinew peered past it and saw that the Dirty Gate was open, and that Herro Dan and Olga Ciavolga stood to one side of it, with a small fire burning at their feet.
He added a note of urgency to the song he played. “Don’t stop! Don’t tarry! Liver-and-hearts! Marrow-bones!”
The slommerkin surged down the room. But just as it was about to step through the Gate, Sinew’s bleeding fingers slipped. A discord rang out.
The slommerkin hesitated. Its head swung from side to side. It turned around, its little eyes fixed on Herro Dan. It licked its pendulous lips.…
“No!” cried Olga Ciavolga, and she snatched a burning stick from the fire and threw it, as straight as a spear. The slommerkin squealed with pain. It shuffled backward through the Dirty Gate, pawing at its nose. Quickly, the keepers threw themselves at the Gate and pushed it shut. Herro Dan shot the bolt; then he took a large key from his pocket and turned it in the lock.
With a groan of exhaustion, Sinew slid down the wall and laid his harp on the floor. Broo flopped beside him.
“Never met anyone who could throw like you can, lass,” said Herro Dan with a shaky laugh.
“Pfft, it was easy.” The old woman smiled, but her face was white. “Give me something hard to do next time.”
Broo raised his head from his paws. An enormous sigh escaped him. “Is there anything to eat? I am very hungry.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Olga Ciavolga, bending over him. “Of course you are hungry. And look at your poor shoulder! Come with me. I will sew you up and feed you. Sinew, you too. We must do something about your hands.”
Sinew nodded but did not move. “You and Broo go on ahead. I’ll follow when I’ve caught my breath.”
As Olga Ciavolga hurried away with the brizzlehound limping beside her, Herro Dan eased his old bones down to the floor. “That was well done, lad,” he said, patting Sinew on the arm.
Sinew yawned. “I have never in my life played so long and hard. I hope I never have to do such a thing again, but—”
“But when I was in the middle of it, I sort of felt the children.”
“What? Where?”
“I don’t know. But I think—I think something has happened to them. Something strange.” Sinew drew his torn fingers through the air above his harp, and a single bright note rang out. “Something very strange.”