Chasing the Valley by Skye Melki-Wegner Page B

Then I swing up onto Teddy’s foxary and tighten my grip on its fur.
    This is going to be a long ride.
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    We travel for most of the day. My legs cramp, my shoulder aches and my wounded knee throbs. I wrap the knee in some spare fabric from the pack behind me: a pale blue skirt, which shimmers prettily when we pass beneath sunlit gaps in the canopy. At least, until my blood soaks through and turns the fabric crimson-brown.
    â€˜That was one of my favourite skirts,’ hisses Clementine, when she spots my choice of bandage.
    I want to point out that opportunities for sparkly skirt-wearing don’t look too promising in the near future, but remember the need to get along with these people. They’re my crew now, too.
    â€˜Sorry,’ I say.
    Clementine’s mouth is open, ready to snipe at me again, but my apology catches her unawares. She closes her lips, gives a tight nod and looks away. I’m not sure whether this means I’m forgiven or whether I’m just not worth her time. Either way, it’s better than fighting.
    As we ease into the afternoon, my stomach begins to complain. Up until now, fear and adrenaline have kept it full enough. But after hours of riding and no signs of pursuit, I’m too tired for adrenaline. I feel like a washcloth with all the water squeezed out. I’m not alone, either, because Radnor keeps sucking on his bottom lip and – every few minutes – Teddy’s stomach offers a grumbly soundtrack for the ride.
    â€˜What food do we have left?’ says Radnor.
    I look at him, surprised. He has always seemed so in control of this mission: the very image of a determined crew leader. Surely he would have planned the food supplies back in Rourton?
    â€˜Leaves,’ says Teddy helpfully. ‘ Lots of leaves. I reckon we could set up a decent scam selling leaf soup, if there were any richies around to buy it.’
    â€˜No, seriously,’ says Radnor. ‘I want a rundown of our current supplies.’
    â€˜Most of the food was on Maisy’s foxary,’ says Clementine.
    Maisy. So that’s the name of the quiet twin. I remember seeing her fall off her foxary during the struggle at the city gate – obviously one of the others picked her up, but her foxary is gone. And of all the foxaries, we’ve lost the one that carried the food. The knowledge sends a cold shudder into the base of my spine. I know what this means. We all do. There’s even a jump-rope rhyme about it in Rourton: one of the grim little ditties that scruffer kids sing to keep distracted on cold nights.
    â€˜And if a crew does not keep fed,’ I recite quietly, ‘you know that crew will soon be dead.’
    â€˜That’s not the version I learned,’ says Teddy.
    â€˜Oh yeah? What’s your version, then?’
    Teddy holds up a hand in a grand gesture, as though he’s an opera singer about to perform. ‘And if a crew does not keep fed, they’d better nick some richie’s bread!’
    I snort. ‘Even you couldn’t find anyone to pickpocket out here.’
    â€˜Hey, who knows? Maybe ravens and earthworms have a secret economy going. There’s always someone around to nick stuff off, if you know what you’re doing.’
    I try to imagine Teddy pickpocketing an earthworm, then give up.
    â€˜Why’d you put all the food onto one foxary, anyway?’ says Teddy, turning to Radnor. ‘I would’ve thought it was safer to spread it around.’ He pauses. ‘Not that I’m advocating safety regulations. You wanted to walk on the wild side, right?’
    Radnor shakes his head. ‘This trip is dangerous enough. I’m not about to add more risk for fun.’
    â€˜So why’d you put all the food on Maisy’s foxary, then?’
    â€˜I didn’t,’ says Radnor, looking annoyed. ‘That was Hackel’s idea. He’s being paid to lead us to safety – he’s