The Hush by Skye Melki-Wegner Page B

here, like the echoboat. An unnatural hybrid of sails and machinery, designed to sail through the Hush like it was a sea of shadows …
    Chester closed his eyes. Of course, there was one more thing he knew about this place. Hush, hush, hush … His father’s final words before –
    The door banged open. Chester opened his eyes.
    â€˜On a straight course for now,’ Sam announced. ‘Nothing to crash into out here, just a bunch of fields, for miles and miles. Should be right without a driver for a while.’
    â€˜What …?’ Chester tried to speak, but his mouth felt too dry to let the words slip through. ‘What is this thing?’
    â€˜Echoboat,’ Sam said. ‘I already told you. Just a small one, though. It joins onto our gang’s main echoship, the Cavatina. That’s where I’m taking you, to meet the captain.’
    â€˜Echoship?’
    â€˜Floating ships, I guess you’d call ’em,’ Sam said. ‘They only exist in the Hush – I ain’t never seen one in the real world. But here, with all this residue of magic and sorcery sloshing about …’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t really matter how it works. It’s Dot who knows all that stuff, not me.’
    â€˜She’s in your gang?’
    Sam nodded, then crouched beside him. ‘Gotta look at your arm. Captain won’t be happy if I bring back damaged goods.’
    â€˜Might mess up your hopes of a pay rise?’
    â€˜Something like that.’
    Sam pulled Chester’s arm into the light. Chester sucked his teeth, clenched his fists, and tried not to show how much it stung. Just another performance , he told himself. He had to prove his strength to these people, to earn his place in their gang – ultimately, to earn the truth about his father.
    Sam unwrapped the makeshift bandage and tossed it aside. A hiss of disapproval escaped his teeth. ‘I ain’t been trained to deal with this, you know.’
    He sounded irritated, almost angry. Chester felt as though he was expected to apologise – as though it had been his fault that he had been shot, and left the older boy with damaged goods on his hands.
    â€˜If you hadn’t told me to play “The Nightfall Duet”,’ Chester said, ‘I wouldn’t have gotten shot in the first place.’
    â€˜You’re the one who chose to play it, not me,’ Sam said. ‘Back on the ranch, my pa used to say “It takes a fool to squat with his spurs on”. You make a mistake, you can holler all you like, but don’t go blaming the world for your own damn recklessness.’
    â€˜But you –’
    â€˜Besides,’ Sam added, ‘if you had more control over your own powers, you could’ve played your merry way through “The Nightfall Duet” without getting caught.’
    â€˜But I don’t have any powers! I’m just a fiddler, I swear.’
    â€˜Then how did you connect to the Song?’
    â€˜That was an accident; it happens sometimes when I play something tricky … I don’t know why it –’
    â€˜I’ll tell you why,’ Sam said, pointing a finger. ‘Because you’re one of them.’
    â€˜One of what?’
    â€˜One of them blasted Songshapers,’ Sam said. ‘And don’t try denying it,’ he added, when Chester opened his mouth to protest. ‘You did it again before, up in the cornfields. Played a tune on the flute and woke that horse up from a calming spell. That was Music with a capital “M”.’
    Chester stared at him, his mouth open. Sam rummaged through a nearby drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal a medical kit, with bandages, drugs and syringes.
    â€˜I’m not a Songshaper,’ Chester said. ‘I’ve never gone to the Conservatorium. It takes years of training to –’
    â€˜To get your official licence,’ Sam interrupted.