Flood Child

Extract

'"Watch where you’re going, Zeph! You’ll end up in the slop!" Ims laughs and nods at the mud underneath the wooden walkway.

Lunden is buzzing! The great wide river Temz is full of sails: red, blue, green, purple of the Families; gleaming silver of the Scottish sun-ships; even the odd white sail, though any English would be mad to show their faces now. And the banks are lined with piers poking into the water, every one loading and unloading something different: fish, wool, hay, sides of mutton, wood, people, pigs, bales of cloth, barrels of beer, rounds of cheese, anything you can think of, seems like. And where there ain’t traders, there’s warriors. From every family, in every colour leathers you can think of. And all of them looking fierce as you like; ready to draw weapons, bristling to start a fight.

Even after four days here, I ain’t used to all these people! They’re everywhere – pushing along the walkways, wading through the mud with parcels and pots and bales and every kind of thing on their heads.

"Be careful," says Ims. "Word’s out about our raid. Every warrior in Lunden’s on edge. Kill you same as spit on you."

He pulls me to one side of the wooden walkway, and a gang of warriors, all wearing blue, which means Chell Sea, comes walking by. Chell Sea’s where my mother came from, so I’m half Chell Sea too. I open my mouth, but I don’t know the right words to say to them.

Ims catches my look, shakes his head. "Don’t speak to them. They’ll only see your colours, and before you know it, you’ll end up dead. Stick around, you’ll see warriors from every Family you’ve ever heard of – Kensing, Dogs, Tottnam, Stokey, Brixt, Chell Sea – and all of them are wanting a piece of Angel Isling."

"I thought Lunden was safe meeting, like Norwich?"

"It usually is, but things is different now. Your father thinks forward, he wants the Families to unite against the English. But there’s plenty of other Bosses who want to keep the old ways, and plenty of warriors who’d kill every Angel Isling to keep them. And Lunden’s where we all started out from, so they get all nostalgic and want to show how tradition-proud they are. Which means they’re even more likely to pick a fight with us."

I watch the Chell Sea gang and all the other warriors swaggering the walkways. Every one of them is checkin’ me and Ims, but Ims has got his hand on his sword and his fighting-look on his face, which keeps them off.

"I don’t see how all the Families coulda come from this one place," I say, and Ims laughs.

"This ain’t all of Lunden. It’s mostly gone now, but it used to stretch for miles. Miles and miles and just full of people."

"You’re joking!"

"No I ain’t. Right here is just where all the English rulers used to be – prime ministers and kings and whatnot."

He points at the prickly, pointed building above us. "They all used to be in there. Where the market is now. The house of the parliament they called it. All high and mighty, telling everyone what to do. And when the Collapse came, they all hid in special strong rooms, meant to keep them safe." He looks down and winks at me. "But guess what happened to them?"

"I dunno."

"Drowned, didn’t they? In the floods. When the water came they was caught like rabbits in a mud bank at high tide! The Prime Minister they got now, he ain’t even related. He’s just the great something grandson of some little upstart who set himself up at Swindon afterwards."'

Ims laughs at the thought of it, then says, "Come on, let’s get to the market."'