Raiders' Ransom by Emily Diamand Page A

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.
    â€œI don’t see how all the Families coulda come from this one place,” I say, and Ims laughs.
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œYou’re joking!”
    â€œNo 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.
    â€œThey 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?”
    â€œI dunno.”
    â€œDrowned, 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 whatever little upstart it was set himself up at Swindon afterward.” Ims laughs at the thought of it, then says, “Come on, let’s get to the market.”
    The market between the tides, that’s where we’re going. I’ve been hearing about it my whole life: how the smugglers and traders there will sell anything, buy anything. The walls of the market are made of stone, but the river still punched holes in them. And so the market only happens at low tide, coz when the Temz rises, it washes right into the market hall. The river watchers peeking out the top of Big Ben ring their bell when the tide turns, to let Lunden know the water’s coming back. Then all the traders pack up and leg it to the upper rooms.
    That’s where my father is now, in one of those rooms. Buying weapons. It was all he was talking about yesterday.
    â€œIf we’re gonna have a war, I’ve gotta get my hands on some decent warring gear. Swords’ll do for fishing villages, but not if we want to see off the English. So we’ll get ourselves some rockets. The Scottish smugglers will sell if we offer enough.”
    Rockets! I hope Father does it. Then Angel Isling would be the first Family ever to get Scottish weapons. And whenhe does, he’s gonna mount them on our dragonboats. Then he can blow the English out of the water.
    â€œCome on!” says Ims, and he’s gone, quick-pushing his way off the main walkway and onto a side slip. I try to copy him, but there’s some Dogs warriors coming the other way, all of them with knives naked in their hands. They glare at me, on my own now, and there’s threat rising off them like steam.
    â€œWhat you doing, little Isling?” sneers one.
    â€œHis Boss can’t be so great as he makes out,” says another, “not if he’d let a little Angel like this out on its own. To get peeled by a gang of good Dogs.”
    I look about, but Ims is gone, and I’m facing six yellow-leathered Dogs. There ain’t no way I can fight that many. Quick as I can, I’m ducking and diving. Into the crowd, behind a trader carrying a basket of clucking chickens, squeezing in between two fat servant women.
    â€œOi! Come here!” shouts one of the Dogs. And there’s a bit of shrieking and shoving behind me as they try to catch me. But they’re too big, too many, to get through this crowd the way I can. I weave in and out, letting the crowd take me along. Past the end of the market building, past the shops and stalls that