Читать книгу Red Sister онлайн | страница 92

Coming to the first rise, Ketti slowed still further, and waited for the whole structure to adjust to her weight that now levered it in a new direction. The drop beneath the platform seemed huge to Nona. More than enough to kill. Tall as a tree. How much would it hurt to hit those nets at such speed? Would they hold?

‘Ah!’ Ketti found herself in trouble, arms wheeling at full extent.

The three girls on the platform watched, transfixed. A moment later Ketti had control again and advanced twenty feet along a steeply descending curve.

‘Now it gets difficult,’ Clera said.

Ketti stepped towards the rise where the pipe began its spiral of three complete turns, so tall that she could fit within them. With agonizing slowness she began the transfer from the inner to the outer surface, relying on the traction from her tarred feet to anchor her to the cold metal. Against Nona’s expectation she reached the top of the first spiral.

Nona turned to see the dial, now almost through a complete circuit. ‘How long will it take h—’ A wail of rage and despair cut her off. Far below them Ketti hit the net and bounced, screaming in frustration.

‘She does better than that normally,’ Ghena said.

‘Your go, Nona!’ Clera gestured towards the start point.

Nona glanced at the resin pot in Clera’s hand but Clera looked away, leaning over to tease Ketti, who was now scrambling for the edge of the net by the door. Ghena pulled the lever, which trapped the pendulum at the end of its swing and set the dial to its original position. Turning back, she nodded to the dark patch on the platform just where the pipe started. ‘Stamp about there. You’ll get your soles sticky enough. Mistress Blade has the path cleaned every day – we think she must have a deal with the resin sellers. But she doesn’t tell us to clean the platform … so we don’t!’

Nona slipped her shoes off. The tar and resin felt tacky under her toes. She tried to concentrate on the sensation rather than all the empty space between her and the ground. Clera’s hoarding of her resin pot hurt a little but Nona knew that need and generosity have their own cycles. In hungry times the village was wont to share food – but when the hunger built to a certain point everybody, even the kindest of them, closed in on themselves, sharing only with their closest family. Perhaps there even came a point when famine could stop mother feeding child. Nona understood better than most that even the most sacred bonds could be broken under enough stress. Clera wasn’t hungry – but she was once rich and now was not. Perhaps to someone raised in luxury that was like starvation …