The Giant's Almanac by Andrew Zurcher (black female authors .txt) 📕

We’re trying to capture the flag, and he’s trying to capture – us.

As the seconds ticked on, the heavy tread of their pursuer seemed to sniff at every crevice of the yard. Now and again he would stop, or seem to walk away, and for long stretches they would hear nothing at all, not even the swell or tumble of the sea on the wind, which often on silent nights seemed to find its way among the crags and wisp like scattered threads into their windows and dreams. Then Fitz felt his muscles slack, and his lungs their tight air expended – only for a sudden movement, something as small as the crunch of a foot on sticks impossibly near, to seize every one of his nerves and, in an instant, wring them tight as a tourniquet. By the time the Jack did finally give up, and the sound of his feet at last died away on the telltale flags of the Commissar’s passage, every drop of blood in Fitz’s body had cooled, congealed and clotted.

‘He’ll be watching still,’ whispered Dina. Her voice was almost as dark as the darkness. ‘We go down.’

She led the way, inching down the hidden steps. Fitz followed as closely as he dared, cleaving to her body’s warmth and the rustle of her sleeve against the wall. His own finger he let trail the wall beside him as they descended, its tip gliding intermittently along the roughly mortared rocks. When they hit the bottom he crushed into Dina, slightly, and she steadied him before drawing him by the hand, through a low passage she must have known well. She knew it well enough, anyway, that after only a few steps, crouching to the floor, she drew from somewhere a little lantern and, striking a match, lit it.

‘I keep this here for times like this,’ she said, simply, and handed it to him.

Now it was Fitz’s turn to check Dina. He took her by the arm, so hard she almost dropped the box.

‘Why was the Jack shooting at us?’

Dina smiled. ‘He wasn’t. He’ll be the guardian on this case. He set the task, and so it’s his job to protect us.’

‘Then on the roof –’

Dina snorted. ‘Dolly with her crossbow. She always shoots in threes. So predictable.’

Fitz must have let his grip slip. Dina pulled away, walking a few steps further down the low-vaulted room, where she set the box on some large, flat-topped clay pots. They were huge, like urns, and Fitz decided they must contain kitchen stores. Apart from the little clump among which Dina had settled, beyond her in the gloom there were scores more.

‘She wasn’t trying to hurt me – just to slow me down. She wanted this.’

Indignant, Fitz had been determined to stand off, but he found his curiosity stronger than his resolve.

‘What is it?’ He had crossed the room with craven eagerness, and already found himself running his finger along the smooth lid.

‘I don’t know,’ said Dina. ‘The case always turns up somewhere in the Heresy, sometime in the night. It’s usually pretty obvious – like this time. Finding it, and getting it, is the easy part.’ She rolled her eyes, as if she considered the night’s events so far a little disappointing. Fitz felt the indignation begin to rise again in his shoulders and throat.

‘I guess Dolly isn’t the only one trying to slow you down,’ said Fitz.

‘No. All the Prents will be out. Everybody wants to be the one to open the case.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s always different. Sometimes it’s a puzzle. Sometimes it’s a prize. Sometimes it’s just a test of strength or speed. You don’t know till you open it. One of the Offs will make it up, and then act as guardian after the case has been laid. It’s a little like a competition. All the Prents compete to take possession, and then to complete.’

‘Complete?’

‘Follow whatever’s in the box.’ Dina blinked. ‘Read the clues. Take the plunge. Find the treasure. Work out the problem. Whatever. Keep going to the end.’

‘And the winner –’

‘Is me,’ said Dina, flat and severe. Her voice rang dead in the air like iron clanging, like a gate shutting or a lock turning into place. ‘I always win. I haven’t lost, ever.’

They were standing immediately opposite one another, so close that their breaths mingled as they drew them, but Fitz thought in the silence following Dina’s statement that a chasm as large as the world had cracked between them.

‘And what are the rules of this competition?’

‘There’s only one rule,’ answered Dina. Now her eyes shone brighter than the lantern in the dark. ‘No one gets hurt. As you saw in the Master’s court, that doesn’t mean that everyone plays fair. Staying safe requires a kind of collaboration. I know what Dolly is going to do, Dolly knows what I am going to do, and we work with one another, trying to edge round one another’s expectations tentatively enough that we’re never in real danger. We’re competing, but we’re also collaborating. That’s how games work, even when they’re dangerous.’

‘But if someone makes a mistake?’

‘That’s why the Jack is there. To protect us. And to clean up, if there’s an accident.’ Dina’s eyes softened a fraction. ‘I’ll show you the ropes, little brother. Tonight you’re my risk. Don’t make a mistake.’

Her eyes dropped to the box. Planting the heels of her hands firmly at the base on each end, she pushed up the lid with her thumbs. Despite himself, despite his show of reticence, his fear, his annoyance and frustration, and above all his confusion, Fitz was hooked. His eyes worked themselves into the growing gap between the lid and the box as Dina began to run her prising fingers round its edge, seeking, exploiting every crevice. At last it came free and, in the light from the lantern, the contents were laid bare.

Bare.

The box was empty. An elaborate wooden setting, sanded and varnished, seemed