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

as if it might once, at its centre, have held a jewel. Now it only stared at them like an empty eye, like a reproach.

Dina raised her eyebrows and set the box down. She tapped her forefinger hard, four times, against the box’s edge.

A scuffing noise came from the stairs, as of a shoe slipping on a tread.

With a single motion of her hands, Dina indicated that Fitz should stay where he was, the box in his hands, with the lantern by his side. Moving like a cat, she seemed to flow through the darkness, utterly silently, and lodged herself in the alcove by the base of the stairs. When Dolly stepped through the doorway, Fitz met her eyes; they both knew at once that she didn’t have a chance. Pouncing and subduing her in a single stroke, Dina leaped on her, at once both under her and over her, her arms circling her, her head craned back for balance as she dropped Dolly to the floor with a wrench of her whole weight. She hadn’t hit the floor before Dina was on top of her, trussing her hands, then her feet. Fitz had never seen fingers work so fast, so dextrously; the lengths of cord drawn from a collar round her neck danced in the air as if the stunt had been choreographed, as if Dina were not a fighter but an artist, as if the neat twists that she bound round Dolly’s ankles and wrists were not restraints, but sculptures worked from twine and motion. Dolly’s face was a mask of resignation and discomfort. She grimaced as Dina drew a gag across her mouth and fastened it behind her right ear, cinching it tight.

‘Wait here,’ she said. She tossed Dolly’s crossbow and quiver, still by the sounds of it full, into a stack of rags in the shadows, along with a loop of cable Dolly wore at her waist, then crossed the room back towards Fitz among the jars.

‘That’s one,’ she said. ‘I expect the others will be along directly.’

Fitz must have looked uncomprehending.

‘I left prints,’ said Dina, holding up one of her bare feet and wiggling her toes. ‘On purpose. I’d rather they followed me, so I know where they are. It’s much easier to beat them when you can lock them in a cellar first.’

Fitz might have smiled, but he didn’t have the opportunity. Suddenly all around them the clay jars seemed to stand up, the lids rising through the air to reveal Padge, Fingal, Navy and Payne. From a standing start Dina tried to vault over their heads, but even she didn’t have the power – and anyway the others had thrown a net across them both, and with practised determination, notwithstanding a quickfire barrage of contortions from Dina, they secured the net’s corners to the floor, and then by means of a drawstring drew it close around them. Fitz found himself entwined with Dina, his arm round one of her legs, and his head bowed at an uncomfortable angle below her knee.

‘Open, sesame,’ said Navy, with satisfaction.

‘Working together,’ said Dina, in a low and steady voice. ‘Cheating.’ She paused. ‘I like it.’

Padge was looking around while Fingal held the net closed. The tall boy’s bitter lips smirked. He prodded Dina’s nose with his boot. Navy had rushed to Dolly and was untying her.

‘Where’s Russ?’ asked Padge. ‘Did you see him?’

‘No,’ answered Dina. She sounded bored.

She always sounded bored when she wasn’t in charge, Fitz thought.

‘Try his bed,’ she added. ‘He always sleeps through cases.’

While Fingal was distracted with her nose, Dina had managed to get her other fingers far enough through the net to take hold of the laces of Fingal’s other boot. With a sharp upward thrust that looked like it might have dislocated her own shoulder, she pulled his foot out from under him and knocked him to the floor. He landed heavily on Fitz’s leg, but didn’t drop the net.

Pain spiked through Fitz’s thigh and up his back. He bit his tongue rather than cry out, hard enough that he tasted blood.

‘Dina, let it go,’ said Padge. He had been scraping at something on his leg, and now looked up at them in annoyance. ‘You’re out of the case. What was in the box?’

‘Nothing,’ Dina answered, from between her teeth. She had wrapped the lace round Fingal’s boot and was now twisting his lower leg hard against his knee. He fought to get his balance, and kicked back at her hands, but the heavy cords of the net guarded her fingers and she wouldn’t relinquish her advantage. No one else moved to help Fingal.

‘Dina, come on –’ began Padge.

‘No,’ said Fitz. ‘She’s telling the truth. There was nothing in the box. Just an empty niche, like it was made for a ring or something.’

‘It was meant for this,’ said Dolly. Finally on her feet, she crossed the room, wincing as she settled her weight on her bruised ankles, and drew from her pocket what looked, as it caught the light from the lantern, like a diamond. ‘I found it in Russ’s bed when I went to wake him. He wasn’t there.’ She set the diamond in the box’s empty carved niche. It fitted perfectly.

‘So,’ said Payne.

‘So,’ said Navy, peering at the diamond in its wooden setting.

Fingal had unlaced his boot and pulled it off in order to free his foot. Now he was nursing it, with his back to one of the big clay jars. He was well aware of the indignity of his situation, Fitz thought, and he let his long hair cover his face from the others. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ said the older boy, more as a petulant complaint than a question.

‘It means we’re looking for Russ, you oaf.’ Dina had worked the net open with her foot while distracting Fingal with his boot. Now in a fluid motion she slipped out of the opening, sprang between two jars, and bent to a crouch as she