Arrow (Knife) (6 page)

‘What can I do for you?’ The jeweller’s voice was gruff, and he looked at her as though he did not like what he saw. But Rhosmari refused to let herself be daunted, for he held no weapon, and did not look quick or strong enough to do her any serious harm.

‘I have a pearl necklace I’d like to sell,’ she said.

As the pearls poured out across his counter, the man’s brows shot up. He picked up the necklace in his big, calloused hands and examined it with a lens, then bared his teeth and rubbed the strand across them. When at last he laid the pearls down again, it was with almost reverent care – but then he shook his head.

‘You’ve had your fun,’ he said curtly. ‘Now get out of my shop. I don’t do business with thieves.’

If he had slapped her in the face, Rhosmari could not have been more shocked. ‘I am not a thief!’

‘I suppose you just found the pearls then, washed up on the shore? Or did you inherit them from your old aunty, the Queen of Sheba?’ He snatched up the receiver beside him and began jabbing at it. ‘I’m calling the police. They’ll sort this out—’

She knew what that meant, and she knew it must not happen. In desperation Rhosmari flung up her hands, and magic enveloped the man in its sparkling glow.

At once the jeweller stopped, his angry look fading to bewilderment. ‘Now who was I calling?’ he murmured. He set the phone back down, blinking and rubbing one eye. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. How can I help you?’

But by the time he finished speaking, Rhosmari and her pearls were gone.

Rhosmari hurried down the street, heart hammering with the nearness of her escape. Why had that jeweller refused to believe that the necklace was hers? Was it because she was young? Or was there something else about her appearance that made him suspicious?

She paused to consider her reflection in a shop window, but noticed nothing unusual. The only thing that might give her away as a faery were the points on her ears, but her thick, loosely clasped hair hid them in any case.

Well, she would just have to find another shop that sold jewellery and try again. It was not a pleasant thought, but neither was the hollow feeling in her stomach, nor her growing conviction that someone from the Green Isles would come to arrest her at any moment. Shouldering her pack, Rhosmari set off again.

It took her several minutes of squinting at one window after another, but at last she found it: a tree-shaped rack of pins and necklaces, tucked between a stack of glazed pottery and a sculpture of a leaping dolphin. She knocked on the door, and waited.

‘Was it stuck?’ asked the woman, as she ushered Rhosmari in. ‘That’s a funny thing, it’s never done that before.’ But she spoke cheerfully, and her expression was kind. Heartened, Rhosmari showed her the necklace.

‘Good heavens, that’s a lovely piece,’ said the woman. ‘And antique, too. I don’t know anyone in St David’s who could give you the price of it. You’ll be better to take it to Haverfordwest at least, if not Swansea or Cardiff—’

‘I need the money now,’ said Rhosmari. ‘Please. I’ll take whatever you can give me for it.’

The woman looked from the pearls to Rhosmari and back again, her brow creasing. ‘You’re in trouble, are you, dear?’

Rhosmari bristled, but the woman held up a hand. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t mean to interfere. But it would help me to decide, if I knew why you needed the money so badly.’

‘I have to get to London,’ said Rhosmari. ‘It’s important. And urgent.’

‘Do you have friends there? Relatives who can look after you?’

‘Not in London,’ Rhosmari told her. ‘But…I know some people who live not far from there. In a place called Aynsbridge…’

A bird fluttered against the window as she spoke, distracting her. But by the time she glanced around, it was gone. She turned back to the woman and finished, ‘That’s where I have to go.’

Fortunately, those details were enough to put the shopkeeper at ease. She named a price that she could afford to pay, though she warned that it was far less than the necklace was worth, and assured Rhosmari that if she returned to the shop within six weeks she would give her the chance to buy it back again. Relieved, Rhosmari accepted the money, expressed her gratitude as best she could without actually saying
thank you –
for faeries did not say those sacred words unless it was a matter of life and death – and left the shop with a lighter heart.

She was crossing the square on her way towards the City Hall – the woman had told her she could catch a bus to Haverfordwest from there – when she heard it.
Cark
, came the rasping cry, and when Rhosmari looked up there were two ravens perched on the tall, circle-framed cross at the centre of the square.

There was nothing unusual about that, at first glance. But as their unblinking gaze met Rhosmari’s, apprehension shivered through her. Those were not ordinary birds – they were faeries, male faeries, in raven shape.

Yet they were not members of the Council Guard, or anyone else she recognised. That ought to have reassured her, but she could not help feeling uneasy just the same. On their way to the Green Isles, Timothy and Linden had been pursued by two raven brothers who served the Empress. What if these were the same Blackwings, come to capture Rhosmari and take her to their mistress?

But no, she was being ridiculous. According to Linden, few of the mainland faeries had even heard of the Children of Rhys, and still fewer believed in their existence. There was no reason that Corbin and Byrne Blackwing should be interested in Rhosmari at all, let alone pursue her.

Just then a smaller bird flashed across the square, tiny as a flung stone, and in a shirr of black feathers the ravens launched themselves after it. In seconds all three of them had vanished, and Rhosmari was alone.

After that unsettling experience, Rhosmari did not linger in St David’s even long enough to eat, let alone buy gloves for her cold-cramped hands. When the next bus left for Haverfordwest, she was on it.

Crowded by humans on both sides, nose wrinkling at the meaty pungency of their smell, she sat stiffly in the back of the bus as it skirted the coast and squeezed its way through the little towns of Solva and Newgale. But she soon forgot her discomfort, as every passing mile and every curve of the highway brought new and entrancing sights before her eyes. It amazed her that the human world could be so unpleasant in some ways, yet so beautiful in others.

At last the bus reached Haverfordwest railway station, and the door wheezed open to let them out. Most of the passengers headed straight inside, but Rhosmari hesitated. Her studies had taught her about the existence of trains and even a little of how they worked, but no faery she knew had ever ridden one.

Still, it was the fastest way to get where she was going. Rhosmari followed the last few humans into the station, watching and listening as they paid for their journeys. Then she stepped up and did likewise, and soon emerged onto the platform with ticket in hand. But apprehension had stolen away her hunger, and when a rich smell of meat and pastry wafted out of the nearby cafe she found herself edging away from it, nauseated.

As the crowd on the platform swelled from a few to many, the atmosphere became charged with expectation. But instead of gazing down the track like the rest of them, the human beside Rhosmari kept looking at the sky. Was it about to rain? Automatically she followed his gaze – and her heart jolted. Two ravens were flapping towards the platform, their wingbeats purposeful and sure.

And they were angling straight for her.

She must not panic. She must stay just where she was, and behave as though she had no reason to fear. Even if they were the same ravens she had seen in St David’s earlier, they might not mean any harm. Perhaps they only wanted to observe her a little more closely.

The ravens swooped lower, and Rhosmari braced herself for a confrontation – but then they veered away over the rooftops, out of her sight. Had she been mistaken? Had they just been ordinary birds after all?

A hand clamped around her arm, jerking her back beneath the station overhang. She cried out – but the sound went nowhere. Someone had cast a spell of silence over her, and there was nothing she could do to break it.

A lean body pressed against her back, and she smelled the sharp evergreen scent of an unfamiliar faery. His lips moved beside her ear, breathing an urgent whisper:

‘
Help me
.’

Startled, Rhosmari twisted to face the stranger. He was a wiry-built male not much taller than herself, with sharp features and pale hair slanting across his forehead. There were grey shadows beneath his greyer eyes, and his cheeks looked hollow with hunger.

‘Hide me from the Blackwings,’ he begged. ‘I will give you whatever you ask for, do anything in my power to repay you, but do not let them take me.
Please.
’

Rhosmari’s insides went cold. So the ravens were the Empress’s servants, after all. But were they only chasing this wild-eyed stranger, or did they want her as well? It was hard to believe that they would have followed her all the way from St David’s to Haverfordwest merely by coincidence…

She was still trying to decide what to do when the Blackwings stepped onto the platform in human shape, twin brothers with raven hair and the menacing grace of veteran hunters. With a shared glance and a nod to each other, they began to walk in opposite directions, studying each of the passengers in turn.

There was no more time for hesitation. ‘Stay close to me,’ Rhosmari mouthed to the stranger, and cloaked them both in the most powerful invisibility glamour she could devise. The Blackwings’ eyes slid towards them… Over them…

And past them, without so much as a pause. Rhosmari relaxed – then tensed again, struck by fresh anxiety. The Blackwings had already seen her standing on the platform when they flew in. Now that she had disappeared, how long would it be before they guessed she was hiding the stranger?

Distracted, she did not even hear the train approaching. But then came a metallic squeal, and the space beside the platform became a blur of carriages. The strange faery nudged her elbow, and she understood: they had to get on the train as soon as it stopped, and pray that the Blackwings did not follow.

The train slid to a halt, doors hissing open. The humans crowded forward, and Rhosmari and her companion crept invisibly after them. They slipped inside the carriage, pressing back against the wall.

Outside, the Blackwings paced the platform, unaware that their quarry had gone. But then the shorter of the two stopped, as though struck by realisation. His nostrils flared; he turned towards the train—

The door sang a wavering note and whirred shut, sealing the carriage. In seconds the train had glided away, leaving the station and the Blackwings behind.

The blonde faery let out his breath. ‘I am in your debt. My name is Martin.’

Which was his common name, nothing more – faeries never gave away their true names if they could help it. But still, the introduction showed a measure of trust. ‘I am called Rhosmari,’ she said.

‘A lovely name,’ said Martin. ‘It suits you.’

He spoke lightly, as though the words were mere courtesy. But the look in his eyes said otherwise, and Rhosmari had to drop her gaze.

‘I am grateful beyond words,’ Martin went on, ‘for your willingness to help a stranger. Few faeries I know would be so generous.’ He touched a button on the wall, and another door slid open to reveal a narrow-aisled compartment lined with seats. ‘Are you hungry? Let me get you something to eat.’

‘I have money,’ said Rhosmari, but Martin shook his head.

‘I told you,’ he said. ‘The debt is mine.’ He gestured to the seats. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back.’

Inside the compartment the air smelled stale, but at least it was warm. Rhosmari took a seat by the window, as far as she could get from the humans sharing the train with them, and let her pack slide to the floor at her feet. At first she was a little unnerved by the speed with which the countryside flashed by, but soon she began to find it comforting. Surely now it would be impossible for the Blackwings to catch up with them.

Soon Martin returned, holding two small loaves covered in filmy wrapping. He gave one to her and sat down, casually crossing one leg over the other, as though he had ridden a train many times before. Rhosmari unwrapped her loaf and pried off the top to find it stuffed with a generous portion of white meat, some surprisingly fresh-looking greens, and a scattering of dried berries. Where had it come from? She gave Martin a questioning look, but he had already bitten into his own loaf, and she was too famished to wait any longer. She spread her hands out in blessing and began to eat.

‘Why did you do that?’ asked Martin, and Rhosmari nearly dropped the bread before she remembered that this was not her mother’s table.

‘Do what?’ she answered, when her mouth was clear. She knew there was nothing actually
wrong
with talking during a meal, but still she could not help feeling uncomfortable and even a little guilty.

‘That gesture you made before you ate. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. What does it mean?’

How could she answer, without explaining that she was one of the Children of Rhys? ‘It’s a tradition,’ she said at last, ‘that my mother taught me. A way to show gratitude that we have something to eat.’

‘Ah,’ said Martin, but to her relief he did not press her further. They finished their meal in silence, and Rhosmari was just brushing the last crumbs from her skirt when the door at the end of the compartment opened and a brisk-looking man stepped in. ‘Ticket, please,’ he said to the woman on his right, and began working his way down the aisle towards them.

Martin reached into his jacket. Rhosmari stooped to look for her own ticket, but Martin was already holding out two cards for the man’s inspection.

‘But I—’ she began, only to be silenced by Martin’s warning look. As soon as the man handed back the tickets and moved on, Martin gave Rhosmari a conspiratorial smile and flicked the cards with a finger. At once they turned blank, and he tucked them back into his pocket.

So he had tricked the man? Rhosmari was speechless. She knew that male faeries had a special talent for changing the shapes of things, but she had not realised it could be used so deceitfully.