Carola Dunn (20 page)

 “Oh no, I don’t want to hurt him, just catch him. They all think I can’t but I’ll show them. So, will the rowan berries work in my pocket, ma’am?”

 “Yes, but do not leave them there longer than need be. They will last better hanging up.”

 “Thank you, ma’am.” Blushing the lad stammered, “Wh-what do I owe you?”

 “Half-a-crown.” She would have charged a poor man sixpence for the same charm, which could be picked free in any copse. As she had explained to Reynata, people had no trust in a free charm, and belief was an important part of magic. “Half-a-crown and a report tomorrow on what occurs tonight,” she amended.

 Business concluded, Reynata offered a cup of tea. Since her hands were covered in dough, John obligingly lifted the kettle from the hearth and poured it over the herbs in the pot. He even held a cup of the brew to Reynata’s lips so that she could drink. Though the fragrant tea was obviously not to his taste, he politely swallowed it down.

 “A good lad,” Grandmama observed when he had departed.

 “You did not want him to know the thief is his brother?” Reynata asked, shaping loaves.

 “The fewer the better. He might let it slip to the others. Besides, we cannot be sure.”

 “No, but I shall watch in the gardens tonight. I cannot see into the walled garden, though. You must come with me, Tibb.”

 “Grawk,” said the raven grumpily, having at last cleaned his beak. “Smells good but sticks like a burr. Fresh mouse-flesh never does that. Miaow!”

 “Listen, Tibb! You will have to persuade John to bring Lord Drake here instead of taking him into the house, where he would be in dreadful danger from Damon and Basil.”

 “If it is Lord Drake,” Grandmama reminded her, “and if John catches him.”

 “I don’t know whether to hope it is and he does, or not,” Reynata said wretchedly. “If not, we may never find him.”

* * * *

 John was determined to prove he was not the fool everyone supposed him. He dined lightly, taking no wine, and followed the meal with several cups of black coffee, though he liked the drink no better than Gammer Gresham’s herb tea. Putting on warm clothes in dark colours, he went out to the walled garden.

 The Earl had decided against having his servants patrol the area. He wanted to catch the thief, and a troop of men were more likely to scare him off. So the head gardener gave John the key to the door in the wall. John went in and locked the door behind him.

 It was eerie out there by himself in the dark. He wished for a lantern, but of course that would warn the thief of his presence. Thank heaven it was another clear night, for the only light came from the stars. The flagstone paths were barely visible and tall plants loomed all around. John felt in his pocket—yes, he had remembered the rowan berries. At least black magic could not touch him.

 He walked around the paths, then decided that however softly he placed his feet, he made too much noise. Going over to the persimmon tree, he stood under it, leaning against the trunk.

 The moon rose, all but full. Instantly the garden became a place of enchantment, painted silver and black by the pale light. The broken glass on the surrounding wall glittered. Above John in the nearly leafless tree, the sole remaining fruit gleamed like the golden apple Father believed it to be.

 John padded around the tree to stand in the moon-shadow. The wait was dull and chilly, but he was patient, moving as the shadow moved.

 After a while, he heard the distant sounds of Damon and Basil returning merry from the Green Dragon. All the gates and doors and windows would be locked now. Everyone went to bed. Alone, John stood waiting for the mysterious thief.

 And the thief came. Soaring over the wall, its lustrous feathers shimmering like flame in the moonlight, the bird flew straight to the persimmon tree and alighted on a high branch.

 John held his breath as the magnificent marauder turned its crested head this way and that, crystal eyes alert for danger. Then it hopped down through the boughs towards the last golden apple. It stopped, amber beak stretching towards the fruit.

 Its long tail dangled almost within John’s reach. He leapt from the shadows and grabbed.

 Startled, the bird sprang up, its great wings beating the air. It wrenched its tail from John’s grasp and fled with a cry of alarm, speeding into the night until even the radiance of its moonlit feathers disappeared from his sight.

 But it left a feather in his hand.

Chapter VI

 With a despairing cry—”Reynata!”—the resplendent bird soared over the wall, flying high, fleeing eastward.

 Lord Drake had called her name! Yet he could not have guessed Reynata was near, and if his bird-vision had seen her as he arrived, he would not have recognized her in the vixen crouched outside the garden with ears pricked. She had tried to change back, hoping he might come to her, but the moon was near full and she was caught in her fox form.

 At least his cry roused Tibb. The raven had fallen asleep, perched in a tree with a view over the wall. He had seen nothing of what occurred, but waking he recalled his duty. A black shadow rose and winged after the fiery bird.

 Reynata heard the click of a key turning in a lock. John was coming out of the garden, but in her present shape she dared not reveal herself to ask him what had happened. Sadly she turned homeward.

 Fallen leaves crackled underfoot as she raced through the forest. A west-wind arose, tossing the branches and making moon-shadows shift and waver, but to vulpine senses the way was plain. So was the presence of the big dog-fox when she met him face to face. She stopped.

 “Good-even, little sister.”

 “Good-even, brother.”

 “You run noisily,” he said with reproach, “as though all the hounds of hell were on your trail. Take care! Hounds are rarely seen hereabouts, as you told me, but poachers are no observers of the proprieties and sometimes shoot at foxes. Besides, you scare our prey. Go in silence.”

 “I’m sorry,” Reynata apologized. “Did you find the vixen I told you about?”

 “Yes, and I thank you. Windflower and I will mate when the time is right. My name is Cobnut, by the way. Yours is Reynata, I believe?” He sniffed at her in the vulpine equivalent of “How do you do?”

 The moonlight was bright enough for Reynata to see the effort he made not to wrinkle his nose at her human scent. Fortunately she had no equivalent distaste for the fox scent.

 She went on, making an effort to move quietly.

 When she reached the cottage, unable to open the door and unwilling to disturb the old woman, Reynata curled up outside. She had no heart for roving the woods and fields as she usually did at this phase of the moon. Though she was a nocturnal animal, she slept, tired out after a busy day and the hopes and fears of the past few hours.

 In the morning, when Grandmama called her in, she was full of energy and ready to set about rescuing Lord Drake. Unfortunately, seeing him had not suggested any useful course of action. Tibb had not yet returned. Until he brought news of the enchanted bird’s whereabouts, Reynata was stymied.

 There was still no sign of Tibb by mid afternoon, but John Drake turned up, though it had started to rain. Again the wise-woman was aware of his approach before he knocked, giving Reynata time to hide in the small back room. From there she could hear everything that passed in the main room, and no one ever ventured into the chamber where Gammer Gresham kept her spells.

 “Good-day, ma’am!” John sounded remarkably cheerful. “I’ve come to tell you all about it. The thief was a magic bird, a firebird, that lit up the night with its glitter and glow. I didn’t manage to capture it when I jumped out of the shadows, but I pulled a feather from its tail.”

 No wonder Lord Drake had flown off so swiftly. Taken by surprise, he could not have seen who attacked him, and he must have feared it was Damon or Basil. Would he ever risk another visit to his home?

 “Did you bring it with you?” Mistress Gresham asked eagerly. Reynata guessed she might hope to be able to disenchant Lord Drake with the aid of his feather.

 “Lord, no! Father’s locked it in the cabinet with his greatest treasures. He wouldn’t part with it for ten thousand guineas. It’s the most beautiful thing you ever saw, long and curling, and gleaming like red gold but soft as silk. You should have seen Father’s face when I gave it to him, ma’am. And Damon and Basil this morning, green with envy because Father’s so pleased with me.”

 Reynata heard the smile in Grandmama’s voice. “You have certainly taken them down a peg or two.”

 “Well, yes,” John said disconsolately, “but it would have been better if I’d caught the bird. Now Father has the feather, he’s simply wild to have the firebird for his aviary. He said he’d give Winworthy Manor—it’s not entailed—to Damon or Basil, whichever brought him the firebird, but he won’t let me go! He doesn’t think I’m old enough or have enough sense. It’s not fair!”

 “I daresay he does not care to be left alone, without any of his sons,” the wise-woman soothed him.

 “He’s given them two hundred pounds each for expenses. I wish Aldwin had not gone for a soldier. I’d still be the one left at home, I expect, but I wouldn’t mind him winning. If Damon catches the firebird and gets to be rich, he’ll be unbearable. He’s leaving in the morning to start the search.”

 “And Basil?”

 “Damon told him to wait a day before he sets out,” John said with scorn, “and he always does what Damon tells him. They’re both going to go towards London. They say, because I saw the firebird fly off to the east, but I think it’s because they’ve both wanted to go to London this age, only Father wouldn’t let them.”

 “Very likely, my dear.” A fey note entered the wise-woman’s voice, telling Reynata her foster-mother had had one of her occasional flashes of premonition. “I am inclined to believe you should not give up your desire to take part in the search. Keep pressing the Earl for permission to go and in the end he will relent.”

 “Will he? I’ll keep asking then, ma’am. Where is Reynata— Miss Gresham? I wanted to tell her about the firebird. Its cry sounded a bit like her name.”

 “Bird calls often sound like words. Reynata is running an errand.”

 “Oh, maybe I’ll meet her going back through the woods. Thank you for the rowan charm, ma’am. If I hadn’t had it in my pocket, the firebird might have burnt my fingers!”

 John went off, and Reynata emerged from the back room.

 “Poor Lord Drake, losing a tail-feather. I hope it did not hurt him badly. Grandmama, is John going to find him?”

 “Not without your help, my love.”

 “Of course I will help!” Reynata cried. “What must I do?”

 “I shall explain, but I warn you that the end is unclear. You will find many difficulties along the way, and I cannot be certain all will be overcome. Nor am I sure that if the firebird stood before me at this minute, I could change it back into Lord Drake.”

 “We can but try,” said Reynata soberly. “Tell me what I.... Oh, here is Tibb at last!”

 Her foster-mother opened the window, and Tibb sidled in, keeping one black, beady eye on Reynata. He had not been a raven long enough to be quite convinced she would not absentmindedly snap him up when in her fox form.

 “Where did he go?” she demanded of the weary, bedraggled bird. “Did you manage to keep him in sight?”

 “Long enough to tell which way he was heading,” Tibb said sourly. “Straight into the rising sun—if it hadn’t been the middle of the night—so I followed as best I could. I nearly caught up with him over Exmoor but he outpaced me again.”

 “You lost him?”

 “Wait a bit, wait a bit, grawk! He was flying up from the ground when I spotted him...”

 ...Aldwin had landed in his usual place among the rocks, but hunger would not let him rest. He flew on as swiftly as his tiring wings would carry him, until the moors were behind him. As the sun rose, he came to the orchards of Somerset. No golden apples grew here in the Vale of Taunton Deane, but from the cider-apples liquid gold was pressed. Though most of the orchards had been picked bare, at last Aldwin passed over one where the ripe apples still hung. Their sweet savour rose with the morning mists.

 Without a second thought, he dived, then spread his wings to slow as his feet stretched out to grip a laden bough. Too late he saw the net. His claws were already entangled.

 With desperate strength he beat the air. The net billowed but the mesh held him fast. Three rough-clothed men ran up to surround the tree. Despite the awe in their faces, the shotguns were steady in their hands...

 ...”They shot him?” Reynata asked, aghast.

 “Niaow! Had more sense than that. You should have seen him with the morning sun shining on that plumage! Gaudy, some might call it,” Tibb remarked, preening his sober black feathers, “but I must say it was a sight to be seen. They bundled him up in the net and carried him off.”

 “Did you follow?”

 “Frankly, I was fagged out. I went to roost in a nearby elm, and had a chat with a local rook. Junior branch of the family to which I now belong, don’t you know, and properly respectful, I must say. Brought me some grain and a dead mouse—wouldn’t have touched ‘em as a cat,” he mused, “but I’ve quite a taste for seeds and carrion these days.”

 “I shall turn you back into a cat if you don’t come to the point, Tibb,” Gammer Gresham threatened.

 “Miaow! Cousin Rook told me how his-featherbrained-lordship plunged in without so much as glancing around for danger. Seems those apples were something special, Cherry Normans left on the trees to reach the peak of sweetness before making into cider for the baronet’s own table.”

 “What baronet?” Reynata cried. “Was Lord Drake taken to him?”

 “Reckon so. Sir Rex Dolmat’s the name.”

 “Then we can find him. Bless you, Tibb!”

 But the raven did not hear. His tale told, he had tucked his head under his wing and he was already fast asleep.

* * * *

 The next morning, as Grandmama instructed, Reynata waited in the ruins of an abandoned cottage at the edge of a copse just before the lane from Middlecombe reached Long Yeoford. Still in fox-form, she sat on her haunches with her black-tipped ears pricked forward, listening for hoofbeats.