Dark Lord of Derkholm (38 page)

It was so dark by then that all Blade could see of her was a curve of beak, a gleam of eye, and the paleness of the bars on her wings. He was delighted to see even that much. She was Callette. She was family and home. “You wouldn't believe, Callette!” he said. “We got lost because the bandits were murdered by some escaped soldiers and one of them keeps falling off her horse and one of them isn't even a Pilgrim!”

“Yes, but I have to get back,” Callette said. “I spent hours looking for you. I'm supposed to be doing the Hunt.”

“Sorry,” Blade said. “Is everyone all right? Kit, Dad, Don?”

“Don nearly lost all the dogs last night,” said Callette. “Even Kit's tired. He keeps being nice to me. Do you want these geese or not?”

“Yes, I suppose,” said Blade.

He got behind the hamper as Callette tipped it up and opened it. No geese came out. Instead, two large pale pigs, sleepily grunting, stuck their snouts up to stare at Callette. Callette stared back in almost exactly the same surprised posture she had used when she brought Mr. Chesney the barrel of blood, beak poised downward, wings curved up. But Blade could somehow see her surprise was real. “How are they here? What have those geese done now?” she said.

“Translocated two pigs? Callette, they
can't
have done!” said Blade.

“They can,” Callette said. “They do all sorts of things at night at home. They got bored being avians. Last night I only managed to get one into the hamper. I put her in, and she pecked me.”

“And now they're showing you. I see,” Blade said. The pigs recognized him and ambled amiably around to him. They were Ringlet and Bouncer by the feel, he thought.

“Do you want to use the pigs instead?” Callette asked.

Blade, with an arm around each of two warm, tubby, bristled bodies, found himself horrified at what the professor's whistling sword or Reville's rapier might do to them. “They'd get killed. Dad would have fits.”

“I suppose I could swoop over your bonfire a bit,” Callette offered.

Blade found himself horrified at that, too. “No, you'd get hurt. Then you couldn't do the Hunt. Put them back in the hamper and go. I'll think of an illusion or something.”

“If you're sure,” Callette said, obviously glad to go.

“I am sure,” Blade said. “You get going.”

Ringlet and Bouncer were only too pleased to resume their interrupted snooze in the hamper. Callette took them up with a jerk and a slight whop of wings and ghosted away. Blade felt sad. Too sad and much too tired to think of illusions. He had no idea how Kit did them, anyway.

“I have averted the evil,” he announced to the Pilgrims. “You may sleep in peace.”

Shona naturally wanted to know what had happened. Blade took her some way down the hill and explained.

“Those geese have funny minds,” she said. “Dad says they always want to fly south really. Maybe they did.”

“They'd better not fly near me,” Blade said. “I'll—I'll—actually it's hard to think of something to do to geese that are probably wizards, but I'll do
something.
”

He took the Pilgrims toward the Wild Hunt the next day. They missed it entirely.

Blade could not understand it. He had led everyone through the confusing hilly landscape, not confused at all and quite confident that he was converging on the place near the river where the Hunt was to find them, and instead they came out above the wide green vale where Mara's aunt's house was. Three days early. Blade was almost as astonished to see it as Callette had been to see the pigs.

B
LADE LOOKED AT THE
distant clump of trees hiding Aunt's house, and the inviting spire of smoke rising up from it, and decided that it would be silly not to go down there. Besides, he doubted if the Pilgrims would let him lead them away from it.

Dad Poole said, “Hey, that looks inviting!” and most other people said thankfully, “Civilization at
last!
” while Sukey said, “I'm cold, I'm hungry, and I'm
tired
. I'm not going a step further on this stupid tour unless I can have a bath and wash my hair.”

“You shall, you shall, my lady,” Reville assured her. He was looking at the spire of smoke as eagerly as anyone there.

Blade looked them over, uncomfortably. Most had that pinched and withered look you get from being out in all weathers with too little food. The women drooped. The men nearly all had slightly villainous beginnings of beards. They clearly needed a rest. As Blade looked, Miss Ledbury met his eye. For a wonder, she did not say anything, but Blade knew what she meant. They were to go down to that house, or Mr. Chesney would want to know why. Professor Ledbury just smiled. He was the only one who seemed to be thriving on the tour. He actually looked younger than when he had first arrived, sort of boyish, Blade thought.

The trouble was, Mara was not expecting them yet. Blade cleared his throat and stroked his beard importantly. “Our first clue lies within that hidden house,” he said, “and we must go there. But great danger lies within as well. It is the Lair of an evil Enchantress. Perchance she is away from home. I will go ahead and scout. The rest of you follow slowly—Geoffrey, make sure they do.” Geoffrey nodded cheerfully, and Blade knew his orders would be obeyed. “Be prepared to flee if I shout,” he warned them as he set off.

He rode down the vale at a canter, throwing up divots of moist turf, and slowed up only when he came to the little gate into the wood. The village mayor met him there, looking most magnificent in a sort of priestly cope of silver and blue.

“It's all right. We saw you coming,” he told Blade. “You're not the only ones to come at the wrong time. The last lot are just leaving, so she says you might as well bring yours in now. But bring them this way, so they don't see the other lot.”

“Right. Thanks.” Blade turned and made glad beckonings. The group of people cautiously approaching across the pastures broke into an eager gallop, even Mother Poole, who actually stayed in her saddle, so anxious was she to get to civilization.

The mayor solemnly bowed each of them through the gate and led them among the trees to spacious stables that Blade did not remember ever being there before. Here boys and girls from the village, also dressed in blue and silver, led the horses away. Every one of them was trying not to laugh at the sight of Blade in his beard. Blade glowered as he followed the mayor into—He looked up at what had been Aunt's house. Wow! he thought. The place was a small fairy palace with tinsel towers.

His mother stood in the hallway in a dress that made Blade ashamed to look at her. Everyone else goggled. He heard Shona murmur, “Honestly!
Mother!
”

Mara smiled and welcomed everyone. And, as Blade knew because he could feel a sharp, headachy tingling, she bespelled every soul who trooped in past her, except Blade himself. “Why did you do Shona, too?” he whispered.

“She was going to give trouble. I could see it in her eye,” Mara said. “What's the matter with her? Why is she here, anyway?”

Blade explained about the scroll from the bards. “But I think it's Geoffrey Sleightholm who's the matter with her now,” he said.

“Ah. Well, I can look into that while she's here. Poor Shona!” Mara said. “And you look damp and tired out, my love. Go upstairs and get dry and clean and rested, and come down when you're ready for something to eat. Then you can see what all this is about. You can take that beard off if you want. No one's going to notice.”

Blade went without thinking to the room he usually had when they stayed in Aunt's house, and it was still there, looking just as usual in the midst of the fairy palace. Fran's cousin Greta from the village was just finishing changing the sheets on the bed. “It's like running an inn, this,” she told Blade. “One person out, next person in, and hardly time to get sheets washed in between. But it's all in a good cause. Your mother's a wonderful woman, Blade.”

“Yes, but that
dress!
” said Blade.

Greta laughed. “That! That's her
modest
one! She said to me, she said, ‘Oh, dear, Blade's on his way here now,' she said, ‘and I don't want him to see any of the usual dresses. Where's the one that covers the top of me got to?' And we couldn't find it at first. We had a right panic on, I can tell you!”

“Oh.” Blade could not help wondering about Mara's other dresses then.

After Greta left, he fell on the bed and slept. It was early evening when he woke. His first act was to get rid of the beard. That was such a relief that he almost decided not to have a bath—until he realized that his reason was that Sukey had whined on about needing a bath, and knew that this was childish of him. So he got clean and dressed in the ordinary clothes that Greta had hung over a chair for him. They were some of his own old clothes that Mara had obviously brought along here specially. Blade was pleased that she had remembered, but a bit rueful that the clothes still fitted him. Two years ago, when Kit and Callette were growing so big, Mara had promised Blade that he would shoot up to be taller than Derk when he was fourteen. But this still had not happened.

Feeling very hungry by then, he went downstairs. Down here the whole house was different. Blade made his way toward the place where, by the sounds, there seemed to be a party going on. He could hear a continuous, humming roar of voices, mixed with singing and someone playing the flute, and the clinks of glasses and plates. Blade thought he recognized the flute playing as Shona's, and sure enough, as soon as he entered the vast, draped, glittering saloon that had once been Aunt's drawing room, the first person he saw was Shona. Shona was standing on a dais, looking flushed and happy and very pretty in her best dress, playing her flute as if nothing else mattered in the world. The village choir, in blue and silver, was on the dais behind her, doing the singing. The rest of the room was full of people sitting in pairs at little gilded tables, talking and eating.

One of the village girls grabbed Blade's arm. “Here you are. This table's you. Your mum says eat first and then go around and listen to what they're all saying. It's a scream, really. They don't notice a thing, with all the spells she's got on them. But I wish you'd kept that beard. I wanted to see it.”

“You'll see it tomorrow.” There was a huge meal steaming on the little table, all Blade's favorite foods. Blade sat on the one little gilded chair and became very busy for a while. He could tell as he ate that Lydda had not cooked this food—though someone had done it quite well—which saddened Blade, because it meant that Lydda was still not back from planting the clues. But he could hear Elda's voice ringing out from somewhere across the saloon.

Elda was the first person he looked for when he was finally satisfied. The days of traveling had left him hungrier than he had thought possible. But he was done at last. Elda was right on the other side of the huge room, couched opposite one of the straight-haired serious Pilgrim girls that Blade still could not tell apart. Elda was very pleased with herself. She had a small twinkling tiara fixed across her crest and other long twinkling threads streaming across her wings and her back. Her coat and feathers gleamed with care, rich gold and smooth, right down to the tuft on her tail, which, with Elda, was usually a mucky blob, but was now an elegant fluffy tassel. Blade could see it whisking excitedly above Elda's gleaming back.

To get to her, Blade had to go past most of the other tables in the room. There was a Pilgrim at each table, facing someone from Mara's household. Most of them were people from the village, but some were people Blade had never seen in his life. The nearest table held a rather majestic lady in crimson, sitting across from Miss Ledbury. At first he thought he had never seen her before. But as he passed, he heard her say, “Oh, no, my dear. I'm afraid I was more ruthless than that. When I realized that my husband was going to let the city be destroyed and keep all the money himself, I put him in a dungeon and took over.”

Miss Ledbury seemed quite unusually bemused. Her notebook was lying beside her plate, but she seemed to have forgotten it. She leaned forward and asked anxiously, “Is he still in the dungeon?”

The lady in crimson picked the notebook up and put it into Miss Ledbury's hand. “No, my dear. The elves let him out. Do remember to take notes, won't you? We want this all down in black and white. He's not duke anymore, and I don't think the people will have him back.”

The Duchess of Chell! Blade thought, edging past. Well, I never!

Miss Ledbury was scribbling industriously, and the Duchess was saying, “But it was quite an operation to make sure all the citizens were safe,” as Blade moved on to the next table, where the mayor was describing to Dad Poole how they had had to dismantle the village in order to meet Mr. Chesney's requirements. Mother Poole, at the next table, was listening to Old George's son, Young George, who was telling her exactly how much everyone who assisted with the tours got paid. “It's not equal pay by any means,” Blade heard Young George say, “when you think that King Luther is getting two hundred gold this year and the dragons are only getting their one gold goblet each every five years.” Beyond this, Blade edged past Sukey, who was listening to a lady dressed in the same sort of doeskins as the Horselady describing what happened to horses in the battles. To Blade's surprise, tears were pouring down Sukey's face. At the table after that, Reville had his face wryly twisted as he listened to the death rate among the legions. By now Blade had seen what was going on, so it did not surprise him, when he reached Elda, to hear Elda saying to the long-haired girl, “No, you still seem to think Dad keeps me like something in a zoo. I'm a
person,
not a teddy bear or a savage beast.”