Jack Shian and the Mapa Mundi (11 page)

Uncle Doonya ran to the bottom end of the square, but there was no trace of the old man. Jack was left again with the uncomfortable knowledge that a deadly opponent was able to disappear at will.

At supper that night, the subject of apprentice safety was the main topic of conversation.

“If there are Dunters running around Edinburgh, I don’t want any of you out in the city,” proclaimed Aunt Katie.

“But we can’t stay in the square all the time,” protested Jack. “Anyway, the Dunter can get into the square; we’re no safer here.”

“I just don’t like it,” his aunt said. “They’re horrible creatures. At least if you’re here, I can keep an eye on you.”

The youngsters exchanged surreptitious looks. There was no way they were going to be kept under the castle every day.

“We can’t really keep them here all the time,” said Uncle Doonya quietly to his wife.

“Especially this weekend,” blurted Lizzie, excited about the forthcoming May Day festivities. “It’s the Beltane party at Cos-Howe.”

Aunt Katie’s eyes were as round as saucers. “If you think I’m letting you lot out to Cos-Howe when there are bloodthirsty demons running around the city, you are all
very
much mistaken.”

Uncle Doonya steered Aunt Katie out of the kitchen and into the front room. When they had gone, Rana snapped, “You shouldn’t have told her about the party. We could’ve sneaked out and she wouldn’t have known. Now she’s going to be watching us like a hawk.”

“We’ll still get to the party,” said Petros confidently. “Dad’ll talk her round. You saw the way he took her out just now.”

When Uncle Doonya and Aunt Katie returned to the kitchen, Aunt Katie avoided their gaze. Uncle Doonya spoke.

“As long as I come with you, you can go to the party at Cos-Howe. It can be an early treat for Jack’s birthday. I’ll keep an eye out for any Dunters.”

“Er, actually, Dad, we haven’t been invited yet,” announced Petros, at which Rana gave him a swift kick under the table.

“What?” squeaked Aunt Katie. “Do you mean to say no one’s invited you? Well, why on earth do you think you’re going, then?” Her eyes blazed with indignation.

“Purdy and Freya are arranging it, Mum,” said Rana. “It’s how things are done.”

“Well, it’s not how things were done in my day. And the Cos-Howe Shian as well – well, some of them need taking in hand, that’s all I’m going to say.”

“You have to admit that they did a lot at Dunvik last year,” pointed out Jack. “If it wasn’t for Cosmo, we’d never have got the Chalice back. And they’ve been helping with the manuscripts.”

“We’re stuck with those,” admitted Uncle Doonya. “We know about the cave and the …” His voice trailed off as he saw the look in Aunt Katie’s eyes. There was a silence for a few moments.

“I admit that Cosmo is a good young lad,” stated Aunt Katie, pointedly ignoring what Uncle Doonya had been saying. “And his friends did help your grandfather, so I suppose they’re not so bad. But you do hear terrible stories about what they get up to.”

“You shouldn’t believe half the stories you hear, Mum,” stated Petros. “Dad’ll be there, and Ossian too. We’ll be all right.”

It was agreed that the youngsters could go – providing they had a proper invitation – as long as Uncle Doonya was there to keep an eye on things. Petros gave Jack a knowing look as they made their way out to the square, as if to say,
He’ll not be keeping an eye on me!

Why hasn’t Cosmo invited us anyway?
pondered Jack as he made his way upstairs that night. Still, a Cos-Howe party was a better way to celebrate his thirteenth birthday than anything he might get at home. Dunter or no Dunter, he was going to Cos-Howe.

Grandpa Sandy returned home just before lunchtime the next day. He was pale and looked older, but the glint in his eyes showed that the fire inside was still there. However, when Lizzie asked how Malevola had managed to defeat him, she was scolded ferociously by her mother and spent the rest of the meal sobbing quietly.

“We’re all going to the Beltane party tomorrow night,” announced Petros, trying to raise the mood. “At Cos-Howe.”

Grandpa Sandy smiled. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves. Some good youngsters in Cos-Howe.”

“I was saying yesterday how Cosmo and the others helped at Dunvik,” stated Jack. “And Purdy’s arranged for us to get invites.”

Aunt Katie arched her eyebrows at this, but Rana confirmed, “Honestly, Mum. Purdy spoke with Gandie, and he said it’s all right. And anyway, Dad’s coming.”

“Well, you just watch out for that Dunter,” said Aunt Katie.

“It’s all right, I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Uncle Doonya sounded confident, but Jack caught him looking quickly at Grandpa Sandy as he spoke. Although he really wanted to go to the party, a feeling deep inside Jack was telling him that something wasn’t right.

However, late the next evening, Jack had to concede that his worries had been unfounded. The Cos-Howe party was everything he’d hoped for. Burning torches decked the great hall, the food was magnificent and the entertainment had been superb. The previous summer’s party – Jack’s first big party – had been tame by comparison. Several Irish Phooka had flown in and had performed a series of sketches and dances, a wild mixture of history, comedy and song. An old Lunanti Shee gave an expert display of baton twirling with his blackthorn stick, while a tall green-clad Fiannat sang songs of old battles. Korrigans were playing on instruments Jack didn’t even recognise. The korrigans at Falabray the previous year had been timid and shy; these ones were playing music with expertise and real passion.

Jack wandered happily from one food-laden table to another. An hour later, and unable to eat any more, he sat down happily to watch the songs and dances on the various stages. It seemed bigger than he remembered, and he was embarrassed to be told scornfully by Petros that the whole place had been charmed for the night.

“It’s Beltane,” stated Petros, as he sat down beside Jack. “Didn’t you realise they’d put on a special show? Everyone’s having a good time – even the Kildashie are behaving themselves.”

They both looked across to where a dozen Kildashie were grouped together, still not really joining in, but posing no threat either.

“I thought Ossian was coming,” said Jack.

“Maybe he’ll come later,” said Petros, spraying crumbs from the corner of his mouth. “The low road only takes a few minutes.”

However, Ossian had not put in an appearance by nearly midnight, when Uncle Doonya made it known that they would leave soon after twelve.

“But the party goes on all night,” complained Petros. “Then everyone goes up to Falabray to watch the sun come up.”

“We’re not staying up all night.” Uncle Doonya was firm. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to, Petros. I’ve had a couple of friends watching you.”

“What d’you mean?” Petros looked guiltily at his father.

“Let’s just say I know. But I don’t have to tell your mother anything, providing you behave and come home with the rest of us.”

Jack turned round and saw that the far end of the hall had been cleared. Cosmo addressed the throng.

“I have one announcement: the match against Claville will be played three weeks tonight. The usual rules, but a new pitch.” He nodded across the room to where Henri from Claville stood with some of his compatriots. “For those who are leaving before dawn, we wish you a Good Beltane. And may the light skies travel with you.”

“Enjoy the party?” Uncle Doonya smiled.

Jack nodded. One part of him wanted to stay up and go to Falabray for the dawn, but another part was just exhausted. He got up, tugging on Petros’ sleeve and indicating for him to follow. Rather more slowly, Petros also stood up and made to join the others.

As Uncle Doonya went to say goodbye to Cosmo, Jack’s attention was caught by two people talking urgently by the far wall. He recognised Boreus the Kildashie, but could not for the moment place the other face.

“Who’s that talking to Boreus?” he asked Petros, indicating the pair.

Petros looked across and shrugged. “Face is familiar, but dunno his name.”

It was as if Boreus and the other Shian knew they were being watched. They turned, snarling as they saw Jack and the others. An icy chill ran through Jack.

“It’s Rob! He was hexed by Cosmo for cheating at the wrestling.”

The last time Jack had seen Rob, his face had shown abject terror as he waited for Cosmo to dish out his punishment. This time it wasn’t terror on Rob’s face: it was pure hatred.

The next morning, Jack wondered what to tell his uncle about Rob and Boreus. What had he actually seen them doing? They’d snarled at him, and he’d got that uncomfortable cold feeling, but what did that mean? Still, he couldn’t get rid of a nagging feeling that something was brewing.

Jack turned his attention to obtaining the Sintura belt. His hand was healed now, so he had no excuse for sloppy tailoring, but Gilmore was not going to be easy to win round. For one thing, Fenrig was still making himself popular with the tailor, so any gifts that might have been disbursed were more likely to go to him.

Although Jack’s punishment of extra lessons had finished, he found himself drifting back to Finbogie’s house several evenings a week. Finbogie was much better teaching one-to-one than addressing a class of apprentices, and Jack liked practising the defences and charms that he knew his colleagues couldn’t do. Jack’s little store of charms and wristlets was getting too big for the small box under his bed, but the problem of persuading Gilmore to make him a Sintura belt remained.

In desperation, he turned to Freya one day as they sat down to eat their lunch. Fenrig had disappeared back to his own home, and Doxer as ever was sitting silently by himself.

“Have you ever heard of a Sintura belt?” he asked in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Freya looked at him quizzically, a gleam in her eyes.

“I wonder why you’d want an expensive thing like that,” she said coolly.

“So you
have
heard of it?” persisted Jack.

Freya smiled and gave a slow wink. “The thread’s very rare, though,” she explained. “I’m sure Gilmore’s got some somewhere. But there’s special charms that need to be said as you make it.”

“Could you make me one?” Jack felt that the direct approach was warranted now, and he was disappointed to see Freya’s eyes drop.

“But I might be able to get hold of one for you,” she said after a pause. “If you make it worth my while.” She looked him in the eye again.

“Can’t we just call it my birthday present?” asked Jack innocently, and Freya’s laugh rang out around the workshop.

“I’ll see what I can do,” was all she would say by way of reply.

Jack’s birthday came and went with no sign of the Sintura belt. All the talk among the apprentices was of the forthcoming football match against Claville. Purdy continued to hint that she could get several of them into the Finisterre café-bar, where they would be able to see the game on what amounted to closed-circuit screens.

“There’s special sceptres all the way up the High Street,” Purdy explained late one afternoon as they lounged around the Shian square. “They all link together, and the pictures come up in the Finisterre.”

“The humans do that too,” pointed out Petros, not for the first time. “They have football games from all over the world shown in there.”

“Well, we’re not watching their football games,” snorted Rana derisively. “This is proper football, played the Shian way. One goal settles it.”

“You an expert, then?” teased Jack.

“Purdy’s been telling me all about it,” replied Rana confidently. “She’s been seeing one of the Cos-Howe players, and he’s been teaching her about tactics.”

“Will Ossian be playing again this year?” asked Lizzie.

“Swackit said he’d broken his leg: that’s why he wasn’t at the party. But he should be playing.”

“I can’t see how it’s the same as when they played in Claville,” announced Petros. “The High Street’s one big slope, and the gate at the bottom is huge. And it’s made of iron, so no one will go near it to defend it. Whoever plays downhill’s bound to win.”

“That’s why they even things up. The away team gets to choose which end to defend, so the home team get to remove one of the away team before the match begins,” stated Lizzie.

“It’s still a lot easier playing downhill,” pointed out Jack. “Even a man down.”

“There’s something else about hexes,” admitted Rana. “But Purdy wasn’t sure what that was.”

“The match is earlier this year than last year,” chipped in Boyce, who had wandered along and joined them. “You said it was after the midsummer festival last year. If it’s only a week away that’s about a month earlier.”

“It doesn’t have a fixed date,” explained Petros. “It’s whenever they can arrange things.”

“If they want to make home advantage really count,” pointed out Jack, “they’d have the game in January when it’s teeming down and blowing a gale. Can’t see the Claville lot liking that.”

However, the Claville crew picked perfect weather for their trip. They flew in a week later, landing on the field at Falabray, and made their way down the slope just before dawn. The horses were taken on to Keldy, where they could be looked after without drawing attention.

The Claville team (the “Premier crew”, as Henri called it) were accompanied by a dozen or so friends and mascots. Jack and Petros were entrusted with showing Philippe, Henri’s brother, around town. They accepted this duty happily, proudly showing off the city’s sights.

“Which way will Claville play?” asked Jack as they strolled past St Giles’ Cathedral.

“Defending the castle, of course,” replied Philippe confidently. “I think it will be easy to take the ball downhill.”

There had to be some reason the Cos-Howe crew had elected to use this as the pitch, but with the away team choosing which goal to defend it seemed an uneven contest before it had even started.

That evening saw the Claville crew based in the square under the castle, where they practised moves and entertained the locals prior to the game. The home team repaired to Cos-Howe to plan strategies. Jack and the other youngsters were not invited this time, causing indignation all round.