Scarlet in the Snow (7 page)

I stared at her. ‘But he . . . but I thought it was after lunch that he . . .’ My anger was quite forgotten now in the new rush of anxiety that flooded over me. I did not want to face the
abartyen
just yet. Not just now.

‘He has changed his mind. He wants to see you now,’ she said calmly.

‘But I’m not ready . . .’

‘Ready or not, you will go,’ she said firmly, and with a wave of her arm, ushered me out of the room, following close behind.

As I went down the great marble stairs and into the hall, it seemed as though all those blank picture-frames were glaring at me, like white alien eyes ready to devour me if I put a foot wrong. I cast my eyes down, not wanting to look, and almost tripped and fell, catching myself just in time. Behind me, Luel made a tutting sound, and I felt the anger rise within me again, chasing away the fear for an instant. Concentrate on your anger, I told myself, then you won’t be afraid. You won’t be afraid . . .

A most unexpected sound floated down the corridor towards us and I stopped. ‘What was that?’

Luel gave a thin smile. ‘Have you never heard music before?’

‘But it’s . . .’ I hesitated. ‘It’s lovely.’

‘Yes, it is.’

I wanted to find out more, but one glance at her face told me not to bother. Instead, I followed her through
the hall and down the long corridor, not to the gold and white sitting-room I’d glimpsed the day before, but to a cosy wood-panelled room with a real fire burning cheerfully in a plain fireplace and, heavens be praised, no empty picture-frames. Two armchairs sat facing the fire, with a little table between them. There was a music box on the table, of the kind you might find in a Christmas market, with brightly painted skating figures whirling endlessly round and round, to a sweet and melancholy tune. It was that tune, now fading away gently as the spring ran down, that I’d heard.

The
abartyen
sat unmoving in one of the chairs, with his back to me. All I could see was his shaggy mane of hair and the sides of his black velvet robe. And one heavy clawed hand on the armrest. I halted, my heart pounding.

‘She is here, my lord,’ said Luel, jabbing me in the back.

Silence.

She jabbed me in the back again, propelling me forward. Now I could see the
abartyen’s
profile – his crooked nose, the thick bristles on his cheeks, the sweep of thick dark eyelashes hiding that feral yellow glare. Under his robe he wore an elegant grey suit that looked quite out of place on his thick-set, bestial body, and his clawed feet were hidden in black felt indoor boots, twisted out of shape by what they had to conceal.

‘Luel, you may leave us.’ His voice was softer than yesterday, but still with that growling undertone of menace. I shot a panicky glance at Luel, my eyes pleading with her not to do as he said.

She stared right back at me and said quietly, ‘Very well, my lord.’ A swish of skirts and she was gone, the door closing gently behind her.

I was alone with the
abartyen
. For a fearful moment in which I could clearly hear my own heart beating, there was silence.

‘Sit,’ the
abartyen
said, without looking at me.

My skin prickling, I did as I was told. I was so close to him now that I could smell him, like I had yesterday. Only this time it wasn’t the sharp metallic tang of blood that caught in my nostrils. Nor was it any kind of wild animal stench or indeed any normal human smell, like sweat or even the faint scent of skin warmed by the fire. No, I can only describe it as something bleak and cold, like the smell of gloom. There was another silence, which seemed to go on for ever while I sat there in agony, wanting to say something but unable to. Every word dried up in my throat, every thought dissolved, except the terror a living creature feels when it is close to a predator. I tried to cope with my rising panic by staring into the bright cheer of the fire. But it didn’t help much.

‘Luel tells me I frightened you yesterday.’

I started, my head jerking up. What kind of cruel game was this? He
knew
I had been terrified – and for good reason. My ears burned. My stomach roiled with nausea. But I still could not speak.

‘You see, I do not remember,’ he said, as if he could read my thoughts.

I looked at him now, properly. His face was still turned away from mine, but I could see the clenched hand gripping the armrest. ‘I don’t understand,’ I stammered.

‘The darkness – it takes so much,’ he said very quietly. ‘I remember some things: the rose opening, the scarlet joy of it. I had forgotten what that felt like.’ He broke off and was silent so long I thought he wouldn’t speak again. Then he said, ‘Do you know how long the rose lasted?’

‘Er, no,’ I said tremulously.

‘It had only just opened when you came into the garden.’

I winced.

‘And then,’ he went on, ‘it was gone, and there was the scarlet in the snow, at your feet. And that is all I remember. But Luel tells me . . . there was more.’ He lifted his head and those tigerish eyes stared straight into mine, pinning me to the spot, breathless and confused. ‘Is that so?’

Was this a trick? I’d never imagined anything like this. What did he want? What would he do to me if I said the wrong thing? Should I lie? Should I pretend I hadn’t been scared or that nothing had happened? But I found my lips opening and my mouth forming the single word, ‘Yes.’

‘Ah,’ he said, on a long sigh. ‘I will not ask for your forgiveness, for why should you give it? But if it were possible for me to change what happened, then I . . . then I would do it.’

At his words, spoken with such a quiet desolation, an unexpected feeling arose in me. It was a feeling of immense pity, so intense that tears sprang to my eyes. I looked away, not wanting him to see them, not wanting to feel such a thing. I could not allow soft feelings to lull me into a sense of false security around this creature. Whether or not he was telling the truth about not remembering
what he’d done, he was dangerous. Either he was a deliberate liar and manipulator, or he was insane. Either way, I knew not to trust him or his words. But I must not make a show of defiance either. So I simply said, ‘I see.’

‘I do not think you do. If I could undo what has been done, you could go home and forget all about us.’

‘Oh, sir, please,’ I cried, unable to stop myself as hope rose wildly in me. ‘Please, could a way not be found to do it?’

‘No, there is no way,’ he said heavily. ‘I cannot take back what I did and –’

‘You cannot change that but you can change what happens after,’ I dared to say. ‘You can free me from my debt.’

‘No, that is not the way things work here,’ he said sadly, then paused. ‘And besides, it is too dangerous now for you to leave. It will be known that . . .’ He trailed off.

‘Please, sir,’ I gasped, ‘please, I must know. What is this danger? Why can’t I leave? Why can’t you change whatever you want to –’

‘That’s enough, young woman.’ It was Luel, re-entering the room so promptly I was sure she must have been listening at the door. ‘My lord cannot answer these questions, and even if he could, the answers would not help you.’

‘How do you know that?’ I was beside myself with fury, my fear almost forgotten. I turned to the
abartyen
. ‘Sir, if I – if I understood, maybe . . .’ I gulped. ‘Maybe I could – could also help
you.
’

I broke off in confusion. The words had come unbidden to my lips and now I couldn’t believe I’d said them. What
on earth had possessed me to say I’d help such a creature? I knew only that the words had come from deep inside me and could not be unsaid.

But if I was surprised at myself, it was nothing to the reaction I saw in the others. For the first time, I saw real disbelief flicker into the
abartyen’s
eyes, and Luel seemed genuinely taken aback, momentarily speechless.

But it was she who recovered first. ‘Do you know what you are saying? You are bound to repay your debt. That is an obligation. But this help you speak of you do not owe.’

‘I know that,’ I said, shuddering inwardly, because in truth I did not know at all what I was letting myself in for. Yet somehow I was instinctively more certain with every instant that passed that I must go through with my rash pledge. ‘Nevertheless, I am prepared to help.’

Luel raised her eyebrows. ‘Understand we cannot free you until –’

‘No,’ said the
abartyen
, speaking at last. ‘No, I won’t have it.’ There was that undertone of growling menace in his voice again, and for a moment the golden eyes burned into my face with a disturbing intensity.

‘My lord –’ began Luel.

‘We cannot ask for this,’ said the
abartyen
tightly. ‘It is too much. You know what it would expose her to.’

‘My lord, it is a risk, yes, but one that I believe we could manage.’ She glanced at me. ‘And Natasha has freely and willingly offered –’

‘No, Luel. I cannot allow any more harm to be done. Not to her, not to anyone.’ He got to his feet, breathing
raggedly as he drew the folds of his robe around him, and I sensed a titanic struggle within him. I shrank back as, looming over me for an instant, he said, ‘The darkness may take me, but at least I shall have done no more to deserve it.’ And then he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that everything rattled. The music box fell off the table. Its winding mechanism jolted briefly to life and it began to play a sweet tune – its lilting sound incongruous in the heavy atmosphere.

‘Well,’ said Luel, ‘what are we to do then, child?’ Bending down, she picked up the music box and set it on the table, and slowly the tune wound down.

Staring at the skating figures as though somehow they might give me a clue, I stammered, ‘I – I don’t know.’

‘Hmm.’ She threw me a little smile, the first she’d given me. ‘It has been a long time since I have experienced anything like this.’

‘Anything like what?’ I asked.

‘I have lived a long time – much more than any human span – as I’m sure you have guessed already,’ she said, her eyes twinkling. ‘And I thought nothing about the world could ever surprise me. Yet a little bit of a girl with ink-blots on her fingers has done more to astonish me than any of the magic-wielders I have ever known, human or otherwise. How did you know what to do?’

I could feel the fiery blush spreading up my neck and into my cheeks. ‘I didn’t,’ I said lamely. ‘The words just came. I – I’ve done nothing, really.’

‘Oh yes, you have. You have done an extraordinary thing. Hope came into this room with your words, and hope has never been a visitor here before.’

‘Please, stop,’ I cried. ‘I am so confused. I understand nothing. I do not even know what possessed me to say that I –’

‘It does not matter,’ she said. ‘It came from inside you. Nobody made you say it. You were not bound in any way. It was freely given.’

‘But your lord . . . he did not seem pleased at all and –’

‘He cannot recognise hope. Not yet. But that will change, believe me.’

‘I am glad if that is so,’ I said simply and, to my own surprise, discovered I really did feel glad.

‘I am sorry if I was a little hard and hasty with you before,’ Luel said, a slightly sheepish expression coming over her face. ‘But I did not quite know what to make of you.’

‘That wasn’t the impression I got,’ I said wryly. ‘You seemed to know everything about me, and I knew nothing other than that somehow you had engineered my coming to your door. The storm – was it your doing?’

Luel chuckled. ‘Of course not. I may have some . . . powers . . . but storm-calling is not one of them. Besides, even if I did have that power, I am not from here and the local winds would not obey me.’

‘Have other lost travellers come to your door before?’ I asked.

‘No. Only two have reached the hedge. I didn’t like the look of them. I have to be very careful, you see. I made sure to conjure up a picture of an impenetrable wilderness beyond the hedge, and they turned back. Nobody has ever come as far as you.’

‘Why me?’

‘I saw you in the mirror. I consulted it to see who you were. I thought maybe you were different,’ Luel said carefully. ‘And I watched how you behaved when you first entered here.’