The Book of Lies (12 page)

“What are we going to do, Marcel? She’ll break her way in here any minute.”

The horses were already spooked by this ferocious onslaught on their sanctuary, and they stamped and whinnied inside their stalls. Even Gadfly tossed her head, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wide and questioning.

Suddenly Marcel had an idea. “Come on!” he called desperately. “Into Gadfly’s stall!”

As soon as they were beside the horse, Marcel lifted Bea
on to her back. “I’ll push the door open, as hard as I can. Termagant won’t be expecting that. That will give you and Gadfly a few seconds’ start.”

At that very moment, the stable was filled with the dreadful sound of two massive wooden planks splitting apart. Once Termagant had removed a third board in the same way she would be inside and their last hope would be gone.

“But Marcel, I’ve never been on a horse before!” Bea wailed. “What do I hold on to? And how can I hold on to anything with this book in my hands?”

He looked around. A leather feedbag hung from a rusting nail high on the wall. With a jump, he managed to unhook it, and slipping the Book of Lies inside it he hung the bag around Gadfly’s neck. The heavy book pulled it down until the leather slapped against her chest.

As soon as he did so Gadfly flung her head around violently, and when Marcel led her out of the stall she took command of her own destiny. Far from approaching the splintering door, as Marcel had planned, she backed away towards the opposite wall. With her hindquarters almost touching the warped and creaking boards, she threw her weight on to her front legs and kicked out with her back.

The walls were far more rickety than the stable’s solid door, and one well-placed blow was all it took. Several wooden boards exploded free, leaving a gap just wide enough for Gadfly to squeeze herself through.

She turned, ready to burst out into the open, and Marcel placed his hand on her rump to slap her as hard as he could.

Bea saw his hand and grabbed hold tightly. “No! I’ll fall. Come with me, please!” She wouldn’t let go. If Gadfly pulled away now, Bea would be tugged from her back.

The decision was made in an instant. He leaped up in front of Bea, con torting his body until he had a leg on either side. No sooner was he in place than Gadfly charged through the gap in the wall, forcing him to clutch her mane simply to stay on her back. At that same moment, Termagant slashed her way through what remained of the door and came after them. Another race on Gadfly’s back had begun, this one far deadlier than the first.

“Head for the gate!” Marcel shouted, and before Termagant had taken more than three steps towards them, Gadfly turned on her hind legs, almost spilling her riders before the chase had begun. Moments later, they had galloped free of the orphanage grounds.

Marcel did his best to steer them towards the stream, where he hoped Gadfly would repeat her miraculous leap and leave Termagant to wade her way across. The delay would give them some chance, at least.

That was his vague plan, but Gadfly had other ideas. She veered away from the stream and began to follow along its bank, not towards Fallside but towards the waterfall. The bulky sack tugged and bounced around her neck, the hard corners of the
book digging into her chest, distracting her. She threw her head angrily from side to side, but there was nothing she could do.

She galloped on, full tilt, with Termagant behind and drawing closer with every stride. How would they escape now? They were being driven into a wedge of ground where the stream met the frightening drop of the great cliff.

“Turn away!” Marcel shouted. “The cliff! The cliff!”

Gadfly refused to slacken her stride. What was in her mind? Marcel had no reins to pull, no way to turn her or bring her to a halt. “The cliff!” he shouted again desperately, but still she wouldn’t yield.

Did she think she could leap across a valley a hundred miles wide?
Wild
, Old Belch had called her, but with the fearsome beast on her heels now and no chance of escape, had she gone
mad
?

The rhythm of her hooves faltered in readiness. Gadfly was gathering herself as though it were no more than a low stone wall ahead of her, and with the two riders still on her back, both shrieking now at what lay beneath them, she leaped from the cliff’s edge.

Then they were falling, falling like stones among the glistening pearls of the waterfall. Death would be swift, but first they must endure the agony of the fall itself, painless to the body perhaps but torture for the mind.

All the terror Marcel had experienced in his short life at the orphanage – Termagant’s snarls, the leap across the stream,
the heart-stopping moment in the darkened tunnel – all of it seemed nothing now. This was sheer horror. This was the end.

The up-rushing air snatched away his scream before it could reach his ears. It flooded into his mouth and invaded his churning stomach. It tore at his clothes, which were already damp from the fine spray, and tried to dislodge him from Gadfly’s back.

There was no reason to hang on, with death only seconds away, but still he clutched doggedly to the horse’s mane. He felt Bea’s arms just as tightly bound around his waist. They would die together.

As for the crazy horse herself, she showed no fear at all, but kept her legs outstretched as though she expected to land softly on the plain over a thousand feet below.

Then it began. The most amazing thing Marcel had ever seen. Beneath them, on Gadfly’s flanks, lumps started to undulate beneath her skin. Within moments they had broken open like cocoons releasing their butterflies. Marcel’s feet were pushed aside by strange legs that seemed to be growing from the horse’s side.

But these weren’t legs. They grew larger, until at last he could see what they were.

“Wings!” he cried into the merciless wind.

What miracles they were! They were stretched out now to their full size, magnificent in every detail. Marcel looked down, first on one side, then the other, to see feathers
fluttering madly in the gale created by Gadfly’s descent. But slowly, oh so slowly, their death-fall was changing into a graceful glide out and away from the column of white water, out into the clear air above the plains.

With a lurch of her shoulders Gadfly beat her wings powerfully, as an eagle does. Another beat took them forward and even up a little, until there was no doubt that Gadfly was soaring like a huge bird above the ground. They had fallen almost to the valley floor, the ground little more than a hundred feet below them. But now, with every beat of those wings, they were climbing.

Marcel couldn’t keep it in. Still bent forward over Gadfly’s neck, he began to whoop with enormous cries of relief and exhilaration. “Flying!” he yelled. “We’re flying like a bird!”

Gadfly calmly turned her head to inspect her wings, as though she found them not the least bit unusual. She flexed the muscles of her shoulders, settling the riders into a comfortable position and taking them higher with every beat. It had taken only seconds to fall, yet their return was oh so gradual. At last they broke over the lip of the great cliff, still climbing towards the sun. Gadfly’s wings worked themselves into a slow and powerful rhythm that took the three of them higher still.

Without a word from her riders, the horse banked in a wide arc until they found themselves circling the house. What a strange way to see so many familiar sights: the well, the stable, the orchards, all contained within the stone walls that had once marked the boundary of Marcel’s world.

But not any more. Termagant stood stranded at the cliff’s edge, snarling vainly up at them as they swept overhead. For now, at least, she would be left harmlessly in their wake.

Gadfly turned again, towards Fallside and the forest beyond. Marcel twisted around for his final glimpse of Mrs Timmins’ orphanage. Sunlight caught the eyes of the tower set above its roof. He had explored the wizard’s room and looked out through those windows. They did not seem such a threat now.

As he watched, the sunlight faltered for a second and those eyes seemed to blink uncertainly, as though a spell had been broken. Then Marcel turned his own eyes forward as the last of the fields disappeared and a vast ocean of deepest green forest swept beneath them.

H
IGH ABOVE THE TREES
, with the ground such a long way below, Marcel and Bea could do little more than hold tightly to the horse’s back. Slowly, their fear began to subside, and though they were reluctant to look down, at least their powers of speech had returned.

“How can she fly like this?” Bea shouted against the roar of the wind.

“Who knows? I just hope the magic doesn’t stop as suddenly as it started.”

For her part, Gadfly seemed ready to fly to the far side of the earth.

“Where is she taking us?” It was a question either might have asked. They had no way of knowing, and no choice in the matter either, since Gadfly decided their course for now. It was enough that Termagant could not catch them, and this thought, added to the exhilaration of flight, drove all cares from their minds. Marcel even forgot about the ring for a while.

What a sensation, to be so high and to see so far over the forest, dense and dark beneath them! Far to their left, it rose on to the slopes of high mountains until the deep green gave way to glistening snow. Away to their right lay the dramatic edge of the great escarpment. The high country finished abruptly in the cliff’s jagged edge, which ran on as far as they could see in both directions. Beyond it, they could make out the soft and blurred colours of the vast plain below.

Dead ahead they could see a single mountain perched on the rim of the escarpment, so high its peak was shrouded in the clouds. Was it near or far? It was difficult to judge, and before Marcel could decide, his mind drifted to more pressing questions.

“Do you think Gadfly will help us find the others?”

Bea took her time before answering. “That’s what you want, isn’t it, Marcel?”

Yes, it was, he couldn’t deny it. This was his chance to join them and play his part.

Gadfly surged on as though she would never tire, so it
caught them by surprise when she suddenly dropped low enough for her hooves to skim the treetops. Then, without any reason they could see, she arced smoothly, swooping even lower over a small lake. The two riders clung like barnacles to her back as she touched down expertly on the stony shore.

Marcel slipped off the horse, then turned to help Bea down. Now at last they could examine those miraculous wings, which she stretched out like a cormorant letting its feathers dry. Marcel marvelled at their size and delicacy, touching them gently to feel the downy softness. “They’re magnificent,” he breathed, receiving a neigh of approval from their proud owner.

The heavy sack was still pressed against Gadfly’s chest, so he went quickly to remove it. He had just slipped it free when Bea asked in awe, “How could that happen? What sort of magic was it?”

She had barely uttered the words when the wings began to shrink, first folding against the horse’s flanks, then tucking themselves more tightly against her shoulders, until finally it was as though they had never appeared.

“What did you do?” Marcel demanded, spinning round to face Bea.

“It wasn’t me!” she cried. “It started when you took that sack…”

Marcel looked down at the bundle in his hands. “The Book of Lies,” he murmured. What had Old Belch told him
in the stable that day? The Book could grant you your heart’s desire. A little sparrow had become a great eagle. Gadfly had been listening.

“That’s it!” he told Bea in excitement. “The Book can search our souls. That’s how it knows when we’re lying. Animals must have hopes and dreams too, deep in their hearts. But for them, it works a different kind of magic.”

He stared with renewed admiration at Gadfly, who seemed to consider it nothing less than she deserved. She moved off nonchalantly towards the succulent green of the forest and began to tear noisily at a tuft of grass.

Their thoughts slowly turned from Gadfly to the world around them.

“I’ve never been in the forest before,” breathed Bea. She spoke as though she found it as wondrous as Gadfly’s wings.

Marcel looked around at the greenery spread out before them in every shade imaginable, from the pale tops of the ferns where the sunlight caught the leaves to the dark velvety moss that hugged the trunks of the beech trees. Some of the trees were young and proudly pointed straight to the sky, while others leaned with age, one at an impossible angle, as though it had started to fall and been frozen halfway to the ground.

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Bea, so softly that Marcel doubted he was meant to hear. He watched as she took a few steps, until she was free of the pebbly shore. Then, secure
amid the trees and the tranquil silence, she hugged her arms tightly around herself as though she had found her true home at last.

What’s so special? he asked himself. Now that he found himself deep within the forest it was not quite the dark and fearful place he had imagined, but to him it was simply where he hoped to find Starkey and the others.

When Gadfly had eaten her fill she led them once more, though she walked as any horse would now, because the Book of Lies hung from Marcel’s shoulder and not around her neck. The going was slow until they came across a rough track worn down by the feet of woodsmen and hunters.