The Wildkin’s Curse (22 page)

The porter began to load their trunks and bags and boxes onto his barrow. He made a move towards Merry's satchel, with his grandfather's bell box protruding from the top of it, and his lute bag. Merry shook his head and drew them towards him. ‘I'll keep them with me,' he said. He saw that Liliana also kept a tight hold on her longbow and quiver of arrows, and her satchel with its precious cargo of the ragged cloak of feathers and the three feathers they had already plucked.

The porter bent and picked up the handles of the barrow again, pushing the great mound of luggage towards the gate.

‘Have it taken to my quarters at the palace!' Zakary called. ‘You!' He beckoned to Count Zygmunt's guards, and two came forward at once. ‘Go with my luggage and make sure it is stowed safely. If a single jewel is missing, I'll have it taken out of your hide.'

The soldiers glanced towards Count Zygmunt, and he nodded wearily and waved his hand in permission. ‘I do wish you would not order my soldiers around, Zakary,' he said. ‘Should you not have a retinue of your own?'

‘But, my dear, dear sir, I flew to you in Estelliana! I could not bring my retinue with me by sisika! It was awkward enough bringing all my trunks. Poor Sugar looked like a pack mule by the end of it, and there was scarce room for me to sit. I know you will not begrudge me the slight service of a few of your men.'

‘Not at all,' Count Zygmunt said politely.

‘Which reminds me,' Zakary said. ‘I must make arrangements to have my darling Sugar taken to the sisika stables at the palace. He'll be so cross at being kept in a cage for so long, on that dreadful rocking boat. I must warn the stable-boys that he will be in a truly dreadful temper. You, boy! Come! Protect me from the great unwashed. Imagine if one should jostle against me!'

He snapped his fingers at Wilhelm and the young soldier hurried to do his bidding, Zakary mincing behind, his pomander of spiced apple held to his nose to mask the smell of the busy wharf.

Count Zygmunt sighed and gestured to everyone to wait.

It took some minutes for Zakary to return, Wilhelm clearing a path for him through the crowds with his sword.

Tom-Tit-Tot, who had been nosing through the rubbish strewn on the ground, came back to Merry's side, and he bent and picked the ferret up.

‘Must you carry that animal about with you all the time?' Zakary said in a long-suffering tone. ‘Merrik, my dear, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it really is not at all the thing.'

Merry ignored him and Zakary sighed and lifted his clove-studded apple to his nose again. ‘So,' he said as they made their slow way out to the street. ‘Prince Zander is dead. Poor Adora is princess no longer, only a mere lady. She will be peeved. So how does it feel to be the new crown prince, Your Highness?'

Count Zygmunt stopped and stared at him, his face suddenly pale. ‘I suppose I am,' he answered slowly. ‘I had not thought . . .'

‘Why is Uncle Ziggy the new crown prince?' Priscilla demanded. ‘Shouldn't Princess Rozalina be the king's new heir?'

‘Good heavens, no!' Zakary cried. ‘The very thought is repugnant. A woman is simply not fit to rule. No, no, the new law simply means that the
sons
of women can inherit. Which means you, sir, are the new crown prince. Followed, of course, by our dear, dear Zed and then,' he simpered and fluttered his fan, ‘by yours truly.'

‘I think we had best get to the palace,' Count Zygmunt said, his face whiter than ever.

‘Not before we all get some new clothes!' Zakary protested. ‘Think of the insult to the king if you were to turn up dressed like that!'

T
HE NEXT FEW HOURS SEEMED LIKE A NIGHTMARE TO
M
ERRY
.

Darkness fell, the bells tolled out relentlessly, and still they were delayed by Zakary's constant worrying over their clothes, their shoes, their hats, and the colour of his fingernails. Merry and Liliana were easily fitted out, needing only red sashes and cockades for their hats, but Zed and Priscilla and Count Zygmunt were forced to stand, fuming with impatience, as red velvet and satin and brocade were pinned about them, and ruby-heeled shoes fitted to their feet, and the merits of fans made of red-dyed sisika feathers compared to fans of scarlet embroidered silk debated over at length by Zakary and the fan-maker.

The tailor had been most surprised to see them, since the lords and ladies of his acquaintance never visited his warehouse in the cloth merchants' quarter. Once Zakary explained the situation, though, he was all affability. He took Count Zygmunt and the younger members of the party up to his own family quarters above the warehouse, pressing wine and sweetmeats upon them, and sent his apprentices scurrying to bring bolts of crimson silk, satin and velvet, or to bang on the doors of the cobbler, the furrier, the seamstresses, and the fan-makers all along Threadneedle Street, so that a parade of yawning, fawning tradesmen were soon hurrying through the door, bowing over their bundles and parcels, obsequious smiles on their faces.

The evening dragged past. Merry and Liliana wandered about the warehouse, the ferret slinking along at their heels. Out in the storehouse, barrels of some strange-smelling pellets stood in rows. When Merry, bored, picked one up and rolled it between his fingers, it cracked, and ruby-red liquid came spurting out. The dyer came hurrying up, looking angry, and securely hammered the lid back on the barrel.

‘It looked like some kind of bug,' Merry said to Liliana. ‘Gruesome.'

They went outside and sat on the step. It was very dark and a thick fog was stealing along the cobbled street, rising from the harbour which lay only a few streets away. Everything was quiet and deserted, the only sound the ominous tolling of the death bells. Ravens were pecking over rubbish in the street. Merry started towards them, thinking to try to pluck a feather, but they flew away before he got within a dozen paces of them, cawing loudly.

‘Stiga says that if you can learn to speak the language of the ravens, you'll know what is to happen in the future,' Liliana said dreamily, resting her chin on her hands. ‘She does not like to hear them call from a high stone or a tall tree, or from the left, she thinks it is the sign of a death to come.'

‘Children at home are taught to drive ravens away with rocks,' Merry said, tickling the ferret's tummy. ‘They're bad omens.'

‘They are bringers of the knowledge of death,' Liliana said. ‘That is the bringing of wisdom, and should be respected.'

‘It'll be hard to catch one,' Merry said. ‘Maybe we'll need to make a trap.'

‘We'll have to be careful not to hurt it. It's bad luck to kill a raven.'

‘I wouldn't hurt it,' Merry said indignantly. ‘I'd just catch it, pluck the feather, and set it free again.'

‘Here we are at the palace, and still four feathers to find,' Liliana said with a sigh. ‘Can we do it in only five days?'

‘The swan feather won't be too hard, I hope, nor the pelican feather, if we can find that friend of the Erlrune's,' Merry said. ‘But a nightingale? We'll have to trap that one too, I think.'

They watched the coachmen walk their horses up and down, the collars of their greatcoats turned up against the chill, pipes stuck in the corner of their mouths. The soldiers looked as if they would like to smoke too, or stretch their legs, or stamp their feet and rub their hands. Instead they stood in a row, being harangued by Aubin the Fair, his snowy-white moustache bristling. ‘Smarten up, boys!' he shouted in his foghorn voice. ‘Don't forget you represent the Count of Estelliana, who is now next in line to the throne! We'll have to put on a good show of it at the palace. I want all those boots polished, those buttons rubbed, and not a hair out of place. Is that understood?'

Liliana and Merry exchanged a quick glance of amusement.

‘I wish they'd hurry up,' Liliana said. ‘How long does it take to buy a few clothes?'

‘I can't stand sitting round and just twiddling my thumbs,' Merry said.

‘Me either,' she agreed fervently.

‘Let me sing you a serenade, my lady,' Merry said gallantly and put down Tom-Tit-Tot so he could unbutton his lute from its leather bag. He tuned it, and then began to sing a delicate love sing, telling of a man who begged his lady love not to be so cruel, but to smile on him and listen to his song. When he finished he looked hopefully towards Liliana. She was looking away from him, but he could see the soft curve of her cheek and knew that she was smiling. Pleasure filled him.

‘I've been writing a new song,' he said diffidently. ‘About your cousin, the princess in the tower. Would you like to hear it?'

She glanced at him and gave a little shrug. ‘All right.'

Merry began to sing the song he had been trying to compose ever since he had first heard the story of Princess Rozalina and her Gift. He kept his voice low, not wanting the soldiers to overhear, and so Liliana had to bend her head close to his to listen.

‘Rozalina, fair as a flower, locked in her tower, longing to be free.
Rozalina, fair as a flower, waiting for the hour, love shall be the key.
Sweet is her face, sweet her tongue, sweet the words she speaks to me,
for she is the tale-teller, the true-teller, of prayer and prophecy,
Rozalina, bright with power, fair as a flower is she.'

Merry played the last few notes, and then dropped his hand. ‘It's not perfect yet. I haven't been able to work in anything about her curses, it's such a difficult word to rhyme with.'

Liliana stood up. ‘It's very nice. I'm sure my cousin will love it when you sing it to her. If we ever get to the palace.'

She walked away up the street, sending the ravens cawing up into the sky again. She jumped after them, as if trying to seize a feather, then kicked at a rotten apple, sending it rolling into the gutter. Merry stared after her, puzzled and rather hurt. He did not understand her at all. One moment she was stormy and angry, the next moment she was glowing with joy, and then a moment later, prickly as a hedgehog.

Girls!
he thought, and folded the thick parchment with difficulty and thrust it inside his breast pocket.

‘Come, Zakary, surely that is enough?' Count Zygmunt said fretfully, coming down the steps wearing a new wide-skirted coat in red brocade and a new hat with a long red feather. ‘I must get to the palace and declare myself to the king!'

‘We'll have missed dinner,' Zed grumbled, looking very uncomfortable in a tight red velvet coat over a red brocade waistcoat and the most extraordinary breeches Merry had ever seen, made of billowing silk and so full they looked like a skirt. ‘I'm starving! And I'm sick of all these sweet little cakes they keep offering us. I need something of substance.'

Priscilla came tripping down behind them, dressed in a long trailing gown of dark wine-red, her fair hair piled on top of her head and contained within a cornet-shaped headdress of iron filigree. ‘I look an absolute fright!' she cried. ‘Red just does not suit me.'

‘Oh, my sweet, you look absolutely divine,' Zakary cried, blowing her a kiss. ‘You would look radiant in any colour.'

‘What about the headdress?' she asked. ‘Isn't it hideous?'

‘You look most elegant,' Zakary assured her. ‘Indeed, I will not be at all embarrassed to be seen in your company, which I promise you is a compliment of the highest order.'

‘I do like my new parasol,' she said complacently, twirling it in one hand. ‘Even if it is red.'

‘I cannot believe the cost of it all!' Count Zygmunt said, angrily casting his eye down a very long bill that the tailor had just discreetly presented.

‘Dye of the perfect red is the most expensive colour, my lord,' the tailor said humbly, folding his hands and casting his eyes down. ‘It is a secret recipe, most jealously guarded, but I can guarantee it shall not fade.'

‘I should hope not, at this price!' the count exclaimed, but handed over a very heavy purse.

Liliana came back down the street to meet them, her face set in its usual scowl. Aubin jumped to attention, and all the soldiers with him.

Count Zygmunt acknowledged them rather curtly, looking pale and tired, but Zakary paused to instruct the servants as they stowed all his new purchases in one of the coaches. ‘Do be careful of this long package, it's my new fan, and I shall be furious if any of the feathers are broken. And please! Don't drop that box, it has a very expensive bottle of my signature perfume in it. Take care! You clumsy louts! Oh, I swear I'm close to fainting with the strain.'

At last all the packages were stowed to his satisfaction, and he tottered to the waiting coach, the ruby heels of his new shoes higher than ever, the toes preposterously long.

‘We'll need someone to ride ahead and inform the palace of our imminent arrival,' he said. ‘We want to make sure all the fires are lit and that some wine is warmed for us. I do hate coming home to a cold, damp, cheerless room, don't you?'

Lord Zygmunt sighed and gestured to his guards. ‘Any volunteers?'

Wilhelm and another soldier called Philip stepped forward at once.

‘Do hurry!' Zakary told them, pulling a curious small clock on a chain out of his waistcoat pocket. ‘The gate shuts at midnight, and it is close on that time now.'

‘Midnight already?' Count Zygmunt cried. ‘No wonder I am so weary. Let us hurry too.'

‘Never mind, my lord,' Zakary said soothingly. ‘There is always a guard on the postern gate. We shall not be locked out.'

Wilhelm and Philip galloped off on their hired horses, but it took some time for Zakary to get comfortable in the coach, calling for hot braziers and furred rugs, and then moaning as the coach rattled forward over the cobblestones, begging the coachmen to be careful of his shattered nerves.

‘We'll take the other hackney,' Zed called and the three friends jumped up into the carriage, and shut the door behind them.