The Wildkin’s Curse (36 page)

She gazed at him wide-eyed. ‘What about you?'

‘I'm going to find Merry and Lili and come to join you. If we can't get there in time, we'll find our own way home, don't you worry,' he answered, his eyes fixed on Adora. ‘But I'll feel much better if I know you're safe. All right?'

‘Yes, Zed,' she replied in a subdued voice, looking about her with frightened eyes. A moment later, she flitted away, disappearing into the crowd.

It was easy enough to follow Adora, for the crowd parted for her and she was a striking figure in her red gown and widow's veil. She went to the fountain and asked for a cup of apple-ale, which one of the attendants poured for her.

Zed cast a quick look back and saw the astronomer was wending his way through the crowd. ‘Are you allowed to dance?' Zed asked Adora with a strained note of gaiety in his voice.

‘Oh! Zed. I don't know.' Adora cast a quick glance at the astronomer, who frowned and turned and walked away. ‘I suppose I might be allowed just one dance.'

So Zed, who could think of nothing but the fact that he and his two best friends could be arrested for treason at any moment, danced the farandole with the dead prince's widow. Anything to stop her telling the king's spymaster that Merry was the son of the Hag.

The pit was just large enough for Merry to sit with his knees bent under his chin, his broken arm cradled against his chest. A man, or even a tall boy like Zed, would have had no room to crouch. For the first time in his life, Merry was glad he was so small and thin.

It was very frightening, crouched alone in the darkness at the bottom of a filthy pit. To keep himself from terror, Merry kept his brain busy with other things. He thought over all he had seen and heard, and what it might mean.

Dark forces gnaw at the roots of the throne, bright ice shall cut to the very bone . . . Either she would die or she would fly, and the king would be bled dry . . . dawn at sunset, and frost in spring . . .

But, trapped in a deep, hollow darkness, these words only brought panic and so Merry thought instead about feathers. Soft and warm and pale, feathers meant freedom, feathers meant repose, feathers meant peace.

Seven feathers, sewn in the true and rightful order, and the magic of the cloak will be restored . . .

Eagle, Owl, Albatross, Raven, Swan, Nightingale, Pelican.

The words almost made a song, when strung together. He amused himself by singing them softly under his breath.
Albatross, Raven, Nightingale, Swan, Pelican Eagle, Owl . . .

He floated in the darkness, riding upon waves of pain, thinking.
Seven feathers. Like seven notes in a scale. When playing scales I play them up and down, up and down, C-D-E-F-G-A-B, or B-A-G-F-E-D-C, but when I compose a song I change them around, I put them in a new order, I make melodies and harmonies . . . The first letters of the birds almost sound like notes . . . A-R-N-S-P-E-O . . . or maybe perhaps S-N-A-R-E-O-P, that's where I am, in a snare, a trap, don't think about it, think of something else. R-E-A-P-S-N-O, they say you reap what you sow, so did I sow this pit, this pain . . . What else, what else, S-P-E-A-R-O-N, now that's a good melody, what are we doing if not making a spear for ourselves . . .

Merry remembered with a bitter pang the afternoon they first met Liliana, when, to taunt Zed, Tom-Tit-Tot had chanted: ‘Swift as a sword, sharp as a spear, indeed I am a weapon to fear!'

Tom-Tit-Tot, Tom-Tit-Tot, where are you?

For long minutes, Merry was lost to fear and regret and bittersweet longing, but he wrenched his mind away from that pit of despair and set it resolutely to work.
A song, a scale, sung in the true and rightful order. S for Swan, O for Owl, A for Albatross, R for Raven, P for Pelican, E for Eagle, and N for Nightingale, and that gives us S-O-A-R-P-E-N . . . Soar pen . . . soar like a bird, free of this pen . . . soar like a bird, my words . . .

Zed held his cousin by the hand and danced down the courtyard, twirled her through an archway of raised hands at the end, then linked his arm with hers and skipped back. For the first time ever he was glad for the years of dancing lessons, for his feet moved without need of help from his brain. He was able to keep watch on the astronomer at the high table, make light conversation with Adora, and worry all at the same time.

Merry had drifted into a half-doze, despite the pain of his broken arm, when he heard a scuffling sound above him. Fearing rats, he raised his head. Dreadful thoughts flashed through his mind. Would rats fall upon him in a waterfall of hunger and greed? Would they nip and tear at him, devouring him while he was still alive? Would he be drowned in a river of filthy grey fur?

He buried his head in his arm, bracing himself, but the clatter of claws and slither of fur was light and quiet, and in a moment he felt a warm, lithe body press against him.

‘Tom-Tit-Tot!' he cried in relief, and pressed the ferret to him, weeping a few tears of relief into his silky black fur. In an instant the ferret had changed shape, and he was holding a creature of claws and hooked wings who, nonetheless, embraced him enthusiastically, wailing, ‘Merry lost and buried deep, it's enough to make me weep.'

‘You came,' Merry said.

‘Of course, fast as a horse,' Tom-Tit-Tot replied.

‘I didn't know,' Merry whispered. ‘I'm so glad! It's so good to see you.'

‘You're battered and bruised,' Tom-Tit-Tot said indignantly, examining Merry carefully. In the darkness, his eyes gleamed red, like the windows of home. ‘I'll batter and bruise them, I will!

‘Tom-Tit-Tot, I need you to take something to Lili. It's a feather. It's in my pocket. Can you reach?'

‘Reach, screech,' the omen-imp said crossly but burrowed around inside Merry's pocket until he had found and withdrawn the pelican feather.

‘Tell Lili I've been thinking about the feathers . . . tell her the secret is “soar pen”. Can you remember that? “Soar pen”. Tell her to sew the feathers to the cloak, and get Rozalina out of the tower. They plan to blow the tower up when the fireworks go off. Dawn at sunset, tell her . . .'

‘No go,' the omen-imp said piteously, but Merry was insistent. He repeated his words over and over again until he thought the omen-imp understood.

Whimpering in distress, Tom-Tit-Tot spread his leathery wings and flew up out of the pen, leaving Merry alone in the darkness again.

Liliana wandered the subterranean labyrinth of cellars, storerooms, and corridors, lost and afraid. Soldiers marched by at regular intervals, forcing her to hide, her heart hammering with fear. She no longer had any sense of direction, and so looked for any steps that might lead her back up to the ground floor of the palace, so she might reorient herself. She could find none, however, and so could only go on quietly, shielding her candle with her hand.

She saw a pale flicker of movement ahead of her, and stopped instantly, her pulse jumping. Her first impulse was to blow out her candle, but she had no kindling left in her tinderbox and the idea of being lost down in these cellars without a light was too frightening. Already she had used two of her candles, and had only a stub left. Cautiously, her stomach clenched with fear, she tiptoed forward.

A woman stood in a low archway, one hand on a door handle, the other beckoning urgently. Liliana's legs began to shake as she noticed the woman's floating white dress, the long black hair that drifted about her frail form.

‘Shoshanna?' Liliana whispered.

The ghost nodded, and beckoned again. Liliana obeyed slowly, her skin shivering with an unearthly chill. The ghost moved through the archway, disappearing through the door in a way that made Liliana feel quite sick. She tried to follow, but the door was locked fast.

It was a thick, oaken door, barred with iron, and marked with a black, twelve-pointed star like the ones the astronomer wore on his robe. Liliana would never have noticed the door if the ghost had not shown it to her, for it was tucked away in a corner behind great piles of boxes and barrels. She pressed her ear to it, but could hear nothing. So she examined it closely by the wavering light of her candle.

It was an old door, and its base was cracked and broken as if someone had been kicking it. Caught in a splinter was a tuft of soft black fur. Tom-Tit-Tot's fur.

Liliana felt a surge of fear and excitement, so sharp it made her gasp. She struggled to lift all the heavy iron bars, then pressed her weight against the door. Slowly it groaned open, letting out a gust of freezing-cold, evil-smelling air that blew out her candle. Liliana stood stock-still, fighting all her instincts which screamed at her,
Run! Run now!

Faint light showed ahead. Liliana took a hesitant step forward, only to scream as something black and fierce and sinister exploded out of a drain hole and leapt for her face.

Instinctively she flung up her arms to protect herself, but the creature clung to her clothes with hooked claws, screeching, ‘Merry in pain, down the drain!'

‘Tom-Tit-Tot!' She lifted him so she could cradle him in her arms, and he nudged her hand with his snout. She saw he carried a long white feather in his mouth.

‘You have the pelican feather! But where's Merry . . . Is he hurt? Where is he?'

‘Soar pen,' Tom-Tit-Tot shrieked. ‘Soar pen.'

‘He's sore? He's . . . he's in a pen? Why can't you talk straight! What do you mean?'

‘He's down in the pit, hurt and hit.'

‘Down in the pit?' Bewildered, Liliana looked around her.

She was in a small, dark room. The only light was low and cold and blue, and seemed to come from a square contraption in the corner that hummed like a box of bees. A figure lay slumped against the wall, his wrists manacled to the stone. Liliana approached slowly. She knew at once it was not Merry, for the figure was much too tall and broad, yet she did not expect to find Aubin lying unconscious, his white moustache all bedraggled. She gasped in surprise, then bent and tried to rouse him. He could not be roused, though, and so she looked about for the keys. Finding a key ring hung next to the door, she managed to unlock the manacles and tried to make him more comfortable on the hard stone floor, wrapping him in her cloak.