Wayfarer (11 page)

Linden could think of nothing to say to that, and there was an awkward silence. At last Valerian rose and addressed Timothy in her calm, measured voice:

“Today you have given us both insight and hope, and for that we are in your debt. You have proven yourself a true friend of the Oak, and if we can do you any service, we will be glad to know of it. Nevertheless, we cannot allow you to remain here.”

Linden began to protest, but Valerian held up a hand.

“You meant well, I know. But think, child. You are exhausted, and the effort of casting so many spells has drained you even further. The moment you fall asleep, the glamour that has made Timothy our size will stop working. And what will become of us all then?”

The blood drained from Linden's face, and her stomach flopped like a landed minnow. How could she have been so stupid? She'd been prepared to ignore the pain of
her headache and keep casting whatever spells that might be necessary to keep Timothy safe, but she couldn't stay awake forever….

“Indeed,” said Valerian gently. “So please, would you escort our guest to the door?”

“I've a better idea,” said Thorn, shoving her own chair back from the table as Linden struggled to rise. “The way
she
looks, she'll probably faint halfway down the Spiral Stair, and then just think what a fine mess of owl pellets we'll be in.” She stalked around the table and kicked the leg of Timothy's chair. “Get up, human. You're coming with me.”

Timothy shot Linden a desperate glance. “I can't go back to Paul and Peri's.”

“Then don't,” said Thorn with a shrug. “East or west or down a fox hole, it's all the same to me. Just as long as it's
out
.” She turned to Linden. “I'll whistle when he's safely on his way, and you can take the glamour off him. All right?”

“All right,” said Linden dubiously. How Thorn intended to get Timothy out of the Oak without anyone seeing, she couldn't imagine. But if Queen Valerian thought it would be all right—and by her silence it seemed she did—then who was Linden to argue?

Reluctantly Timothy got up from his chair. He followed Thorn toward the door, then stopped and turned back. “Er…there's just one thing.”

All the faeries looked at him.

“What you said before, about being in my debt…
Would you mind not telling Peri…I mean, Knife…that I've been here?”

The Oakenfolk exchanged surprised glances, and Wink positively glared at him. “What sort of bargain is that?” she demanded, but Thorn interrupted her.

“It's not like he's asking for the moon on a platter, is he? Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it's not a fair bargain. Go on, promise.”

Wink folded her arms and said petulantly, “Oh, all right.”

“Campion?”

“You have my word,” said the other faery, and Valerian gave Thorn an unfathomable look before adding, “And mine. Although it seems a poor way to repay Knife for all her service to us.”

“There,” said Thorn to Timothy. “Satisfied?”

Timothy nodded. He gave Linden a tight farewell smile, and followed Thorn out.

Linden's shoulders slumped, and she stared down at her crumb-littered plate. She had so hoped that Timothy would stay, that he might even come with her to find the Children of Rhys. But now he was going away, and who knew when—or whether—she'd ever see him again?

 

“I don't have magic, remember,” Thorn muttered to Timothy as he shuffled along at her side, barely able to see past the hood of the cloak she'd thrown over him. “So if we bump into anybody else on the way, you let me do the talking, and if I tell you to run, you run.”

“Run where?” objected Timothy. “We're nine floors up. And I don't have wings, remember?”

“Cheeky one, aren't you?” said Thorn. “Just pick the nearest landing, up or down. If you can find a door that isn't locked, go through it and don't come out until I tell you. There's so few of us left now, odds are there won't be anyone on the other side.” She made a derisive noise. “A human in the Oak. Don't know what Linden was thinking.”

“Speaking of Linden—” Timothy began, but Thorn hissed him silent. He grimaced and fell into step behind her as they trudged toward the Oak's ground floor.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Thorn marched straight for the exit, but Timothy lingered, gazing up into the great tree's vast, hollow heart. This would probably be the last chance he had to look at this incredible place, and he didn't want to forget any of it.

“Come
on
,” Thorn whispered at him, tugging open the same door that Timothy and Linden had used to get in. Reluctantly he obeyed—only to have her grab him by the scruff of the neck and practically toss him outside.

“Up the ladder! Go!” she ordered, and Timothy scrambled upward, tripping on the topmost rung and tumbling onto the wet grass.

Thorn climbed up after him, then put two fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “Well,” she said with satisfaction, “that's taken care of you—and none
too soon, either.” She spread her wings and flashed away across the lawn.

Distractedly Timothy wondered where she was going—and then, to his horror, he realized. He leaped to his feet, shouting, “Wait! Don't! You promised!”

But she had already given the signal, and his protest came too late. Panicked, Timothy tried to flee, but he had only taken a couple of steps when the glamour Linden had put on him dissolved, and he shot up to his usual size. Dazed, he reeled back against the Oak as the glass doors at the back of the house burst open and Peri rushed out, shouting, “Timothy!”

Thorn flew past him with a chortle, and disappeared among the roots of the Oak. “I know,” said Timothy resignedly as Peri shook him and then seized him in a furious embrace. “I'm in a lot of trouble.”

“You lied to him!” Linden accused when Thorn came back into the Queen's study. “And you tricked me!”

“No, I didn't,” replied the older faery smugly, sitting down and propping her feet up on the table. “I made all of you promise not to tell Knife—but did you ever hear me say that
I
wouldn't?”

She was right, Linden realized. Part of her was glad that Timothy was back with Knife and Paul, but what Thorn had done still made her uneasy, and she wondered if Timothy would ever trust a faery again.

“Linden,” said Valerian, and she looked up as the Queen continued, “the knowledge that you gained from your
adventure with Timothy is of great value to us all, and I am glad that you returned safely to tell us of it. But even so”—her voice became stern—“you also acted foolishly in leaving the Oak without permission, and it is only by the Gardener's mercy that you are still alive. What I said to you before, I will say again: You are still too young and unskilled in magic to undertake such a dangerous task.”

She rose to her feet, her gaze holding Linden's. “As Queen Amaryllis's appointed successor, I forbid you to leave the Oak again until I give you my permission to do so.”

Linden's cheeks flamed, and she hung her head. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I also forbid you to have any more contact with Timothy. This is not his quest, and we have no right to involve him in it. Already he dares not return to London because of what you have done; we can only pray that he suffers no worse consequences. Do you understand? You must let him go, for his sake.”

A knot of pain formed in Linden's throat. She slumped forward and buried her face in her arms, overwhelmed with misery.

“It's all right,” said Wink soothingly, stroking Linden's hair. “Knife and Paul will take good care of—What is it?”

This last was to Thorn, who had gone very still and held up a hand for silence. Soundlessly the dark-haired faery eased herself out of her chair, padded to the door, and with one swift motion yanked it open—but no one was there.

“Blight,” she muttered as she slammed the door again and stalked back to her seat. “The little weasel must have heard me coming.”

Campion looked up sharply from her stack of books. “Bluebell? How long was she listening?”

“She must have followed me up the Stair when I came back,” said Thorn. “And I was too busy congratulating myself on having outwitted the boy to notice her listening at the keyhole—but I'd know that prissy sniff of hers anywhere. Wither and gall!” She thumped her fist into her palm.

“All is not lost,” said Valerian. “If she only heard the last part of our conversation, then she knows nothing except that Linden is being punished for leaving the Oak and for making contact with Timothy. The matters we discussed earlier will remain safe with us, as they should be. Campion, have you found anything?”

“The problem is,” said the Librarian abstractedly, turning another page, “even the best of our records only go back four hundred years, well after our people broke off from the other faeries—or were exiled from them, I suppose. And when I talk about
best,
I mean the Queen's own version of our history, which she had to rewrite from memory after the Sundering; Jasmine had destroyed or censored everything else. There just isn't much here to work with.”

Valerian looked grave. “Then the human legends are our last remaining hope. We can only pray that Timothy is able to find the information we need.”

“If Knife doesn't strangle him first,” said Thorn, and Wink rapped her over the head with the teapot. “Ow!”

“Serves you right, you mean thing,” said Wink.

 

“Sit down,” ordered Peri, pointing to the armchair, and Timothy sat. Apprehensive as he was, he could hardly take his eyes off her now that he knew she had once been a faery: The clues were all there in her lithe movements, the angles of her bones, and those wild, dark eyes. Not to mention about a hundred other things she'd done and said since he'd first met her…

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

He hadn't expected her to start into him quite like that. Most people would have said
Where have you been?
or
Why did you leave?
or
Don't you know how terribly worried we were?

“I…didn't have a choice,” he said awkwardly.

“Nonsense. Your note said you'd be gone for three weeks; you obviously thought you'd have no trouble finding a place to stay. But now here you are again—so what went wrong?”

“I met Linden.”

Peri's whole face changed, anger washed away by incredulous hope. She sank onto the footstool and whispered, “Linden? Thorn never mentioned…She's alive? She was with
you
?”

Timothy nodded. “She told me everything. About the
Oakenfolk and how they lost their magic—and about you, too…Knife.”

For a moment Peri sat frozen; then she leaped up and ran down the corridor, shouting, “Paul!
Paul!
”

Here we go again,
thought Timothy.

 

“Children of Rhys,” muttered Paul some time later, wheeling up to the computer desk. “Sounds Welsh if you ask me….” He squinted at the monitor, then made an exasperated noise and said, “Oh, don't give me that rubbish.”

“What is it?” asked Peri. She'd followed Paul and Timothy into the studio but was keeping well back, eyeing the computer like a potential threat.

Paul peered down at the light on the modem, which was flashing red, then switched it off with an irritated sigh. “It's on the blink again. I can try restarting, but I have a bad feeling it's not going to work.”

Timothy should have been disappointed, but he was too busy stifling a yawn. He'd told Paul and Peri his story over an enormous breakfast, which had gone a long way toward making him feel human again, and a hot shower and clean clothes had helped, too. But now that his stomach was full and the ice in his bones had melted, he was finding it difficult to stay awake.

“No good,” said Paul a moment later, pushing back from the computer.

Peri looked frustrated. “But we need to find out about these Children right away. If there's any chance of finding
them and convincing them to help the Oakenfolk—”

“There'll be internet access at the library,” said Timothy.

Paul gave him a curious look. “You seem to be pretty committed to this, for someone who didn't even know faeries existed until yesterday. Are you sure you want to get involved?”

“I'm already involved,” said Timothy. “So I might as well make myself useful, right?”

Paul and Peri exchanged glances. “Fair enough,” said Paul, “but from now on, you don't go anywhere without Peri or myself. We all understand what's at stake, so there's no more need for drama or keeping secrets. Whatever we do, we do together.”

Timothy couldn't argue with that. Especially since Paul and Peri had known about the Oakenfolk's plight, and been trying to help them, a lot longer than he had. He nodded—and to his surprise, Peri put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a comradely squeeze. She didn't say
I'm sorry we let you down
or
I should have trusted you
or any of the things he'd thought he wanted to hear her say, but somehow that simple gesture made everything all right between them just the same.

“I'll drive you to the library,” she said.

 

Sunlight was burning through the last of the rainclouds as Timothy and Peri left the house, and the temperature felt even milder than before. Overnight, a small clump of crocuses had forced its way through the soil of the front
garden and was blooming resolutely in the corner. As they crunched across the gravel toward the waiting car, Timothy zipped up his borrowed jacket and decided that England wasn't so bad after all…but he still missed his home in Uganda, and probably always would.

“Was it hard for you?” he asked Peri. “Leaving the Oak, I mean?”

Peri slid into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition; with a determined twist she turned it, and the engine rumbled to life. “Yes and no,” she said as Timothy climbed in beside her. “I had Paul, of course: That helped. And I knew the Oak was still there, even if I couldn't live in it anymore. But even though I'd learned enough about your world to get by, I wasn't prepared for how different it would be.”

“I suppose it would be pretty disappointing in some ways,” said Timothy. “Boring, even.”

“Boring?” She flicked him a glance. “You've no idea how tedious it was growing up in the Oak. But disappointing…yes, I suppose it was. I'd been friends with Paul for over a year by then, and we already knew we loved each other, but his parents didn't know me at all, and it wasn't easy to win them over. They sent me to stay in town for a few days, alone, while they tried to figure out where I'd come from and what to do with me…. It was horrible. And even after Paul convinced them to let me move into the House, I had so much to learn, and I
kept making mistakes. There were times we both wondered if we'd done the right thing—but it was done, and we had to make the best of it.”

She backed the gray Vauxhall out of the drive and onto the road, speeding up once they'd crossed the stone bridge. Hedge-tangled walls rose around them as the wood fell away, making it difficult to see more than a few meters ahead. It must have been fun for Paul teaching her how to drive, thought Timothy.

“It did get easier, though, right?” he asked.

“Not for a long while. I just got better at—” Suddenly her foot came down on the brake, and Timothy rocked forward, the seat belt cutting into his shoulder.

“What?” he exclaimed, but then he saw it: a small brown-and-red bird, fluttering back and forth across the road as though to block their path.

“I've never seen a robin behave like that before,” said Peri, frowning as she drove closer. “Is it injured? Or protecting a nest?”

Timothy started to answer, then yelled and flung his arms over his face as the bird launched itself straight at the windshield. Peri wrenched the wheel, skidding the car across the road; they crashed into a hedgerow and stopped abruptly, broken twigs and dried-up berries pattering over them.

“Peri?” asked Timothy, and then in alarm, “Peri!”

She sat motionless, slumped against the steering wheel. He couldn't see any blood on her face, but when he
grabbed her shoulder she felt stiff as glass, and he couldn't make her move.

A bird-shaped shadow flickered past the car's front window, then dropped down beside Timothy's door and swelled, ominously, into a tall human shape. Then came the voice, level and commanding, impossible to disobey:

“Get out of the car.”