Wednesdays in the Tower (8 page)

“Is he all right?” Celie asked Rolf, staring after their father.

“Just worried about things going wrong with the Castle,” Rolf said, his voice tinged with concern as well. “Do you want to see the cushions?”

“What cushions are you talking about?”

“The cushions in my bedroom have griffins on them,”
Rolf said, leading the way to his room. It wasn’t far, now that all the bedrooms were in a row leading off the main hall. “I’ve had them for so many years, I hardly noticed them. In fact, I was going to ask Ma’am Housekeeper for some new ones, but when I heard that you were looking for griffin stories to read, I wondered if you wanted to see them first. They tell a story, sort of.”

“Really?”

Celie followed him eagerly into his room. Rolf had a wide bench built into the bay window that filled one wall, and there were a number of cushions scattered across it. They were made from old tapestries, and Celie had sat on them many times without paying much attention to them.

“They’re all from the same tapestry,” Rolf said. “Ma’am Housekeeper told me that it was probably one that got too worn to hang anymore, so they cut out the parts that weren’t totally threadbare and made them into cushions. Here, let me put them in order for you.”

He scrambled the cushions around for a moment, then stepped back. There were six of them, all roughly the same size, and all faded and worn. Celie could understand why Rolf was looking for some new ones.

But if you looked beyond the shabbiness, you could see the griffins. Beginning on the left, Celie stood with her hands clasped and her mouth slightly open, seeing the life of a griffin depicted with rich threads.

The first cushion showed two halves of an egg with a
small griffin crouched inside, humans standing over it with arms outstretched as if greeting it. On the second cushion the griffin had doubled in size and played with a hound at the feet of a woman holding a lute and wearing an oddly draped gown. The third cushion showed a man in an enormous hat fitting the now full-grown griffin with a harness, and the fourth cushion showed him mounted on the griffin, gesturing with a stiff arm as though encouraging it to fly. The fifth cushion depicted a battle between knights mounted on griffins, and the sixth showed the griffin, fallen, while a man stood over it with hanging head.

“That one’s sort of horrible,” Rolf said apologetically, pointing to the last cushion. “There are a lot of arrows stuck in that poor beast. I usually turn that one against the wall.”

“Yes, those are a lot of arrows,” Celie said, not trusting her voice.

If the cushions were showing the life of a real griffin that had once lived in the Castle, she wasn’t sure how she felt. The idea of Rufus flying excited and terrified her, much like the idea that he might be large enough for a grown man to ride on one day. She was charmed by the picture of the griffin playing with the dog, and hoped it boded well for Rufus to one day join the court without Lulath’s dogs needing to fear that he would attack them. But the images of the battle and the slain griffin were deeply disturbing.

“We have to show these to Bran,” Celie said, feeling almost overwhelmed.

She wondered what other evidence of the existence of griffins she had missed over the years. Suddenly she remembered that she still hadn’t gone to take a good look at the tapestries that she had told Bran about, and wondered if Rolf knew about them. She tried to school her features as she turned to look at her brother, not wanting to make it seem too important, but Rolf was already watching her carefully.

“What are you up to, Cel?”

“Nothing,” she said primly. “Well, something. It’s a project for Bran,” she added, in a less convincing tone. “He wants to know about any connection between griffins and the Castle. Can we take these to him?”

“Sure,” Rolf said, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it will inspire the maids to bring me some less raggedy cushions.”

They gathered up the cushions and made their way to the Armor Gallery, where Bran and Pogue were normally to be found. But the door was locked, and no one came to answer when Rolf knocked. Celie put down her cushions and peered through the keyhole, but the room was dark.

“They’re not there,” she said in disappointment.

“Well, back to the old window seat, I suppose,” Rolf said cheerfully. “We’ll have Bran come look at them after dinner.”

But as they crossed the main hall, there was a commotion at the front doors. Looking around, Celie saw Bran and Pogue there, and beyond them a strange carriage coming to a halt in the courtyard.

“Who is that?” Celie asked Rolf.

“Let’s see, shall we?”

Rolf glanced around, then tossed his armload of cushions through the broad arch into the dimness of the holiday feasting hall. With a pang of guilt, Celie did the same, and then followed her brother to the open doors. They stopped on either side of Bran, who Celie saw was clenching his fists nervously in the sleeves of his robes.

“What is it?” Celie asked in a low voice.

Bran shushed her.

A very tall, gaunt man in rich velvet robes stepped out of the carriage. He looked around the courtyard, his face pinched. Then he mounted the steps, studying Bran, Rolf, and Celie all the while. His eyes flickered over Pogue and then past him, as though he didn’t exist.

“Good afternoon,” Bran said. “I had expected Wizard Levin … I’m afraid I cannot remember your name, my lord wizard.”

Celie didn’t know wizards called each other “my lord wizard.” And Bran was the Royal Wizard, besides! She didn’t like how nervous this strange wizard was making her oldest brother.

“I am Wizard Arkwright,” the gaunt man announced. “And I am here to help you fix this Castle.”

Chapter
12

Celie’s protestations that the Castle didn’t need fixing had nearly gotten her banished from dinner, so she held her tongue. There was just something she couldn’t like about the painfully thin, gray-haired wizard. He was watching them all with heavy-lidded eyes, as though measuring their worth—even the king’s. Bran had asked for another wizard, his teacher Wizard Levin, to help catalog the weapons in the Armor Gallery, but Arkwright had taken it upon himself to come instead and study the entire Castle, not just the gallery.

It seemed very high-handed of Arkwright, and Celie decided to listen to him as carefully as she could. At dinner it appeared that Rolf and Lilah seemed much of the same mind, though Lulath was overjoyed to find that the new wizard spoke fluent Grathian, and had lived there for some years.

Lulath’s dogs, on the other hand, clearly shared Celie’s concerns.

“JouJou! Niro! Kitsi! You must be the behaving dogs!” Lulath said rather desperately as three of his girls attempted to attack Wizard Arkwright during the soup course. The fourth, Bisi, sat in Lulath’s lap and growled across the table at the wizard, who ignored them all.

“Do you perhaps have a cat, Wizard Arkwright?” Queen Celina sounded on the verge of laughter.

“No,” the wizard said in a dry voice. “I find that animals hinder me in my travels.”

“Ah, most wise,” King Glower said loudly, to drown out the yapping.

“I am so the embarrassments,” Lulath said, his face crumpled with misery. “I have not the faintest why they must do so! They are the sweet little girls, always!”

“Animals don’t like me,” Arkwright said coolly. “I am not bothered by it.”

Celie felt her eyebrows crawling toward her hairline, and tried to keep her face smooth. Then she looked across the table and saw her sister’s stunned expression. They exchanged a look: What kind of person wasn’t bothered by something like that?

“As soon as dinner is over, Wizard Bran, I’d like to see the Armor Gallery and begin my work,” Wizard Arkwright went on.

Celie noticed that Wizard Arkwright was barely eating his dinner. He cut everything into small pieces and wiped
his mouth thoroughly after each bite, which made it look like he was eating more than he was, but it didn’t fool Celie. She was an expert at making it look like she’d eaten things she didn’t like. Fish, for example.

Arkwright didn’t fool Queen Celina, either. She was a queen, but she was also a mother, and knew what mealtime deception looked like.

“Wizard Arkwright,” the queen said gently. “If the food is not to your liking, we could order something else from the kitchens for you. And please let Cook know if you have any special needs. We are so pleased that you have come, and we must do everything in our power to make you comfortable.”

Lulath, who had finally gotten his dogs calmed down, eagerly pointed out that he himself did not eat meat, and that Cook had become very adept at preparing wonderful meals for him in the Grathian manner. He offered his own plate to Arkwright, urging him to sample the delicately prepared mushrooms he had been served, but Arkwright refused.

“I do eat meat,” the older wizard said stiffly. “But I … have never had a large appetite … and as I get older I find it dwindles even further.”

“Well, if there’s anything you fancy, please let the kitchens know,” Queen Celina said. “They will be happy to accommodate you.”

“Thank you. Your Majesty is very kind,” Arkwright said.

He looked uncomfortable, Celie thought. And she had
to grudgingly give him the benefit of the doubt. He was newly arrived in a strange place, and having everyone staring at him as he discussed his stomach must have been embarrassing. Celie let herself relax just a bit.

After dinner, she and Rolf went to the holiday feasting hall and arranged the tapestry cushions in order on the table. By silent agreement, they would not be taking them to Bran’s chambers or the Armor Gallery. Celie had seen Rolf’s face during dinner, and knew that he didn’t like the looks of the new wizard, either.

“We’ll just have to find a way to get Bran alone,” Rolf said. “Or maybe we should take these back to my room. Or even yours.”

“Not mine,” Celie blurted out. “I mean … they’re your cushions, you should keep using them until you get new ones anyway.” She had visions of the cushions being gutted by Rufus.

“Seems like a shame to hide them away again,” Rolf said. “Here they are easier to look at, and there’s loads of candles in that box over there. Do you think you could ask the Castle to put a door in, instead of that archway? Keep everything safe?”

“I could try,” Celie agreed.

Though the Castle hadn’t done anything since, she was still feeling very pleased with Rufus’s new tower playroom and the way the Castle had immediately responded to her pleas.

“It won’t work,” said a voice from the archway. “There has never been a door here.” Wizard Arkwright gestured to the threshold as he stepped past it into the room. “The Castle could make it, but it would only be temporary. What are you trying to hide in here?”

Celie felt herself go hot, then cold, then hot again. Rolf was frankly gaping at the wizard. What did he know about the Castle? And how?

“We’re not hiding anything,” Rolf said after a minute. “We’re just looking for a place to put these cushions where they won’t be disturbed.”

“They’re for a project with our tutor,” Celie added. She didn’t want Arkwright to know that they wanted to show them to Bran.

“Surely the crown prince is too old to still be under a tutor’s guidance?” Wizard Arkwright raised his eyebrows. Celie noticed, distracted, that his forehead was very high, and he could move his eyebrows a lot farther than anyone else she knew.

“Well, I thought I’d do some extra studying,” Rolf said, making a flippant gesture. “I’m learning Grathian, a few things like that.”

“Embroidery?” Impossibly, Wizard Arkwright’s eyebrows went even higher. He looked down his long nose at the cushions.

“Epic poetry,” Celie said, thinking of the poem she’d transcribed a few weeks ago.

“I see,” Arkwright said. “Perhaps you should take these things to the schoolroom, then.” He looked around at the crates of decorations. “This room has other purposes.”

“How do you know we have a schoolroom? Or that this isn’t it?” Celie stuck her chin up, not caring if she sounded rude.

“I assumed that you didn’t sit on dusty crates to do your sums. Your Highness,” Wizard Arkwright said just as rudely.

“The schoolroom’s a bit crowded with some other things at present,” Rolf said, poking Celie in the back. “We’ll just leave them here for now and see what Master Humphries wants to do with them later.” He stopped poking and took Celie’s arm. “Come along, Cel, nearly time for bed.”

“May I take these cushions?” Arkwright asked. “I merely wish to look at them.” There was a sly tone in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Rolf said brightly, “but I’m sure Master Humphries will be along in minutes to see them. Good night!”

“Good night, Your Highnesses,” Wizard Arkwright said, bowing his head just a fraction of an inch.

“Good night,” Celie said from between gritted teeth.

“And if I may suggest, the poetry of Karksus is quite … evocative,” he said as they walked by.

“Good to know,” Rolf said, giving him a jaunty salute.

“I don’t like him,” Celie whispered as they walked across the main hall to her room.

“Nor do I,” Rolf said cheerfully. “But the way I see it, he can’t be worse than Khelsh and the old Emissary, and we got rid of them.”