A Clock of Stars

by Francesca Gibbons

  ‘I don’t know why you’re worrying,’ said the king, removing bits of egg white from his moustache. ‘Have I announced an engagement?’

  ‘No, Your Highness, you haven’t, but please hear me out. You know I have served your family well. Ever since you were a boy—’

  ‘Yes, Yeedarsh. Pass me the salt.’

  Yeedarsh did as instructed. ‘I only tell you out of duty. Out of loyalty …’

  ‘I understand,’ said the king, ‘but really don’t trouble yourself.’

  Yeedarsh hesitated for a moment. ‘There was something else I wanted to mention,’ he said. ‘There has been a sighting of a Mezi Můra. I fear it’s a bad omen.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ scoffed the king. ‘The Mezi Můra is a rare butterfly, not a witch riding a goat backwards. I don’t hold with such superstitions.’

  ‘With the greatest respect, Your Highness, the Mezi Můra is a moth. A very clever moth.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me.’

  ‘It brings bad luck.’

  ‘Yeedarsh, there are moths everywhere in this city. They’d eat my fur collection if I let them inside, but that’s another story …’

  ‘I hear that the rings have gone missing,’ said the old man. ‘The ones King Vadik and Queen Sofia used to wear.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ snapped the king.

  ‘News travels fast in the kitchens.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you had better get back down there.’

  Yeedarsh nodded and gathered the king’s breakfast things. He walked towards the door slowly. Balancing trays was not as easy as it used to be.

  Had he been a little bit faster, he would have opened the door sooner. Had he opened the door sooner, he might have seen a pair of dainty feet in jewelled slippers standing in the corridor. But that’s not how it happened and the jewelled slippers disappeared round the corner unseen.

  News of Yeedarsh’s death spread quickly. The serving girl who found his body screamed until three guards appeared.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Hey, look, it’s old Yeedarsh.’

  ‘Look at all that blood.’

  ‘Weren’t you supposed to be patrolling this wing?’

  ‘I thought you were.’

  ‘I was not. This is the West Wing. I never do the West Wing.’

  The youngest guard bent down to pick up a foot. ‘We can move him outside. Say we found him there.’ The foot came off in his hand. The serving girl fainted.

  It turned out that none of Yeedarsh’s limbs were attached where they ought to be. The guards concluded that it was a skret attack. The skret had a thing about cutting people into pieces. What the men couldn’t work out was how the monsters had managed to break into the castle. It had never happened before.

  The guards knew they would be in trouble with the king if he discovered what had happened on their watch, so they picked up Yeedarsh – one piece at a time – and reconstructed his body in a street that ran alongside the castle. Then they cleaned the blood from the castle floor. It was decided that the youngest guard should break the news to the king. They all agreed, apart from him.

  The only thing they hadn’t factored into their plans was the unconscious serving girl. When she came to, she ran to the head cook. She told the cook everything over a cup of warm milk and brandy. ‘Skret murdering servants inside these very castle walls?’ said the cook, her chins wobbling with outrage.

  The serving girl nodded.

  ‘Well, if we’re not safe,’ said the cook, ‘no one is …’

  The head cook was married to the king’s blacksmith. The king’s blacksmith told everyone at his local. They, in turn, told their families and, within a few hours, the whole city was alive with whispers that the castle had been breached.

  Eventually, the news reached the king. He had the young guard who had delivered the false news sent away, beyond the mountains.

  Miro prepared the room at the top of the second tallest tower for his visitor. The fire was lit. Gingerbread biscuits were carried up from the kitchens and a pot of orange honey wine, called medovina, was kept warm above the flames.

  Imogen helped as best she could, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about the king of the skret. Did the monster really know how they could get home? Would they make it up the mountain, to the caves where he lived? She’d never climbed a mountain before …

  The clock struck midday and the tower door flung open. Blazen Bilbetz entered, huffing and puffing and wiping sweat from his brow.

  ‘My prince!’ he boomed, flopping the top half of his body forward in a mock bow.

  ‘Have a seat,’ said Miro. Imogen wondered if he’d noticed the hunter’s sarcastic tone.

  Blazen’s shoulders didn’t fit between the wings of the chair so he perched on the edge of the seat. ‘That staircase is one hell of a climb,’ he said, eyeballing the pot over the fire. ‘I hope you didn’t call me up here for herbal tea … Are those buvol horns?’ Blazen picked up a drinking horn. ‘Killed a load of them in my youth … fearsome things they were.’

  Miro took a seat by the hunter. ‘This is Imogen, who you’ve met before,’ he said. ‘And this is Marie, who you haven’t.’

  ‘Why, that one’s as ginger as a fox,’ said the giant, chuckling. Marie’s cheeks turned pink in an instant. The three children sat in silence, waiting for the laughter to stop.

  Imogen offered Blazen some medovina. He rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s not my normal tipple, but I suppose I could try it.’ Imogen spooned the orange liquid into a horn and handed it to Blazen. He drank it in one gulp.

  ‘So what is it you’re after?’ said the giant. ‘A new wolf rug? Antlers for the hearth?’

  ‘Neither,’ said Miro.

  ‘I’m not going looking for that door again. I’m a hunter of monsters and beauteous things, not bits of wood.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Miro. ‘We’re not going to ask you to look for the door.’

  The giant helped himself to biscuits, picking up four at a time.

  ‘Imogen and Marie are planning a trip up Klenot Mountain,’ continued the prince. ‘They intend to meet the king of the skret, the Maudree Král.’

  Blazen spat out the biscuits. ‘They want to do what?’

  ‘They’re in need of a guide.’

  The hunter pretended to look over his shoulder. ‘Well, I don’t know why you’re all looking at me. I’m not going up that mountain. You’ve seen what happened to me with the stairs.’ He chuckled, patting his rounded stomach.

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Miro.

  ‘So am I! There’s no way I’m making a journey like that. Being in the forests is dangerous enough … In case you hadn’t noticed, boy, the skret are hunting people like rabbits. If the bunnies are stupid enough to wander into the beasts’ den, they’ll be skinned like the rest.’

  ‘But you’re the man that killed one hundred bears,’ said Miro, a little plea creeping into his voice. ‘You banished the mountain witch, released her prisoners and married her daughter before it was even time for lunch.’

  ‘That one didn’t work out so well,’ the hunter muttered into his beard.

  ‘Surely, Blazen Bilbetz, the fiercest warrior Yaroslav has ever known, isn’t afraid of a few skret … are you?’

  ‘There’ll be more than a few.’ Blazen shifted in his chair, making it squeak. ‘And it only takes one to kill you. Just look at what they did to Yeedarsh!’

  ‘I know,’ said Miro, and he started fiddling with the rings on his fingers. ‘I heard about Yeedarsh. My uncle will make them pay. You can count on that.’

  ‘Bet Yeedarsh didn’t see that coming,’ said Blazen, puffing up his cheeks and shaking his big head. ‘Bet he didn’t even have time to scream.’

  Miro looked back at the giant. ‘But you’re not Yeedarsh.’

  ‘I’m not as young as I was. Is a man not allowed to mellow in his old age?’

  ‘Mellow?’

  ‘You know, put his feet up. Enjo
y his past glories from the comfort of the Hounyarch.’

  ‘Past glories?’ Miro looked like a balloon that the air was being let out of. ‘I thought you would do it. I thought …’

  ‘Well, people aren’t always what you expect,’ said Blazen. ‘Take you, for example. When we first met, I just thought you were a rich kid – not the number-one rich kid, not the prince of Yaroslav! We’re all fooling someone. The sooner you learn that the better.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Blazen refused to make eye contact. Instead, he stared resolutely out of the window. Imogen followed his gaze. She could see the top of the tallest mountain.

  ‘It’s the wrong time to go,’ said Blazen. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Marie.

  ‘It’s autumn … not far off winter.’

  ‘We can’t wait until next summer to go home,’ said Imogen.

  The giant stroked his beard, massaging in biscuit crumbs. ‘Let me tell you a story,’ he said and he didn’t wait for permission to begin.

  ‘Last winter, a man appeared in the fields outside Yaroslav. In the evening, he wasn’t there. In the morning, he was. His cart was dripping in meltwater. The horse was one of those fluffy ones – the type that sometimes come from beyond the mountains. It was just standing there, eating grass, like horses do, and the man was curled up in the back of the cart. He was old and frostbitten. He’d been dead for hours.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Imogen.

  ‘He’d tried to cross the mountains at the wrong time. Must’ve got caught in a blizzard – frozen to death. He’d probably done that route one hundred times before, because the horse knew the way and it pulled the cart down the mountains, through the forests and across the fields to Yaroslav’s walls. Not a bad effort for an overgrown rabbit.’

  ‘I remember that man,’ said Miro. ‘My uncle told me about him. He said he was a merchant.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘My uncle said he’d suffered for his stupidity.’

  ‘Your uncle’s right,’ said the giant. ‘There are many more like him along the icy mountain paths.’

  Blazen squinted at the children with his piggy eyes. ‘So … still want to go?’

  Imogen and Marie nodded.

  ‘What about you?’ said Blazen, turning to Miro. ‘Are you stupid too?’

  ‘I already told them not to go,’ said Miro, pulling a blanket from the back of his chair and wrapping it round his shoulders. Just talking about the mountains seemed to make him feel cold. ‘I told them the Maudree Král is more likely to kill them than help them.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ said Blazen. ‘Are you going with them?’

  Miro hesitated. Imogen wanted to say that he hadn’t been invited, but she bit her tongue. ‘I belong here,’ said the prince.

  ‘You mean you’d miss your servants and your comfy bed?’ said the giant. ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘I know how to forage and sleep in the open,’ cried Miro.

  Blazen laughed and slapped his thighs as though he’d just heard the world’s best joke. ‘No, you don’t! You’re about as ready for the wilderness as a jam-filled doughnut.’

  ‘That doesn’t even make sense.’ Miro pulled the blanket tighter round his shoulders.

  ‘I remember what you said when we were hunting for that blasted door,’ said Blazen, still chuckling. ‘You said you were the furthest from Yaroslav you’d ever been. And that was when we were in the forests’ outskirts. You’ll have to go much deeper and higher than that to meet the Maudree Král—’

  ‘I have other duties to attend to,’ said Miro. ‘You can’t go running away when you’re heir to the throne. Uncle would never allow it.’

  ‘All right, all right,’ said Blazen, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. ‘You’re not going. I get it.’

  ‘And you neither,’ said Miro.

  ‘No. Me neither,’ said the giant.

  ‘I told you the hunter’s a coward,’ said Imogen. ‘We’ll just have to find someone who isn’t.’

  Blazen looked her up and down – shifting from merry to malign in the blink of an eye. ‘You ought to be careful,’ he said. ‘I haven’t forgotten what you did to my zpevnakrava.’

  ‘What’s a zpevnakrava?’ said Marie.

  ‘It was the finest musical instrument in the land,’ said Blazen, ‘until girlie stuck a knife in it.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t forgotten that you failed to find the door in the tree,’ said Imogen, narrowing her eyes. ‘All that riding around in the forests and we’re still no closer to getting home.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, girlie …’ The giant leaned forward, making his chair squeak for mercy. ‘You look a lot like the description the Royal Guards are putting about.’

  ‘What description?’

  ‘The description of the child that stole King Vadik and Queen Sofia’s wedding rings. The Royal Guards said she was about your size. Same short hair. Same freckled face. Same silly little outfit with the silly little stars.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Imogen.

  ‘That’s funny because you look like you do. There’s a hefty reward on your head. Wouldn’t mind getting my paws on some of that gold.’

  Imogen glared at the giant. He didn’t blink.

  ‘More biscuits?’ asked Marie in her chirpiest voice.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Miro. ‘I’ll buy your silence.’

  Blazen turned to the prince. ‘How much are we talking? They’re offering three hundred crowns for information about her.’ He pointed at Imogen with a biscuit.

  Miro walked over to the chest by his bed and rummaged around. ‘Two bags,’ he said. ‘It’s all I have left.’

  ‘That will do.’ Blazen held his drinking horn out for more medovina. Marie filled it up.

  ‘This is the second time I’ve had to pay you off,’ said Miro, depositing the bags of gold at the hunter’s feet. ‘Can I assume it will be the last? No one must know where Imogen and Marie have gone. I don’t want them being chased by Royal Guards up Klenot Mountain.’

  The giant nodded, slipping the bags into his pockets.

  ‘And if you won’t take my friends –’ Miro said the word carefully – ‘up the mountain, do you know someone who will?’

  Blazen thought for a moment. ‘There is one …’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘I’m not saying she’s any braver than me, but she is younger and she knows the forests well.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her name’s Lofkinye Lolo. We used to go hunting together … back in the old days.’

  ‘Where is she now?’ said Miro.

  ‘Beneath our feet, of course.’ Blazen stamped on the floor.

  ‘Dead?’

  ‘No!’ said Blazen. ‘In your stinking dungeons. But girlie must know her already! She’s the woman that was getting duffed up when girlie stole the rings.’

  Yeedarsh’s funeral ended with cathedral bells. Anneshka watched the priest as he said goodbye to the mourners and thanked them for coming. The Royal Guards left first, followed by the friends of the king, then a small party of servants and, finally, the prince.

  The priest patted Miroslav on the head and said some comforting words. The boy nodded and walked away, towards Castle Yaroslav.

  ‘The child has known Yeedarsh since he was an infant,’ explained the priest, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his robes. ‘It’s hard for him to see the old man go like this. Especially after losing his parents. Very hard indeed.’

  ‘Who were those people that were sent away before the ceremony?’ asked Anneshka.

  ‘Just some curious townsfolk,’ said the priest.

  ‘They were shouting. They seemed more than just curious.’

  The priest shook his head. ‘They want revenge, I suppose. They want to see the skret punished for what they’ve done.’

  ‘But Yeedarsh isn’t the first to be kil
led by the skret,’ said Anneshka.

  ‘He’s the first to be killed inside the castle walls. It looks like the skret are winning … And it looks like we are not.’

  ‘I see …’ Anneshka glanced at the altar, where the king was standing over Yeedarsh’s coffin. ‘Father, would you mind leaving us for a minute? I need to have a word with the king.’

  ‘Not at all.’

  Anneshka pushed the cathedral door closed behind the priest and turned to face Drakomor. It was just the two of them now.

  Her skirts kissed the floor as she walked down the aisle.

  ‘His soul may be with the stars,’ said Drakomor, with a voice full of emotion, ‘but it’s fitting that his body rests here. My ancestors have been buried in the cathedral since time began and Yeedarsh has been serving our family for nearly as long.’

  ‘I heard that you sent the guard away,’ said Anneshka. ‘The one that found Yeedarsh. The one that was supposed to be patrolling the West Wing.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘I would have had him executed. Someone has to pay.’

  ‘You were at your parents’ house,’ said the king, visibly taken aback.

  ‘It will be so much easier when I’m with you all the time.’

  Their eyes met across the coffin and Anneshka held his gaze. ‘You do know that people are blaming you, don’t you? They’re saying you can’t even protect your own home.’

  ‘Perhaps I can’t. The skret are getting bolder by the day. Just look at what they’ve done to Yeedarsh … It’s so monstrous. How could they do this to a harmless old man?’

  ‘“Harmless” isn’t the first word that springs to mind,’ muttered Anneshka.

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re at war, Drakomor. What do you expect your enemy to do? They kill us. We kill them.’

  ‘Weren’t you listening when I told you what they did to my brother? These are no ordinary enemies. These are monsters we’re fighting.’

  ‘Láska, I know you’re upset,’ said Anneshka, ‘but you need to understand the skret if you’re going to defeat them. They’re more similar to us than you think. They eat and sleep, just like we do.’