‘Thank you!’ cried Marie.
‘Yes, thanks, Lofkinye,’ said Imogen.
‘We’ll come for you tomorrow,’ said Miro.
‘I have nowhere else to be,’ said their new guide. ‘Do you know what to pack?’
‘I was thinking about that,’ muttered the prince. ‘There are chocolates in the kitchens. I think they’re for the wedding, but if I take a few and space them out again the head cook won’t notice.’
‘If stupidity floated, you’d be up there like a little duck.’
‘Huh?’
‘We’re not taking chocolate,’ said the woman. ‘Listen carefully. I’ll tell you what to bring.’
That evening, Petr Voyák, the Chief of the Royal Guards and the very same man who lost the king’s wedding rings, arrived at his quarters. He slipped off his boots and heaved a sigh of relief.
Since that blasted girl had escaped with the rings, every hour of Petr’s day had been spent hunting for her. There wasn’t a door in the city that he hadn’t knocked on. He’d threatened, he’d bribed, he’d pleaded. After nightfall, when it was too dangerous to go outside, he’d busied himself writing Wanted notices.
But not tonight. Tonight Petr was determined to have a break. He poured himself a glass of red wine and checked his black eye in the mirror. It was healing well. The woman who’d given it to him was in the Hladomorna Pits. That ought to knock the fight out of her.
Petr was just applying some mountain-daisy cream to the bruised skin when there was a knock on his door. It opened before he had a chance to say ‘come in’ and Anneshka Mazanar appeared.
‘I do hope I’m not disturbing you,’ she said in a honey-coated voice. Her violet eyes flicked from the undrunk wine to his cream-circled black eye.
‘No, not at all, m’lady. I was just – I was just cleaning my sword.’ He tried his best to look natural.
‘It’s “Your Highness” now, Voyák. I’m to marry the king. Haven’t you heard?’
‘Right, m’lady. I mean, yes, Your Highness.’
‘May I have a seat?’
Petr scrambled to clear her a space. ‘What can I do for you?’ he asked, sitting down opposite and wishing he hadn’t put so much cream on his face.
‘It’s not about what you can do for me,’ she said. ‘I’m here for King Drakomor.’
‘Well, as you know, I am the king’s most loyal servant,’ said the guard.
‘That’s exactly why I’m talking to you.’
Petr sat up a little straighter.
‘You see,’ continued Anneshka, ‘the task at hand is a rather delicate one. It has to be done by someone the king trusts. Someone who can do the job and keep quiet about it afterwards.’
‘Oh yes, m’lady. My lips will be sealed. Whatever it is, you can trust me to be discreet. I’ll be the—’
‘Of course –’ she cut him off – ‘the king is still upset about the wedding rings.’
‘It won’t happen again,’ said Petr. ‘You can count on me.’
Anneshka’s eyes went to the half-open door. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what you must do.’
Petr nodded.
‘The king wishes for Miroslav to be disposed of.’
Petr stopped nodding. ‘Disposed of?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sent away?’
‘No.’
‘As in …’ Petr put his hands round his neck.
‘He wants the boy killed,’ said Anneshka. ‘Can you manage that?’
‘He wants the boy killed?’
‘Isn’t that what I just said?’
‘Yes, m’lady.’
Now it was Petr’s turn to look at the door. He got up, peeped round it, then pulled it shut. He turned back to his visitor. ‘But … he’s just a child … I’ve known him since he was a babe.’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.’
‘Why would the king want his own nephew dead?’
‘Are you paid to ask questions, Voyák?’
‘No, m’lady.’
‘Then why are you doing it?’
‘I – I’m not in the business of killing children. It’s supposed to be enemy soldiers and skret and the like. That’s what I’m trained to kill.’
‘I thought you might say that,’ sneered Anneshka, standing up to leave. ‘From what I hear, you allowed a child to run off with our wedding rings, without so much as giving chase.’
‘Jan got stuck in an alleyway and—’
‘—I must say I had no idea you had such a soft spot for children. What else have you got a soft spot for?’
‘It’s just—’
‘It was a rhetorical question, Voyák. You’re not supposed to answer.’
His throat was dry. ‘Sorry, m’lady.’
‘You will be,’ she said. ‘If you’re so full of soft spots, I’m not sure you’re the right man to be heading up my Royal Guards. Perhaps you should step down. Perhaps you should take a trip beyond the mountains.’
Anneshka moved towards the door, but Petr leaped in front of her. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Don’t send me away.’ There was sweat above his lip. Why was there always sweat above his lip? ‘I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever the king commands.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘It needs doing tomorrow night.’
‘Yes, m’lady,’ said Petr. ‘But I’ll need another pair of hands.’
‘Is there someone that can be trusted?’
‘My brother, Jan … He won’t like it either, but I’ll tell him he can be my deputy if he helps.’
‘I’ll leave that to you,’ she said. ‘Just don’t tell anyone else.’
‘Very well, m’lady … Also, what should we do with the … how should we dispose of …’
‘The body? The king doesn’t much care what you do with the body,’ said Anneshka. ‘The main thing is to bury it deep. The story will be that the boy has been sent away. I’ll say he’s staying beyond the mountains, with his mother’s relatives.’
‘Right. I suppose you’ll be wanting some kind of evidence that the deed has been done?’
Anneshka thought for a moment. ‘You mean like the boy’s heart in a box?’
Petr felt the blood drain from his face. Surely she wasn’t going to ask him to …
‘No, I won’t be needing anything like that,’ she said. ‘How would I know it belonged to the boy? It could just as easily be a pig’s!’ She laughed, but Petr couldn’t bring himself to join in.
‘Besides, I have my own ways of knowing if people are telling the truth,’ whispered Anneshka, wrinkling her pretty little nose. ‘If you get close enough, you can almost smell it.’
Petr swallowed.
‘And Voyák …’
‘Yes, m’lady?’
‘It’s “Your Highness”.’
The night before they left for the mountains, the children didn’t sleep well.
Every time Imogen was about to drift off, things moved in the corners of her mind: her worry creatures would not rest. She closed her eyes and they stirred behind curtains and made the drawers rattle. Let me out, let me out, whispered a thousand tiny voices. You can’t go to the mountains. You’ll get yourself killed and sliced up. You’ll get lost. You’ll get eaten. You’ll never make it home.
Left to their own devices, the worry creatures would break free. They’d clutch at her stomach with their bony fingers until she felt sick. They’d sit on her chest so she struggled to breathe. They’d squeeze their ugly little bodies round her heart until—
Imogen imagined grabbing the worry creatures by the throat and stuffing them back where they belonged. Slam the drawers shut. Close the curtains. Give them all a good kicking.
She tried to think of something else. Something cheerful. She tried to think about being in bed with her mum, with books and fairy lights and a pinkish glow. The worry creatures were still for a minute – two at most – then they started to fidget and whisper and the whole thing began again.
Miro’s worry creatures w
ere different. They hid from him. They left him behind. They were grown-ups closing the door in his face. They were shadows of little girls running between trees. A shoe disappearing behind a trunk. An echo of laughter. Miro would turn on the spot and call, ‘Wait!’, but the ghosts wouldn’t wait and soon it was just him and a moon that took up half the sky.
Outside, the skret howled.
Finally, morning came and the clock struck seven. A pair of jewelled planets flew in circles round the nine before the hatch popped open. ‘What will it be this time?’ asked Miro, sitting up at the bottom of the bed.
A tiny carving of a boy trotted out of the clock’s hatch. He was wearing a miniature crown. ‘Oh look, it’s a prince like me!’
The little prince started running on the spot. His arms and legs swung on their hinges. Suddenly the running stopped. The figure moved back towards the hatch, but this time it was as though he was being dragged through it, pulled against his will. His tiny hands held on to the edges of the open door, fighting an invisible force. He let go. The hatch slammed shut. The prince was trapped inside the clock.
‘That’s weird,’ said Marie. ‘None of the others did that.’
Imogen looked at Miro. He had turned pale. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘We need to pack,’ said the prince.
Lofkinye had given them a long list of things to bring with them. ‘I’ll sort out the clothes,’ said Imogen. ‘Marie, you fetch the food. The cook loves you. She’ll let you have whatever you ask for.’
‘What about Miro?’ said Marie. ‘What’s he going to get?’
‘Weapons,’ said Miro. ‘I’ll get the weapons.’
Imogen was the first to return to the room at the top of the second tallest tower. She’d brought animal skins to sleep on and wear. Marie arrived next, dragging a sack through the door and dumping it by the bed.
‘Here, try this on for size,’ said Imogen, throwing her sister a coat. Marie pulled it on. The hood flopped over her face, the sleeves covered her fingers and the hem finished by her ankles. Imogen smothered a laugh.
‘It’s too big!’ said Marie.
‘It was the smallest one I could find.’
‘And it smells funny.’
‘It’s made from a dead animal. What do you expect?’
‘Urgh!’ Marie tossed the coat aside. ‘That’s disgusting.’
‘What did you manage to get?’ asked Imogen, opening Marie’s sack.
‘I’ll show you.’ Marie pulled out a bag of things that looked like shrivelled ears. ‘Dried apples and mushrooms.’ She tossed the bag aside and pulled out another. ‘Honey oatcakes. Bet they’ll taste good.’ She opened a third bag. ‘Venison pies. Smell them. Mmmm, tasty. Oh yes, and a load of dry bread.’
‘Dry bread? I don’t fancy that,’ said Imogen.
‘It’s twice-baked, like Lofkinye wanted. Cook was asking a lot of questions.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That we were preparing a special dinner for Miro.’
‘Did she buy it?’ asked Imogen.
‘Not sure,’ said Marie. ‘She said he never used to like mushrooms.’
Miro burst into the room with a manic look on his face. ‘Guess what!’ he cried. ‘I’ve raided the armoury!’
He knelt on the floor and unrolled a long sheet of leather. Inside were blades of all shapes and sizes. ‘Uncle would be furious if he knew …’
‘I like that one,’ said Imogen, pointing to a short sword with a jewel-encrusted handle.
‘I want the little one,’ said Marie.
Miro handed the girls the blades they’d asked for. ‘They aren’t full-sized,’ he said, ‘but they’re sharp.’
‘What about the bow for Lofkinye?’ said Imogen.
‘Got that too.’ Miro finished unrolling the sheet of leather, revealing an unstrung bow, a case and a quiverful of arrows.
‘Okay,’ said Imogen. ‘What’s left on the list?’
‘Rope and candles and a tinderbox,’ said Marie.
‘Don’t you need to get Lofkinye’s payment?’ said Imogen. ‘She wanted something from the king’s collection.’
‘She can have it after the expedition,’ said Miro.
‘I’m not sure she’ll be happy with that.’
‘Well, she’ll have to be,’ said the prince. ‘I don’t trust her. She needs an incentive not to dump us on the side of the mountain. Besides, it’d just be more to carry.’
‘I’ll leave you to explain that to Lofkinye,’ said Imogen, narrowing her eyes. ‘But, if you ask me, we shouldn’t go upsetting our guide before we’ve even left the castle. We’ve got bigger challenges ahead than your trust issues.’
Imogen ran her finger over the jewels in the hilt of her sword. It felt good to be armed. The stones were smooth. The blade was anything but.
She had a feeling she was going need it.
Petr picked a small church in a quiet corner of Yaroslav. While the cemetery’s earth was full of dead humans, the church walls were topped with the skulls of skret.
As Petr had predicted, his brother hadn’t been happy about Anneshka’s order to kill the boy, but Jan wouldn’t leave Petr to do the deed alone. He was a good brother. Besides, Jan liked the sound of Deputy Captain Jan Voyák. He said it had ‘a nice ring to it’.
Petr threw Jan a spade. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘the priest said we could put him under this old tree so long as we mind the roots.’
‘What did you tell the priest?’ said Jan.
‘That a young boy is very ill,’ said Petr, ‘and likely to die this evening and his parents can’t afford a funeral.’
‘Didn’t he ask why we were doing the digging?’
‘It’s not so unusual for the king’s men to lend the poor a helping hand,’ said Petr.
Jan snorted. ‘If you say so.’
Very few mourners visited the graveyard that afternoon and those that did paid little attention to the Royal Guards. They were too busy thinking about the dead to worry about the living.
When the grave was half finished, the priest came out and offered the brothers a shot of slivovitsa to ‘reward them for their charitable work’.
The guards knocked back the firewater. ‘Thank you,’ said Petr, not looking the priest in the eye.
The sun was just beginning to set when the brothers threw down their spades. ‘Reckon that’s deep enough?’ asked Jan, standing back to inspect his work.
‘I think so,’ said Petr, jumping into the hole. The grass came up to his forehead. ‘Yes, that’ll do. Give me a hand.’ Jan pulled his brother out of the grave.
They went into the church and said a quick prayer. Jan gave the priest a coin. ‘Would you include the boy’s name in the mass?’
‘Of course,’ said the priest. ‘What’s the child called?’
‘Miroslav,’ said Jan.
‘Second name?’ asked the priest.
‘Just Miroslav,’ said Petr, eyeballing his brother.
PART 3
‘Come on, you must have rucksacks,’ said Imogen. ‘They’re bags with pockets and zips.’
‘What’s wrong with packs?’ said Miro, pointing at four wooden frames with leather straps that he’d dumped on the floor. ‘They’re easy to use.’ He rolled up a fur coat. ‘You just tie things on.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ said Imogen. ‘I’m not a Brownie. I haven’t got a knots badge.’
‘What’s a knots badge?’ said Miro.
‘Never mind.’
An hour later, everything was secured to the packs. Food was stuffed into waxy fabric bags. Water carriers were sealed and strapped on the side.
‘We ought to keep our weapons handy,’ said Miro. Imogen wrapped a belt round her waist and slid her sword into place.
She lifted the smallest pack on to Marie’s shoulders. Marie stumbled backwards. ‘It feels like I’m carrying a hippo!’
‘You’ll get used to it,’ said Imogen, pulling on her own pack.
The sisters faced eac
h other.
‘We look like we’re going on a very long journey,’ said Marie.
‘We are,’ said Imogen. ‘We’re going home.’
‘Home … yes. We’re going to see Mum!’
‘And Grandma. Don’t forget about her.’
Marie pressed her lips together. ‘Imogen, it is going to be okay … isn’t it? We are going to find the door in the tree?’
‘Of course,’ said Imogen, sounding more certain than she was. She felt nervy – as if the worry creatures had got hold of her insides and were twisting them like a dishcloth.
‘We’re not going to get killed by skret?’ said Marie.
‘No,’ said Imogen, ‘we’re not.’
Marie looked reassured. Imogen wished someone would reassure her.
Marie waved goodbye to the room at the top of the second tallest tower and started walking down the spiral staircase. Miro was still plumping the cushions on the four-poster bed. ‘Come on, Miro,’ said Imogen. ‘It’s time to go.’
‘I want it to look nice for my return,’ said the prince.
‘It does look nice,’ said Imogen.
‘This cushion always gets a bit—’
‘It’s fine.’
‘I hope someone brings wood for the fire.’
‘Miro!’
‘Oh, all right. I’m ready.’
Miro and Imogen took a final look at the room. The sun was setting and they’d lit the candles so the grown-ups would think they were there after dark.
The clock was the only thing ruining the scene. There was something unrelenting about the way it ticked. It was a little too loud. A little too fast.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, don’t stop, tick-tock.
Marie called from somewhere down the staircase. ‘Imogen! Miro! What are you doing?’
‘We’re coming,’ they said and they closed the door behind them.
Imogen could still hear the clock ticking as she climbed down the stairs.
Petr surveyed the weapons in the castle’s armoury. There were spiked clubs, war hammers, winged spears and more.
‘Some of the small swords are out,’ said Jan.
‘Must be on loan to the new recruits,’ said Petr. ‘So … what should we take?’
A Clock of Stars Page 14