A Clock of Stars

by Francesca Gibbons

  ‘Is that so?’ said Lofkinye. There was a dangerous edge to her voice.

  But Miro wasn’t listening. ‘The skret attack Yaroslav every night because they’re monsters and that’s what monsters do. The lesni tell stories because they’re liars and if you say one more thing about my uncle I’ll have you all sent to the Hladomorna Pits.’ Miro’s voice wobbled.

  There was silence in the bed. Imogen wondered if Lofkinye was going to throw the prince out of the tree house.

  If she holds his legs, thought Imogen, I’ll take his arms.

  But Lofkinye didn’t touch Miro. When she finally spoke she did so slowly and carefully, as if each word was barbed. ‘You talk about the lesni as if we’re a different species,’ she said. ‘And so be it. I don’t need acceptance from bigots like you.’

  Miro sniffed. Was he crying?

  ‘You’ve spent too long in that castle, little prince,’ continued the huntress. ‘Your thoughts are as mean and as dark as the Pits you’re so fond of. Be careful, or your hate will swallow you whole … But in spite of all that, I’ll offer you a new trade. You’ve already agreed to pay for my services. You’ve already sworn to give me something from your uncle’s collection.’

  ‘So what?’ snivelled Miro.

  ‘So I don’t want the Pustiny Jewels. I want the Sertze Hora instead.’

  ‘Ha! You can have it. A sackful of air.’

  ‘If it doesn’t exist, as you claim, then I’ll happily accept a sackful of air. But if there is such a stone, and if your uncle just happens to have it, you must give it to me.’

  ‘That’s the stupidest trade I’ve ever heard,’ said Miro.

  There was a flurry of skret cries from the forests below. Lofkinye lowered her voice. ‘So, do we have a deal?’

  ‘I said yes, didn’t I?’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  ‘Do you doubt the word of a prince?’

  ‘There’s more honour in my toenail clippings,’ muttered Lofkinye.

  The skret cries moved further away.

  ‘Lofkinye,’ said Marie, after a little pause, ‘do you think the skret we met earlier was telling the truth? Do you think the Maudree Král will drain our blood and slice up our flesh?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said the huntress. ‘The skret are not nearly so violent as they like to pretend. It’s the monsters dressed as kings that you’ve really got to watch out for. Not the creatures with claws and sharp teeth.’

  Meanwhile, back in the castle, Miro’s clock continued to tick. Even though the children weren’t there to see it happen, the hatch opened and a little man marched out.

  He was dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guards, with a sword at his side and a plumed helmet on his head. His arms swung in time with the clock.

  The figure gave a salute and promptly sank to his knees. Then he collapsed altogether. The body was drawn back into the hatch and the clock ticked on.

  It was Jan who discovered his brother’s body, all stiff and pale in the morning light. He sat on the floor and sobbed like a child. If only he’d gone with Petr to tell Anneshka about the prince’s escape. He shouldn’t have let Petr go alone.

  Jan didn’t know how long he’d been crying when Anneshka walked in. He saw her jewelled slippers first. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ was all that she said.

  Jan clenched his jaw and got to his feet. He looked at her with pure hatred. He knew what she’d done. Men like Petr didn’t just die. This was revenge. This was because Petr hadn’t killed the boy.

  ‘What do you want?’ he said, wiping the tears from his face.

  ‘He’ll need burying,’ said Anneshka. ‘And I believe you’ve already dug the grave.’

  It took Jan a moment to realise what she meant. ‘That grave’s not big enough,’ he said, not bothering to disguise his disgust. ‘It was intended for a child.’

  ‘So make it bigger.’

  Jan wanted to hurt her. He wanted to squeeze the air out of her lungs, make her pay for what she’d done … But it would be suicide. She was protected by the king. Instead, Jan watched the pulse beating on the side of her neck. He focused all of his energy on it – willing it to stop.

  ‘I know this was you,’ he said. ‘I know about the boy.’

  ‘Know what about the boy?’ She spoke with a smile in her voice as if she was asking about the weather.

  ‘I know you wanted him dead and I know that he got away.’

  Anneshka laughed. ‘What nonsense, Voyák! The boy has been taken beyond the mountains. That’s what the king commanded … Speaking of the king, he’d like to offer you his congratulations.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For your promotion to Chief of the Royal Guards.’

  ‘I don’t want the job.’

  ‘It’s not an offer. It’s a command.’

  ‘Why me? I’ve no experience leading men.’

  ‘Because I think you understand better than most.’

  ‘Understand what?’

  ‘The price of failure.’

  And, with that, Anneshka left the room.

  Imogen felt stiffer getting out of bed than she had done getting into it. ‘Once we’re home, I’m never going walking again,’ she proclaimed. Her whole body felt tight as though her muscles had shrunk while she’d slept.

  After breakfast, Lofkinye and the children climbed down the rope and began their second day of hiking. It was raining and the trees protected them from the worst of the weather, but, every so often, droplets came tumbling from the canopy, drenching an unhappy hiker.

  When this happened to Miro, he yelled and drew his sword, brandishing it at the nearest tree. ‘That’s the first sound you’ve made all day,’ said Imogen.

  Miro scowled and put his sword away. He was still sulking about his argument with Lofkinye, although Imogen thought he’d got off rather lightly.

  The path grew steeper so that walking, even at a steady pace, was hard work. To make matters worse, the fur coats absorbed the rain, becoming smelly and heavy.

  The children and the huntress walked round lakes that were so blue and so oval that Lofkinye called them ‘eyes’. Imogen paused and looked into the water. The rain disturbed the surface, but it was the closest thing she’d seen to a mirror for days.

  She was surprised to see a wildling looking back. Her short hair stuck up in tufts and her freckled face was dark with grime, making her eyes appear strangely bright. The soggy fur coat lent her a half-child, half-animal look.

  Marie stopped next to her. ‘What are you looking at?’ she asked.

  Imogen laughed at her sister’s reflection. ‘Mum won’t recognise us,’ she said. ‘You finally look like the baby wolf. You know, the one you’re always asking to be.’ Marie put her head back and howled.

  They stopped for lunch and Miro refused to sit with the girls and their guide. Instead, he sat on a rock by the lake.

  ‘Perhaps a venison pie will cheer him up,’ said Marie. She walked over, but he knocked her hand away, sending the pie tumbling into the lake.

  ‘Hey!’ shouted Imogen, rushing to Marie’s side. ‘That was the last one!’

  ‘I don’t care!’ the prince shouted back.

  Imogen gave him a shove and he almost followed the pie into the water. ‘You should go back to the castle if you can’t be nice,’ she yelled.

  Miro opened his mouth to protest, but Imogen’s fists were raised and ready for the fight. He glanced at Marie. Even she looked annoyed. Miro closed his mouth and turned away.

  The afternoon continued in much the same manner as the morning. The rain continued to fall and Miro continued to sulk.

  ‘Out of interest,’ said Lofkinye, ‘whose idea was it to bring the little prince on this expedition?’

  ‘He wanted to come,’ said Imogen.

  ‘And he’s our friend,’ said Marie. ‘He’s helping us get home.’

  ‘Funny sort of friend,’ said Lofkinye.

  Imogen watched her boots as she walked, trying to think of something
other than her aching shoulders and legs. The forest floor was changing. Rocks poked up through the mossy ground, like bald heads. Imogen imagined they were gnomes coming to the surface for air.

  When she looked up, she noticed that some of the trees were dead and others had black spots on their leaves. She plucked a diseased leaf and checked that Miro was out of earshot. ‘Hey, Lofkinye,’ she said. ‘Are you sure the Žal is happening because the mountain’s heart was stolen?’

  Lofkinye nodded.

  ‘And you’re sure it was taken by Miro’s uncle?’

  ‘I saw him riding through the forest with my own eyes,’ said Lofkinye. ‘I felt the Sertze Hora with my own heart.’

  The sisters looked back at Miro, who was struggling on a slippery patch of rock. ‘Should we wait for him?’ said Marie.

  ‘No way,’ said Imogen. ‘He’s perfectly capable of catching up if he wants to.’

  ‘I think he’s upset about Lofkinye’s story.’

  ‘Well, he’ll just have to get over it.’

  ‘But imagine,’ said Marie, ‘if the skret and the people were at war and the animals were dying – all because of something our mum had done. How would you feel?’

  ‘I’d be upset,’ said Imogen, ‘but it’s not his mum. It’s his uncle. And our mum would never do that.’

  ‘No,’ said Marie, ‘I suppose not.’

  Imogen felt a pang of homesickness. Her mum certainly didn’t agree with stealing. When Imogen was younger, she’d taken sweets from the corner shop, stuffing them into her socks so her ankles bulged.

  Mum had made her take them back and say sorry. Then she’d given her money to buy eggs and flour. They’d spent the rest of the afternoon baking.

  Imogen salivated just thinking about it. That cake had been even nicer than sweets – sticky, with a taste like burnt caramel.

  Mum always knew what was right and what was wrong. Imogen couldn’t imagine having no parents or an uncle like King Drakomor.

  By the end of the day, they were out of the forest and walking along a mountain path that climbed steadily, taking the travellers above the treetops. The rain stopped and they were treated to a spectacular view. The sun broke on the horizon, spilling like a runny yolk.

  ‘How far is it to the next tree house?’ asked Marie, leaning against Lofkinye and using a baby voice that Imogen hated.

  ‘There are no more tree houses,’ said Lofkinye. ‘We’re in the mountains now so we’ll have to make do with a cave. We’ll know we’re close when we see a lightning-struck tree.’

  Marie glanced over her shoulder.

  ‘It’s not here, silly,’ said Imogen.

  ‘I’m not looking for the tree. I’m looking for Miro. I thought he would have caught up by now.’

  ‘Oh, he’s just dragging his feet,’ said Imogen. ‘He’ll be here any minute.’

  The sun finished setting and a half-moon took its place. The forest was still. No squawks or squeaks. Just the hush of a land in decline.

  There was still no sign of Miro. ‘Come on,’ said Lofkinye. ‘We’d better go and get him.’ They picked their way back down the mountain path.

  ‘Bet this is just what he wants,’ said Imogen. ‘Bet he’s sulking round the corner.’ But, when they turned the corner, Miro wasn’t there. The path went up and down and round another bend. They turned a third corner and the prince’s pack and coat were splayed out on the earth, next to a boulder.

  Miro was nowhere to be seen.

  Lofkinye sprinted over to the abandoned things. ‘Little prince!’ she gasped, picking up the coat.

  ‘Where is he?’ cried Marie, panic-stricken.

  Lofkinye dropped everything apart from her bow and arrow. ‘There’s no point in you wasting your energy,’ she said. ‘Take off your packs, unsheathe your swords and stay here. I’m going to check further down the mountain.’ She disappeared into the darkness.

  The girls stood back to back. ‘Can you see anything your side?’ said Marie.

  ‘No,’ said Imogen. ‘Just rocks. What about you?’

  ‘Just trees.’

  They waited in silence, alert to the smallest of movements and the softest of sounds.

  Marie was the first to break. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Miro wasn’t that far behind.’

  ‘I do,’ said Imogen. ‘He’s run away. He couldn’t hack it.’

  ‘He wouldn’t …’

  ‘He would. He’s been sulking all day. I bet he thought it’d be easier than this. Bet he thought we’d carry him.’

  ‘But why did he leave his pack?’ said Marie.

  ‘Perhaps he reckons he’ll be quicker without it.’

  ‘You always think the worst of him. He’s not such a coward as you say.’

  ‘Urgh!’ cried Imogen. ‘You’re so naive!’

  ‘What’s nigh-eve?’

  ‘Stupid.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Marie jabbed her elbow into Imogen’s back. ‘Lofkinye says I’m the smartest child she’s met.’

  Imogen gave Marie a shove in return. ‘I don’t give a stuff what Lofkinye says. I’m sick of watching you suck up to her.’ Imogen put on a simpering voice. ‘Ooh, Lofkinye, I’m too small to carry my own stuff. Ooh, Lofkinye, look at these berries I picked.’

  ‘I don’t do that.’

  ‘She’s not Mum, you know.’

  ‘I know!’ yelled Marie.

  ‘Or your sister.’

  ‘Imogen, shut up! Something’s moving.’

  Imogen whirled round. Dry leaves rustled. The girls held up their swords.

  Something ran out from behind a rock. It was a mouse.

  Imogen laughed harder than she’d laughed in a long time and Marie laughed too. When they’d finished, they had tears in their eyes. They looked at each other, suddenly awkward.

  ‘You don’t have to worry, you know,’ said Marie.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About what you just said. About Lofkinye. I know she’s not my sister.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Imogen, embarrassed. That wasn’t what she’d meant. Or at least it wasn’t what she thought she’d meant. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a suck-up. Well, you are, but it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You’re my only sister,’ said Marie. ‘Whether I like it or not.’

  Imogen snorted and looked away. ‘Well … thanks.’

  How had Marie done that? She’d turned things on their heads. She’d made Imogen feel like she was the younger one. Imogen tried to think of something to say to reverse their roles, but there was no time.

  ‘I’ve come across twenty-stone pigs that make less noise than you,’ said Lofkinye, running up the path. ‘I could hear your bickering halfway down the mountain.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Marie, shrinking.

  ‘No sign of Miro?’ said Imogen.

  Lofkinye shook her head. She started grubbing about in the dirt. ‘There’s blood,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to see in this light, but I’m pretty sure that’s blood.’

  Imogen crouched down too. Sure enough, there were three red droplets, not far from the abandoned pack. ‘And there,’ said Lofkinye, pointing at the earth near Marie’s feet. ‘Skret prints.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Imogen. ‘It couldn’t be a wolf or a deer?’

  ‘I’m sure. He’s been taken by skret.’

  ‘Oh!’ wailed Marie. ‘I hope he’s all right! What are we going to do?’

  ‘There’s only one thing we can do tonight,’ said Lofkinye. ‘Find our cave.’

  Meanwhile, back in Castle Yaroslav, the door in Miro’s clock opened up. This time, the figure that crept out was shaped like a skret.

  Its circular eyes and triangular teeth were cut with the finest precision. It carried a long pole across its shoulder with a sack tied to the end. The skret was still, but the sack wriggled and writhed. After a few seconds, the monster went back inside the clock.

  Miro didn’t see the skret coming. They jumped on him from higher ground, pushing h
im face down into the earth. They ripped off his pack. Then they removed his coat, shaking it from him as though shelling a nut. Miro reached for his sword, but it was too far away.

  ‘Get off me!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you know who I am?’

  A mouthful of jagged teeth appeared next to his face. ‘Stop talking or we’ll cut out your tongue.’

  ‘Let’s slice it and dice it,’ said a voice like a crackling fire.

  ‘No, it could be a spy. Ask it what it’s doing here first.’

  The skret rolled Miro over so he could see their gruesome faces, pale grey in the moonlight with lopsided grins and crushed noses. He tried to get up, but they kicked him in the stomach. He groaned and curled into a ball.

  ‘Oi, human! What you doing so far from home?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the voice like fire, ‘this is our neck of the woods.’

  The kick had pushed all the air out of Miro and he couldn’t reply.

  ‘It’s too small to be a soldier.’

  ‘It’s too big for an abandoned babe.’

  ‘Who cares why it’s here. Let’s cut it up.’

  The skret with the voice like fire bent down and grabbed Miro’s hair, pulling back his head and touching his exposed neck with sharp claws. ‘Let’s just slit its throat and go home.’

  Suddenly Miro could breathe. ‘I’m Prince Miroslav,’ he gasped. ‘My uncle is the king.’

  The skret’s luminous eyes locked on his face. ‘The king?’

  ‘Yes, my uncle is King Drakomor. Don’t hurt me.’ There was a pleading note in his voice.

  ‘Your uncle is no king here,’ said the skret with a voice like fire, raising a clawed hand to strike.

  ‘Wait!’ said another skret. ‘Didn’t you hear? It said it’s a prince! It could be useful.’

  ‘If it’s telling the truth,’ said the voice like fire.

  ‘I am telling the truth!’ cried Miro.

  The monster leaned in and Miro could smell its rancid breath. ‘You’d better be,’ the skret hissed, and he sliced his claw across Miro’s cheek. The pain was sharp. Miro lashed out, but the other skret were on him, holding him down by his ankles and wrists. They were so strong that he didn’t stand a chance.