He slumped over the parapets, moaning and groaning, and Ottilie gave him very little in response. She hadn’t felt like talking to Leo since the horrible things Scoot had said the night before. None of it was new, but it had stirred up memories that she had been glad to put behind her.
A footman yanked the chain at the gate below, ringing the bell by her ear.
‘Clear?’ said Ottilie.
‘Yep,’ said Leo. He was supposed to be checking the area beyond the gate, making sure it was safe to open it. This would be their main duty for the night. The huntsmen on patrol rarely let anything close to the walls. Winged dredretches occasionally attacked, but they were usually large enough to mark from a distance. Jivvies were the worst. They were the smallest of the high-flyers and difficult to spot in the dark.
‘Are you even looking?’ she said, thinking of a wyler creeping through. Could that be how it happened – lazy wall-watchers? Strangely, she wished that were true. But she was sure it wasn’t. Wylers weren’t like jivvies – their orange fur and bright eyes were hard to miss. Someone had snuck the wyler inside, probably the same someone who crept around the Narroway hooded and cloaked.
‘Of course I am, Ott,’ snapped Leo. ‘It’s clear.’
Ottilie waved the blue flag by the lantern. Below, the gates were raised and six footmen headed out into the Narroway.
They were stationed by the small and little-used east gate behind Floodwood, the patch of woodland where Christopher Crow had saved Ottilie and Scoot from the yickers all those months ago. Beyond the wall, Ottilie could see the Sol River; it looked like a silver serpent curling eastward, tossing moonlight off its scales.
They were positioned between two towers, one directly over the gate, and another, the loftiest tower along the border wall. Ottilie had never worked the east gate before and found herself wondering about that lonely tall tower. It couldn’t be a watch station. It was too closed off and, as far as she knew, no huntsmen or wranglers were ever positioned there.
‘What’s that tower?’ she asked, pointing.
Leo, who’d been slouching over the edge of the wall, looked up. ‘Whistler,’ he muttered, his jaw slack with boredom.
‘Who?’ said Ottilie, frowning.
‘What’s wrong with you today?’
‘Nothing. What’s wrong with you?’
‘I hate wall watch,’ he said. ‘You know that.’
‘Well, maybe I do too.’
Leo narrowed his eyes. ‘I don’t have the energy to cheer you up today, Ott. Snap out of it. We’ll go and get some food from Mrs Kit as soon as we’re done.’
Ottilie had only recently learned that Leo knew Montie. As it turned out, he had been visiting her kitchen since his first year at Fiory, and would habitually go and see her after his most hated shift.
‘I don’t need you to cheer me up,’ she said, well aware that her tone suggested otherwise. ‘You didn’t answer my question. Who’s in that tower?’
‘The head bone singer,’ said Leo as if it was the most boring question in the world. ‘She goes by the name Whistler.’
‘Whistler?’ Ottilie couldn’t picture her, but she thought perhaps Skip had mentioned her before.
‘You wouldn’t have met her. She splits her time between stations, and when she’s here she keeps to herself. We call that the Bone Tower.’ He gestured lazily to the building. ‘Something’s wrong with you,’ he added.
‘Just leave it, Leo, I’m fine.’ She didn’t want to talk to him about any of it: her fight with Scoot, her worries about the wyler, the risk of having unarmed, untrained girls in the Narroway.
‘You’re so moody,’ he mocked.
‘No more than you are! You’ve been sulking this whole shift.’
‘For good reason, I hate –’
‘Wall watch. I know!’
‘So, what’s wrong with you?’ he demanded.
Ottilie turned to meet his eye. ‘I’m going to ask the directorate to let the custodians train with us. You want to cheer me up – sign the letter.’
Leo gaped at her.
‘And get the rest of the elites to sign it too,’ she added.
‘Sign what letter?’ he said, still gaping.
‘The letter we’re writing to ask –’
‘Petition.’
‘What?’
‘That’s what it’s called.’
‘I don’t care, Leo. Stop avoiding. Will you sign it?’
‘I … no.’
‘No?’
They were distracted. Too distracted. There was a great swishing of wings and a jivvie dived at Leo. She nocked an arrow and Leo reached for his mace but they were both too late. The jivvie’s needle-sharp beak was less than an inch from his temple when a great, dark-feathered owl latched on to the dredretch and tore its head clean off. Circling and soaring to the east, the owl screeched and the remains of the jivvie slipped through its talons and disappeared into the Sol River.
The jivvie’s flock broke the tree line. Ottilie swiftly rang the bells to alert the other wall watchers. Leo had already shot three jivvies down when she reached his side and took one more, before the remaining four were out of range. She and Leo watched as the huntsmen further along the wall dispatched the last of them.
They stood frozen for a moment. Silent. Ottilie wondered if Leo was feeling the same tug of shame. They hadn’t been paying attention. They had been squabbling. Not only had Leo nearly been scalped by a jivvie, but they had almost allowed it to pass over them into the grounds. If it wasn’t for that bird …
‘Do owls normally help like that?’
‘It can happen, other animals helping out there,’ said Leo. ‘It’s rare. Something’s happening in this place.’ He gazed out over the trees. ‘Stirring things up.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘Everyone’s acting crazy.’
11
Secrets and Signatures
Before Ottilie had come to the Narroway, five huntsmen had been named champion of their tier. Only one of them wore Fiory colours – Leo – and Ottilie was determined to have his signature on her petition.
‘Have you written it yet? I’ll sign it,’ said Gully.
He and Ottilie were bathing their horses after a gruelling riding lesson with Wrangler Ritgrivvian. It was an uncommonly warm autumn day. The afternoon sun lit the world with a fierce brilliance that did not match Ottilie’s mood. In fact, all the squinting and sweating only increased the weight on her chest. Everything, she felt, was very difficult right now.
She had been feeling unstable ever since the wyler attack, and especially since Conductor Edderfed’s speech. They were all on edge, more so than when the yickers had crept into Floodwood. Everyone was nervous, and everyone feared another breach.
But it was more than the wylers and the Withering Wood on Ottilie’s mind. Scoot, still refusing to talk to her, had kept his distance and charged off the moment the bells had rung out, leaving his mount caked in sweat.
‘No,’ she said, turning back to Gully, ‘it’s not written.’ She was planning to ask Alba to help write it. ‘And thank you, but you’re a fledge, and my brother. I really need elites, and I need Leo. His name will matter the most to them,’ she said.
As soon as she spoke, Ottilie realised her words might be hurtful. She studied Gully’s face, but he was nodding. He agreed with her.
Ottilie wished it were different. She wished that she were taken seriously as a huntsman. She resolved to work even harder. She would aim to get as close to becoming the fledgling champion as she could, and when she reached the third tier she would be one of the select elite. She was just going to have to make it happen. Then she would never need Leo’s help again.
Scoot’s accusation was still weighing on her. ‘Gully, Scoot said I’ve been hanging around Leo and Ned more than him and Preddy.’
Gully just blinked at her, as if to say, what about it?
‘He thinks I’m better friends with them now.’ She didn’t know how to put it. ‘But I’m not. I mean, I don�
��t mean to be.’
Gully shrugged. ‘You’re friends with everyone.’
Ottilie jumped. Billow had nudged her in the back and started rubbing his face against her shoulderblades. She laughed and pushed him off.
Wrangler Ritgrivvian called over to them, ‘If you have some time, you can walk them in the sun – to help them dry off.’
Gully had to run in to change for a hunt, but Ottilie didn’t have to patrol until later in the afternoon so she led both horses out across the grounds. Thankfully, Billow and Inch, Gully’s little grey gelding, got on well enough and it was a peaceful stroll – just what she needed to calm her mind.
She hadn’t even spoken to Leo since he’d refused to sign. She was so angry – this was their one chance. She and Skip were sure that if the directorate turned it down, they would not do so gently. There was a strong possibility they would be punished for daring to ask – that was why they needed to get it right.
How could Leo not understand how important this was? Ottilie shook out her shoulders. They would be patrolling soon, and she had to rise above it. Quarrels and grudges didn’t have any place beyond the boundary walls. It was too dangerous.
Ottilie had lost track of her feet, wandering through the clover fields, Billow and Inch trailing serenely behind. They passed by the apiary and she wondered if the bees would bother the horses, but they seemed unruffled.
Ahead, Ned was on the path to the boundary wall. Ottilie experienced a strange swooping sensation as, spotting her, he doubled back. Feeling jittery, she moved in closer to Billow, pressing against his warm neck. What was wrong with her? She’d talked to Ned alone before – though, come to think of it, it was rare. When he’d found her in the lower grounds with Maestro, she’d been too grumpy to notice. But now, she found that she really noticed. What would they talk about without Gully or Leo? She suddenly couldn’t remember any words.
Ned smiled at the horses. She remembered that he had spent his fledge year with the mounts but was placed with the footmen after his order trials.
‘Don’t let Leonard see you bonding,’ he said, reaching to greet Billow.
To her great relief, Ottilie thought of a response. ‘Do you miss them?’ she asked, wondering if the same would happen to her. What if she was made a footman or a mount? She recoiled at the thought. She was a flyer. She had to be a flyer.
‘Yes. But it’s more fun on foot, closer to the action.’ He flashed a grin. ‘Is your brother around? We’re supposed to be out the opal gate in a minute.’ He tilted his head at the path through the herb gardens. Out of sight, there was a gate down the slope from Opal Tarn, the glittering mountain lake cradled between the peaks beyond the fort.
‘He ran up to change. He should be here soon.’ Calmed by his ease, Ottilie realised what a blessing it was to catch Ned without Leo. She seized the opportunity. ‘Ned, I’m going to ask the dir–’
‘I’ll sign.’ Noting her confusion, he added, ‘Gully told me.’
She was taken aback. ‘I … thank you.’
He shrugged. ‘I agree with you. Girls should be allowed to train here. There’s no reason I can understand why they shouldn’t … I’ve thought about that a lot, ever since you first came here.’
A strange expression took hold of his face, something like guilt.
‘It was just normal, the way things were,’ he said. ‘But when I saw you, I realised it didn’t make any sense. But I should have realised that already. My aunt protected me and my brother from crocodiles and worse back home. Then I came here, and everything’s so regimented – you have to focus on the dredretches, and soon enough you just stop asking questions.’
Ned’s phrasing stuck in her head. ‘What do you mean since I first came here?’
‘Well, maybe not since you first came here,’ said Ned, with a slight smile. ‘But your trial, with the jivvies, definitely since then. I felt so stupid for not even thinking about it before – of course girls should hunt too.’ His eyes glinted with amusement as her mouth fell open.
‘You knew? From when? From the very beginning? How?’
Ottilie couldn’t believe it. She had suspected that some people knew. She’d always felt that Maeve Moth sensed something amiss – although, that never made much sense, because surely if Maeve had known she would have given Ottilie up in an instant – but Ned, she had never had an inkling. He had never treated her any differently from the other fledges, never looked at her funny or …
‘Do you remember when we brought you in and another fledge knocked you down in front of a shepherd?’ said Ned.
She remembered the great black dog snarling in her face, and Ned pulling her by the elbow, out of its way. ‘You knew then?’
‘That was the closest I ever got to you,’ he said. Ottilie thought his cheeks darkened a little. ‘I thought it then,’ he continued quickly. ‘But I wasn’t sure until I got Gully as my fledge.’
‘He told you?’ Ottilie didn’t want to believe it. He wouldn’t have, surely.
Ned laughed. ‘No. He never told me, but he’s not very subtle.’
‘But you never told anyone … Leo didn’t know … or I would have been in trouble much sooner.’
‘You know, I think maybe Wrangler Morse guessed, but no, Leo had no idea. He’s too self-centred, and you did a pretty good job of keeping your distance from everyone else.
‘This place, Leo included … arrogance can be blinding, I think. None of them would have guessed you were an imposter because they wouldn’t want to believe a girl from the Swamp Hollows could fool them. And do well, too – you were ranked so high for so long. You should never have made it as far as you did. They didn’t want to see it.’
Ottilie watched Billow and Inch grazing happily, her mind buzzing along with the bees. ‘Ned, I need him to sign it,’ she said. ‘Could you talk to him? Will you tell him that you’re going to sign?’
Ned didn’t hesitate. ‘I will. You can give it to me if you want. I’ll talk to the other elites – get you some signatures.’
She felt a twinge of annoyance. Ned was being so helpful, so understanding. If only he was the champion and not Leo, things would be so much simpler.
Thankfully, Scoot was absent from the dining room when Ottilie arrived for a late lunch. She settled at a table in the corner on her own. Alba shot Ottilie a smile and nodded to suggest she’d be over in a minute. Thick braids bouncing, she disappeared with a stack of plates piled high in her arms.
Across the room, Gracie Moravec caught Ottilie’s eye. Still recovering from the wyler bite, her usually golden skin was ashen. Ottilie was reminded of Bill, her old friend, the strange creature from the caves above the Brakkerswamp.
She wondered where he was now and slumped a little in her seat. She had always intended to return to the Swamp Hollows eventually, but if she stayed at Fiory until she was eighteen, would Bill still be there?
‘She doesn’t look well, does she,’ said Alba, sliding into the chair opposite her.
Ottilie’s head snapped up.
‘Wyler venom is really bad,’ Alba added. ‘Should put an end to the rumours though …’
‘What rumours?’ Ottilie leaned closer, grateful for the distraction.
‘People talk about Gracie. There’s a rumour that she’s –’ She leaned in and mouthed, ‘A witch.’
‘What?’ Ottilie had her own suspicions, but hearing that others felt the same was not welcome news. Skip called both Gracie and Maeve witches all the time, but Ottilie had thought it was just name-calling. ‘Why do people say that?’
‘Just a lot of little things,’ said Alba. ‘But there was something that happened a couple of years ago. She and a girl called Yosha Moses both jumped from a really high branch of an Uskler pine. Yosha hit her head and was badly hurt. They had to send her away. But Gracie – she came out of it without any bumps or bruises that I could see.’
‘That’s horrible,’ said Ottilie, trying her best not to picture the scene. ‘But that doesn’t mean she’s a witch
. She was probably just lucky.’
She didn’t want it to be real. She imagined the figure lurking in the shadows, lifting the hood to reveal Gracie Moravec, smiling her false little smile. But then, Gracie was a victim of the attack. She couldn’t have let that wyler in; it didn’t make sense.
‘I know, that’s what I think,’ said Alba. ‘Looking at how sick she is, I doubt people will be saying that anymore. And, apart from all the horrible stuff, witches were known for healing, so it doesn’t fit. I don’t really think anyone actually believed it, anyway. They’re just being nasty.’
‘Why did they do it, that girl and Gracie? Why did they jump?’ asked Ottilie, feeling sick.
‘Well, that’s another awful rumour,’ said Alba, frowning. ‘It was supposed to be more of a dare. Some people say Gracie talked Yosha into it, or used some sort of a spell to make her do it. But it’s just silly gossip – people getting carried away. No-one seriously believes there are any witches left.’
Ottilie looked over at Gracie. Did she really believe Gracie was capable of hurting someone? The pranks in the sculkie quarters were one thing, but convincing a girl to risk her life … No matter how uncomfortable she was around Gracie, Ottilie couldn’t believe she would do such a thing. Her eyes fell on the bandaged arm. ‘Actually’ – she turned back to Alba – ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the wyler attack.’ She explained what she and Skip intended to do.
As Ottilie spoke, Alba paled.
‘Didn’t you go through enough of that already, Ottilie? Remember when they found you out and they locked you in the burrows with … with all the …’
‘I remember,’ she said, thinking of the dank burrows, and the flares sparking and trilling in the darkness. ‘But it can’t go on like this, Alba. It’s getting worse here, everyone’s saying it. Girls should be allowed to hunt dredretches too. They should be allowed to help. Wouldn’t you want to?’
Alba didn’t even hesitate before shaking her head. ‘I don’t want to go anywhere near them. I’m not the sort of person who … Isla’s different from me. She wants to … that’s fine.’
Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters Page 6