Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘Clubs are the easiest,’ said Leo, louder than necessary. ‘Learn how to swing with enough force and you can stop most smaller dredretches with one hit.’

  ‘It’s a good thing to learn,’ Ottilie added. ‘Because once you know how to do it, you can use anything heavy you can get your hands on.’

  ‘I was just about to say that, Ott,’ Leo muttered.

  ‘Well, now you don’t have to, Leo,’ she muttered back.

  Beside her, Alba chuckled. Leo clenched his jaw and crossed the group to criticise Fawn.

  Preddy wandered over to them. ‘Look.’ He pointed back to Gracie Moravec. Ottilie turned. Gracie had detached herself from Ramona’s group and was practising throwing her knife into a bale of hay, hitting the same spot over and over with freakish accuracy.

  ‘She must have used one before,’ he said, looking impressed and a little afraid.

  ‘And used it a lot,’ said Ottilie, feeling very disturbed. ‘I can’t do that. Skip,’ she whispered, beckoning her over. ‘What do you know about Gracie’s background?’

  Skip glared over at Gracie. ‘They say she’s a Laklander.’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean anything,’ said Ottilie, glancing sideways at Alba.

  ‘They always say that about fair-haired people,’ said Preddy, running his hand over his own wheat-gold hair. ‘My mother hated that about me … I was the only one of my brothers. Some of them had it when they were young, but it darkened. Not mine, though.’

  She felt the sudden urge to give Preddy a hug. He never said much about his parents, but when he did, it wasn’t good.

  Skip wasn’t paying him any attention. ‘I heard a rumour that she had to come here because she was on the run,’ she said darkly.

  ‘But isn’t that sort of the same reason you came here?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Maybe,’ said Skip, shrugging irritably. ‘For stealing some pearls and a bit of cheese.’

  ‘A whole chest of pearls, I heard.’ Preddy smiled.

  ‘How did you know that? Who’s talking about me?’

  ‘Probably the same people who are talking about her,’ said Ottilie, pointing at Gracie. ‘What else do you know?’

  ‘Well, I heard she had a habit of laming horses – but that wasn’t the worst. They say she tried to push a boy off a cliff near Scarpy Village.’

  Ottilie felt a strange jolt. ‘She’s from Scarpy Village?’ She knew Scarpy Village. It was north of the Swamp Hollows, near the mouth of the River Hook.

  ‘Somewhere around there,’ said Skip.

  Preddy paled. ‘Do you think it’s true?’

  ‘No way to know,’ said Skip. ‘She doesn’t exactly talk much. Where’s her evil twin? That witch loves to talk.’ ‘We shouldn’t call her a witch, Skip,’ said Ottilie. She felt guilty for ever using it now that they were all under suspicion.

  She looked around – Maeve wasn’t there. In fact, Ottilie couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her. She watched Gracie tossing the knife over and over, and a cold pricking crawled over her skin.

  21

  The Spy

  Gracie Moravec reached for Ottilie’s plate.

  ‘Finished with this?’ she asked sweetly. The sculkies didn’t usually clear plates until after the huntsmen left the table. Gracie seemed to know she unsettled Ottilie – and enjoyed doing it. ‘Will you be there tonight, Captain?’

  ‘Really,’ said Ottilie flatly. ‘Captain? Not Shovels?’

  ‘I never called you Shovels.’

  ‘To my face,’ said Ottilie. ‘I’m not your captain.’

  ‘Sure you are. Captain Colter, commander of the sculkie army,’ she said with a cat’s smile.

  Ottilie didn’t understand the joke. Gracie herself was a sculkie, and she had never missed a training session. She was mocking herself.

  ‘What do you want, Gracie?’

  ‘Your plate,’ she said with a tinkling laugh.

  Ottilie realised she was still holding on to it. Releasing it, she said, ‘Where’s Maeve?’ She watched closely for a reaction.

  ‘She’s assigned to the library today.’ Gracie calmly took the plate and turned away.

  ‘What was that about?’ said Gully, approaching with a pitcher of apple juice. Gully rarely ate at breakfast time.

  ‘Skip’s right. We can’t trust her,’ said Ottilie, staring at the back of Gracie’s head. Her pale tresses seemed to float a little off her shoulders, just as her feet seemed to float a little from the ground. There had always been something spectral about her.

  ‘But she already knows about everything,’ said Gully, with a shrug. ‘And she’s been coming along. She’s good too, have you seen her with a knife?’

  She watched Gracie drifting away. She had that knife on her somewhere, concealed in her uniform. Ottilie had thought it such a good idea to arm them all, give them weapons to use against the dredretches, but knives could cut people too, and knowing that Gracie Moravec was carrying one around made Ottilie very nervous.

  Ottilie and Gully were on their way to the arena for warding when she got a strange feeling and slowed.

  ‘What?’ Gully turned back towards her.

  ‘I just want to check on something.’ She started jogging towards the library. It had been bothering her since breakfast – Ottilie hadn’t laid eyes on Maeve in a week. She wanted to see for herself that she was unharmed.

  Gully caught up with her. ‘We’ll be late,’ he said, somewhat gleefully.

  They descended the stairway into the library and looped through the stacks.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ said Gully.

  ‘Maeve,’ said Ottilie, offering no further explanation.

  They rounded the corner and Ottilie saw two legs stretched out on the ground, illuminated by a lantern.

  ‘Maeve,’ she said in a carrying whisper.

  ‘What? Ottilie?’ The girl got to her feet, holding the lantern aloft. It wasn’t Maeve. It was Alba.

  ‘What are you two doing here?’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘I was just about to come and find you. I found something in here – about dredretches!’ She held the green book into the light.

  ‘What is that?’ Gully reached for the book.

  ‘A book about witches. Careful, it’s old.’

  ‘I don’t think you should be reading this here, Alba,’ said Gully, his brow furrowed. ‘You don’t want to get caught with a witch book.’

  Ottilie stared at him. Listening to Gully advise someone to be cautious was very strange. ‘What did you read?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, for starters, witches were experimenting with salt weapons long before the Narroway Hunt ever existed, even before the Lakland War! After Seika Devil-Slayer defeated the fendevil the witches starting investigating how she did it, and that was how they found out about salt – but most of their knowledge was lost in the witch purge.’

  ‘The witch purge?’ said Gully.

  ‘When the Roving Empire had control of the Usklers they hunted all the witches,’ said Alba, speaking so quickly Ottilie was impressed the words were clear.

  ‘Is there anything in there about how she defeated the fendevil?’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Not that I’ve found,’ said Alba, chewing her lip. ‘But there is an explanation of what dredretches are – where they come from. It says that they’re creatures from down below, from the underworld, and that evil – acts of violence or when people do bad things – sings to them, calling them to the surface, guiding their way up.’

  Ottilie had heard that before, from Old Moss or Mr Parch, she wasn’t sure which. She imagined a kappabak bursting through the stone floor beneath her feet. ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked, blinking away the horror. ‘Why are they talking about dredretches in a book about witches?’

  ‘Because,’ said Alba, ‘the book says dredretches can be summoned and even controlled by a witch!’

  She knew it! This was what she had suspected all along.

  ‘But the book condemns it,’ said Alba.
‘Says it corrupts witches’ spirits and infects their power. Witchcraft is supposed to be a natural art – but this sort of thing destroys them, makes them less alive, less human – and more powerful.’

  Ottilie’s breath grew short. The confirmation that one person was responsible for all this horror was devastating. ‘Do you think that the dredretches in the Laklands – that a witch brought them there?’ she asked, hoping the answer was no.

  Alba swallowed. ‘After everything we’ve learned, and talking to Whistler, that story about the broken promise, I think the dredretches came to the Laklands because of all the terrible things that happened in the war. But since then, in the Narroway, I don’t know …’

  Gully gripped Ottilie’s wrist.

  She turned to him. His eyes were cold, serious. He was warning her not to react. She skimmed the space discreetly, listening hard. Alba didn’t seem to have noticed anything, but Ottilie sensed it: someone was nearby – spying.

  She heard soft footsteps, someone carefully backing away. She glanced at Gully. He nodded, and they both dashed in opposite directions, looping around the aisle, trapping the spy between them.

  Ottilie got there first.

  ‘Get off me,’ Maeve hissed.

  Ottilie pulled her into the light.

  Maeve looked truly terrible. Her hands shook as she shoved Ottilie away. She looked so frail that Ottilie released her, scared of breaking her.

  ‘Maeve, are you all right?’ she asked, forgetting about the spying.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Gully.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Maeve snapped. ‘Better before you manhandled me!’ She glared at Ottilie.

  Several books slid back from the shelf next to them and Alba’s face appeared in the gap. ‘Why were you listening to us?’ she demanded.

  ‘I wasn’t listening to you. I was dusting,’ she said, lamely raising her feather duster and sweeping it over a row of books. ‘I’m working in here today.’ Her tone was not at all convincing.

  ‘You were listening,’ said Gully.

  The nearest lantern sputtered and sparked. Maeve recoiled and dropped the feather duster, her eyes wide. Then, so slightly that Ottilie couldn’t be sure it was happening, the air around them shifted, like a cool breeze through a window. She thought she glimpsed a swirl of dust sweep by the lantern.

  ‘We shouldn’t be gathered here like this,’ said Maeve, her voice hoarse. ‘If they catch us it will look suspicious. So, unless you’re going to chain me to the shelf, I’m leaving.’

  As she hurried away, Ottilie noticed a dark feather sticking out of her matted hair.

  ‘She’s right,’ she said. ‘And Gully’s right, Alba – don’t read that book anywhere you can get caught.’

  For Alba’s sake, Ottilie didn’t want to be seen with her. So she and Gully left the library first.

  ‘Did you see the lantern?’ said Gully, sounding more excited than alarmed. ‘And the tapestry … you don’t think –’ He didn’t leave a moment for her to answer. ‘If I had to pick anyone to be a witch, it would be her.’

  Ottilie knew what he meant, but it didn’t seem possible. Maeve a witch? Controlling the dredretches? Summoning the kappabak – the monster that had nearly killed Leo? Maeve had always seemed to like Leo well enough. Ottilie couldn’t imagine her wanting to hurt him. And the wyler in the sculkie quarters – it had killed Joely Wrecker and bitten Maeve’s best friend. Maeve had been so angry about it; she wanted to learn to fight. It didn’t make sense.

  22

  Ambush

  The next morning, Ottilie was on her way to the lower grounds when Alba and Skip hurried after her, down the icy path.

  She scanned the frosted gardens to see if anyone was watching. ‘We can’t talk in the open, you know that,’ she said when they reached her. But up close, she saw the raw panic on their faces. Her breath caught. What was it? More animals with their hearts missing? Another wyler in the grounds? Someone injured … or worse?

  ‘Someone stole it,’ Skip spat, her neck visibly taut.

  ‘The book,’ said Alba, with tears in her eyes.

  Ottilie’s chest tightened.

  ‘Someone took it,’ said Alba. ‘I was hiding it in the root cellar. And when I went to get it early this morning it was gone!’

  She tried to muster her nerves. ‘But who … Maeve?’

  ‘She’s the only one, other than us and Gully, who knows about it,’ said Alba, hugging herself in the cold.

  ‘It’s her, Ottilie,’ said Skip, with venom on her tongue. ‘I know it. She’s the witch. Her or Gracie Moravec. Maeve could have taken it for her.’

  ‘We don’t know that, Skip.’ She was trying to stop Skip from acting rashly, but Ottilie knew it must have been Maeve.

  ‘We should report it!’ said Skip. ‘They’re looking for witches. It’s them. I know it. I knew they were evil. I could smell it!’

  ‘Skip, stop it,’ said Ottilie. ‘Listen to yourself. We can’t report it. Then they’ll find out we stole the book from Whistler. And we can’t just accuse … it’s so serious … we can’t accuse anyone without real proof.’ After everything that she had been through, it would take a lot for Ottilie to report someone to the directorate – and with all this talk of witches, it would be even worse now than it had been for Ottilie.

  ‘What should we do, Ottilie?’ asked Alba, her voice pleading.

  ‘I … I don’t know. I have to go, I’ve got a hunt. We’ll just talk to her. We have to ask her why she took it … try to get it back. But, please, just wait for me. I’ll be back around midday. Don’t do anything yet.’

  She had to put it all aside for now. She certainly couldn’t tell Leo about any of it – for all she knew, he would run straight to the directorate to report the entire thing, including their break-in. She did her best to act normally as they saddled Maestro and soared out over the peaks beyond the fort.

  In only a couple of hours, they had already felled six yotes – like nasty, winged mountain goats – and four highland morgies, paler in scale colour than the lowland kind. Now they were on the trail of a cinder snake in the icy caves behind Opal Tarn.

  Cinder snakes were monstrous serpents with sharp-edged scales that leaked sizzling acid, which could corrode stone. It was an easy trail to follow, but a perilous path to walk on foot. Maestro waited for them out in the open air, while Ottilie and Leo wandered the track with caution in their tread.

  The enormous red snake was curled up inside a narrow cavern. Ottilie raised her bow and was about to take the shot when Leo’s foot slipped and he stumbled with a scuffle and a gasp. The snake raised its sleepy head. Opening its cavernous jaw, it hissed and shot at them like a spear.

  Leo, determined to salvage his dignity, knocked Ottilie’s arm so that her arrow flew off sideways, hitting the cave wall. He raised his own bow, landing his shot squarely between the serpent’s eyes.

  ‘Leo!’ growled Ottilie, as the cinder snake fell, sizzling and crumbling a few yards from where they stood. ‘That was mine!’

  ‘You probably would have missed,’ he said.

  Ottilie was about to reply but something stopped her. Far away, back through the maze of tunnels, she could hear Maestro’s cry. She and Leo didn’t say a word; they both turned and sprinted back through the caves, leaping over pools of acid, slipping and stumbling on ice and collapsed rock.

  They burst out into the sunlight to find Maestro stalking back and forth, tossing his head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Leo, hurrying over to the distressed wingerslink.

  Then Ottilie heard it, a dreadful cry – a song of agony, sorrow and terror.

  Leo leapt up into the saddle and held out his arm. Ottilie gripped it and swung up behind him. Maestro launched into the air and circled the peak. Ottilie could see Opal Tarn below, crystalline blue and gleaming in the sunlight, the alpine plants glittering with frost at its edges.

  Something was wrong – moving flashes of orange, and pools of ruby red. There were wyler
s, at least ten, and the white wyler at the centre, ripping and shaking, shredding something Ottilie didn’t want to see.

  Movement caught her eye. There was a footman down there, fending five off at once with a spear. It was Scoot! Ottilie dug her heels in, urging Maestro to dive, but Leo was giving him different commands. The wingerslink growled with frustration and rocked in the air.

  She felt as if her throat had filled with water. ‘Leo, Scoot’s down there!’ She could barely form the words. Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

  Leo swore and Maestro dived so suddenly that she was thrown backwards. On landing, Maestro caught a wyler in his jaws and shook violently, chunks of rotten flesh and bone flying past them on the wind. Ottilie righted herself and aimed an arrow.

  The wylers were distracted. Ottilie managed to hit one before it could dodge. Leo missed one. It scampered sideways and Scoot pierced it with his spear. There were two left, and the rest of the pack were approaching. Maestro swatted the nearest with his paw, giving Scoot a moment to dodge and grab on to the saddle.

  Leo fended them off while Ottilie seized hold of Scoot’s quiver strap and pulled him up. He managed to squeeze in just behind her, but there was no time to strap him in.

  Hot tears scalded her icy skin. ‘Hold on really tight!’ she said, her throat aching from swallowed sobs.

  Scoot wrapped his arms around her middle. She could feel his whole body shaking.

  Maestro leapt into the air.

  ‘Bayo,’ said Scoot, with a strangled cry.

  Ottilie looked down and for a moment she seemed to forget how to breathe. Then it came, short and fast. It was making her dizzy. And she could hear her own pulse, like a drum beating too loud. There was nothing … no-one left down there, and the white wyler was still, head tipped to the sky, staring after them as they fled.

  Ottilie, Gully and Preddy sat by Scoot’s bed in the infirmary. He was bruised and scratched and he’d twisted his ankle, but he was going to be all right. Ottilie felt an unknowable pain, all over her body, and at the same time a strange numb feeling, as if she had fallen into a story, not real life. She couldn’t imagine what Scoot was feeling.