Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters

by Rhiannon Williams

  ‘It’s me,’ said Skip’s voice.

  ‘And me,’ said Gully, from a little further back. ‘You ready to go down?’

  Ottilie knotted the last tie on her jacket and opened the door.

  ‘I’m here to wish you luck,’ said Skip. ‘Alba sent this with me.’ It was a small brambleberry pie, Ottilie’s favourite. ‘Montie made it. Alba wanted to come but the kitchens are too busy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, with a hungry smile.

  ‘How do you think you went?’ said Skip.

  Ottilie shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll see. Argh!’ She swatted a curl off her face. ‘I can’t keep this out of my eyes. I’m thinking of cutting it all off again.’ She shook her nearly shoulder-length hair.

  ‘Well, you don’t have time for that now,’ said Skip practically. ‘Unless you want me to cut just that chunk.’ Ottilie laughed. ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll fix it,’ said Gully, climbing onto the bed. He stood above her and deftly wound the incriminating curls into a braid that sat well out of her eyes. It was a comforting feeling, having someone dealing with her hair. It reminded her of Mr Parch, cutting it with gentle hands, or Bill tentatively hacking it with a knife, or Skip, secretly trimming it in the springs before she’d been found out. Most of all, it reminded her of Freddie, those few moments in her early childhood when her mother had been there, taking care of them, brushing knots out of her hair.

  ‘How do you know how to do that?’ said Skip, with an impressed grin.

  Gully shrugged.

  ‘He used to braid our mum’s hair off her face when she wasn’t feeling well,’ said Ottilie.

  ‘Got a lot of practice,’ said Gully.

  The Moon Court was divided in two. A long wall of stone stretched up behind the Fiory directorate, who sat facing the huntsmen. Just to the side, Ottilie spotted Whistler, sitting with a row of pale-robed bone singers. The champions’ ceremony must have been important indeed to lure her into the crowd.

  The excitement was palpable. Even though Ottilie knew there was no way her name could be called, her heart beat fast and, despite everything that had happened lately, she found that she was smiling a lot.

  Captain Lyre stood in front of them, his blue coat swapped for a black, scaly-looking jacket, flecked with ember orange and trimmed with obsidian stones. His neat beard was twirled at the tip, and his boots were so shiny Ottilie wondered if she might see her reflection if she peered close.

  ‘Welcome, welcome, everyone!’ he said with a merry grin. ‘As many of you know, today is my favourite day of the year!’ He paused, his smile vanishing. ‘This year … this year has been a difficult one for us here at Fiory.’ His voice dropped and darkened. ‘I want to start with a moment of silence for those we have lost. Please join me in honouring our fallen Fiory huntsmen, Christopher Crow, Tommy Mogue and Bayo Amadory.’

  All around the courtyard the sculkies held black shades over the candles. The light dimmed, illuminating the starry sky above. Beside Ottilie, Scoot closed his eyes. On her other side, Gully leaned in and said, ‘Why didn’t he mention Joely?’

  She shook her head. Joely was only a sculkie, that’s how the Hunt saw it. But she wondered if her own name would have been mentioned. She was a huntsman, just like them, even if she wasn’t supposed to be.

  She closed her eyes. Were they doing the same thing at Richter and Arko right now, honouring the Fiory fallen? Or did they have casualties of their own? The Hunt didn’t tell them about things like that.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Captain Lyre, and the shades were lifted. ‘There are difficult times ahead. The witch responsible for this misery is still at large. We salute you on your efforts in seeking Gracie Moravec, and we have faith that she will be brought to justice soon. You have done valiant work this past year. We had an outstanding crop of fledglings join our ranks and exceptional guardians guiding their path.’

  Captain Lyre went on to mention some of the brave and daring feats enacted by the huntsmen that year. He mentioned Igor Thrike’s defeat of the barrogaul, and several other stories of daring deeds and impressive fells. Most, Ottilie had heard about before. Tales of heroism spread fast around the fort.

  ‘And the kappabak …’ Captain Lyre paused.

  Ottilie felt eyes upon her and looked up to find Whistler watching.

  ‘A new dredretch …’ He continued in a carrying whisper, as if he were telling them a ghost story. ‘The largest on record. A monstrous beast, discovered and defeated by our own champion of two years running, Mr Leo Darby.’

  The huntsmen stamped their feet on the ground with a chorus of whistles and hoots. Ottilie did not find it particularly surprising that her name wasn’t mentioned.

  Captain Lyre’s eyes found her in the crowd. ‘This was a year of change,’ he said. ‘Some for the worse, some for the better. This year, we welcomed a female into the Hunt.’

  The huntsmen stilled. A weighty hush fell upon the courtyard.

  ‘Welcomed?’ said Scoot.

  Behind Captain Lyre, Conductor Edderfed shifted on his throne. Ottilie didn’t think the directorate had known he was going to mention her. She glanced again at Whistler, who offered her a small, quite warm smile.

  ‘Ottilie Colter started late. Beginning in last place, with only nine points, halfway through the hunting year,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘Over the last two seasons, she has earned well over six thousand points, clawing her way up to FIFTEENTH position! I think she deserves a round of applause!’

  Ottilie couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t only cracked the top twenty, she’d made the top fifteen! She hadn’t even thought it possible. Scoot, Gully and Preddy all leapt to their feet. Among the elites, Ottilie saw Ned rise, and Leo beside him. Several of the elites patted Leo on the back. There was a loud whistling across the room, and Ottilie saw Skip with her fingers at her lips. At the back of the courtyard Montie and Alba were beaming.

  Many people remained seated and several others didn’t clap, but Ottilie couldn’t believe how many were cheering her. Of the wranglers, only Ramona and Wrangler Morse were clapping. Behind Captain Lyre, the directorate remained stony-faced, but just beside them Whistler tipped her head in a lopsided bow.

  ‘He’s going to be in trouble,’ said Scoot, with a half-smile.

  ‘I think he’s proving a point,’ said Preddy. ‘He’s showing them how much support you have. It’s more than half the room, Ottilie.’

  ‘I don’t know if showing them that was a good thing,’ she said. She couldn’t help but feel that Captain Lyre had just painted a very big target on her back.

  ‘It is a good thing,’ said Gully, still clapping loudly.

  ‘Now!’ Captain Lyre cried above the clamour. ‘I won’t keep you waiting any longer. We’ll start with our Fiory elites for the next hunting year.’ He held forth a scroll and unrolled it with a flourish.

  ‘Beginning with our new third tiers …’ He called eleven third tiers and moved on to the fourth tiers. Leo and Ned were both named. He came to the end of the fifth-tier elites and said, ‘Ladies, let’s have the peppermead.’

  The sculkies appeared at the end of each row, passing along goblets of sparkling silvery liquid, until every huntsman had one in their hand.

  ‘What’s peppermead?’ said Gully.

  ‘Pirate’s drink,’ said Scoot, gazing at the goblet with enthusiasm.

  ‘Really?’ said Ottilie. She had never heard of it, but then no-one really drank anything but water back at the Swamp Hollows – water, or Gurt’s bramblywine.

  ‘Triptiq pirates,’ said Preddy. ‘They toast their captain with it, first night at sea. It’s a tradition – to honour the captain, and keep them sharp – then they get drunk on rum,’ he added, with disapproval. ‘But it’s bad luck if they don’t do the peppermead first.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ said Gully.

  ‘My father refused to have it in the house because of the association,’ said Preddy.

  Ottilie sniffed it. It smelled vaguely
of ginger.

  ‘Let’s have the drums!’ said Captain Lyre, swinging his cane in the direction of a bone singer, who began a quick beat on an enormous drum.

  ‘As always, fledglings first!’ called Captain Lyre. ‘Our fledgling champion … by an impressive margin of thirty-eight points … is … GULLIVER COLTER!’ Ottilie gasped and spilled half the peppermead all down her front. She didn’t care one bit. She was smiling so hard it strained her face. Gully had won!

  The huntsmen stamped their feet, and it was as if thunder filled the courtyard. Slowly, the first section of the stone wall behind the directorate began to fill with names and numbers – the fledgling rankings – with Gully’s name at the top.

  ‘Come forward, Mr Colter,’ said Captain Lyre, twinkling with glee.

  Ottilie squeezed his hand and Gully got to his feet, a little shakily, Ottilie noticed, but no-one else would have picked it up.

  Conductor Edderfed presented him with a gleaming cutlass and said something to Gully that they could not hear. Gully raised the cutlass in the air and the huntsmen raised their goblets and then drank.

  Ottilie took a gulp of what was left of the fizzing, silvery drink. It was a strange flavour and, indeed, quite peppery. Beside her, Scoot gagged and clutched his throat. Preddy had only taken a delicate sip. He was wrinkling his nose and gazing down at his goblet with interest.

  Gully came back to sit beside Ottilie. He showed her the cutlass. It had a glinting silver hilt, engraved with an eagle. The bird had what she thought might be rubies for eyes, and it was surrounded by an ornate letter C. Ottilie recognised it. Leo had one almost exactly the same.

  Captain Lyre announced the second-tier champion. A mount from Richter. Even though he wasn’t present, they stamped their feet and toasted once more, as the second-tier rankings appeared on the wall.

  ‘And our third-tier champion.’

  The room grew very still.

  ‘For the third year in a row –’

  Leo jumped to his feet, fist in the air.

  ‘– it’s LEO DARBY!’

  The room erupted into cheers and whistles. The bone singer beat the drum, peppermead slopped all over the floor and the huntsmen stamped their boots. Igor Thrike had got to his feet, but he was standing still, scowling. Ned hugged Leo, and as he patted him on the back Leo turned and grinned at Ottilie. She laughed out loud and shook her head, beaming.

  Conductor Edderfed presented Leo with his cutlass and he held it in the air far longer than Gully had.

  The two remaining champions were a footman and a flyer from Arko. The Fiory huntsmen toasted both, and Captain Lyre gestured to two shovelies. Ottilie hadn’t noticed them there, each standing in a dark corner. On either edge of the wall, the shovelies turned what appeared to be a very heavy wheel. Slowly the wall behind the directorate slid down and disappeared beneath the floor, revealing the rest of the courtyard. Branches and leaves hung from the walls and the space was filled with candlelit tables piled high with pots and plates of glorious food.

  ‘Well,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘Shall we eat?’

  With a cheer of appreciation, the huntsmen made their way over to the other side of the courtyard. Ottilie lingered a moment. She watched the shovelies leaving, their only job done, and the sculkies lining the walls, ready to wait on the huntsmen.

  ‘They get paid, Ott, they’re not slaves,’ said Leo, appearing at her side.

  ‘That’s not the point, Leo. It’s about who’s allowed to do which job,’ she said, looking over at Skip, who was handing out drinks.

  ‘So what … you’re not going to eat? You’ll starve pretty quick if that’s your attitude.’

  ‘Yes, Leonard, I’m going to eat.’ She held her hand out. ‘Let’s see it?’

  He passed her his cutlass. She ran her fingers over the engraving of the eagle. Below it there was a wolf with amber eyes, and below that, a mare with diamonds.

  ‘That’s the new one,’ he said, pointing to the mare, grinning victoriously.

  ‘What are they going to do if you win next year? They’ve run out of gods.’

  Leo grinned. ‘They can put a picture of me on there.’

  Ottilie snorted.

  ‘Come on,’ said Leo. ‘Come and eat with me.’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like eating with fledges,’ she said, as they walked towards Gully and Ned.

  ‘You’re not a fledge anymore, Ott.’

  That was true. She was on her own now and she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Ottilie looked around the room. She saw Gully and Ned laughing together. Nearby, Scoot was bragging that he was going to beat Preddy now that the scores were reset, even mustering a full smile or two. Ned looked over at them. Eyes bright, he jerked his head as if to say, hurry up.

  As she approached the table, a new feeling gripped her – a sense of foreboding. This was too good, too merry … it couldn’t last. She thought of Gracie and the wylers, and the mysterious witch who had bound her to them. Her mind whirled to the Withering Wood, the patches of decay, and the bloodbeasts, however many there were. Ottilie had the devastating feeling that this was probably the last night of real joy they would have in a while.

  32

  Wrangler Kinney’s Revenge

  With the beginning of spring came the order trials. The new second tiers would be tested on foot, horseback and wingerslink, and placed permanently in the order most suited to them.

  On the morning of her flight trial, Ottilie found Leo waiting for her in Maestro’s pen. Bill was getting better at hiding; there was no sign of him.

  Ottilie’s nerves were making her irritable. She was desperate to be made a flyer. If she was going to be facing witches and bloodbeasts and who knew what else, she would do it on a wingerslink. ‘Why are you down here?’ she asked Leo.

  ‘Wishing you luck,’ he said, helping her with Maestro’s saddle.

  They fastened the buckles in silence. She found herself feeling very sad. This might be the last time she rode Maestro. Even if she managed to be named a flyer, she would be assigned a different wingerslink. Maestro and Leo belonged to each other.

  Once they were done, Leo leaned in and whispered to Maestro, ‘Be good.’ He gave Ottilie a nod and left her alone to fret. When he was halfway down the passage he called out, ‘Don’t blow it.’

  Ottilie had worried that Maestro would play up, as he often did when Leo was absent. But, despite having to adapt to the confines of the arena, she and Maestro dispatched the assigned dredretch – a flare – with ease.

  There was only a small crowd there to watch. The order trials didn’t merit the same excitement as the fledgling trials, which only came to Fiory once every three years, and pitted an essentially untrained fledgling against monsters they were facing for the very first time.

  Ottilie buried her hand in Maestro’s fur and whispered, ‘Thank you.’

  Leo clapped her on the back and flew Maestro back down to the lower grounds. Maestro was considered a difficult steed, so no other fledglings would be trialling on him.

  Ottilie took Leo’s place in the stands, next to Ned, to watch the rest of the trials. Gully had gone just before her, and she hadn’t been able to watch.

  ‘How did you go?’ she asked.

  ‘They gave me a flare too. I got it with a knife, but it wasn’t deep enough so the wingerslink finished it off for me. I think it still counts, though,’ he said sheepishly.

  Ned laughed, his shoulder brushing against hers. ‘It counts.’

  Ottilie fixed her stare on the back of Jobe Yord’s head, just a few rows down, her heart beating a little harder.

  The next day, she rode Billow for her mounted trial. She struggled a great deal with the swarm of stingers. She was really only a beginner at riding, and Billow moved very differently to Maestro. After a minor fall, a slight sting and some helpful stamping and kicking from Billow, Ottilie finally felled the entire swarm, cutting all six down with her cutlass.

  The following day, she dealt with a grieve on f
oot. It was tricky, and it took a while, but she rolled and tripped it up with her boot, successfully pinning it with a knife.

  At the fall of that final day, they gathered in the centre of the arena. A few spectators were scattered throughout the stands to hear the results. Most were guardians, interested to see if their former fledges would be joining their order.

  ‘We’ll be starting with mounts,’ said Wrangler Morse. ‘If I call your name, you can come and get your pin’ – he shook a little red bucket, the bronze pins clinking inside – ‘and then head over to Wrangler Ritgrivvian and she’ll introduce you to your assigned horse.’

  Ottilie’s nerves were terrible. She liked riding, and she adored Ramona, but she didn’t want to give up flying.

  Preddy’s name was called, and nine others, but that was it.

  ‘Flyers next,’ said Wrangler Morse. ‘Once you’ve got your pin, go over and see Wrangler Kinney for your instructions.’

  Ottilie’s breaths grew shorter with every name he called. She glanced over at the mean, balding little man with the gold tooth and nasty smile. How much sway did Wrangler Kinney have? Could he keep her from being a flyer? Who made these decisions? Her thoughts spiralled out of control. She had forgotten to listen. What did Wrangler Morse say? Was he still calling flyers? She looked up at him, heat flooding her face.

  His eyes crinkled kindly. ‘Ottilie Colter,’ he said, his braided beard twitching.

  She breathed a huge sigh of relief, and hurried forwards to take her bronze raptor pin. She remembered her first day in the Narroway – remembered noticing the pins on Leo, Ned and the other huntsmen who had come to collect them from the guard tower.

  She could never have known, back then, just how it would feel to have a pin of her own, a badge that named her a Fiory flyer. She could never have foreseen the pride, or the strange feeling of belonging, that the little bird-shaped pin instilled. Attaching it to her uniform, she grinned up at Leo and found him beaming back. Giddy with relief, she wandered over to stand by Wrangler Kinney.

  ‘Stuck with you, am I?’ he said with a sneer.