Emys was waiting for them inside the menagerie. He had a bandaged hand and an especially sour look on his face.
“I stumbled across them last night on my rounds,” Gran said. “They were down in the combe in a right state, moaning and hissing. Wouldn’t tell me who they’d been fighting with, though they did have the energy to accuse me of thievery. Apparently they own the air.”
Autumn’s heart stopped, then restarted unevenly. Gran led them to the very back of the menagerie, past the grumbling Hounds and the brownies. She stopped before the last stall.
“I’ve patched them up,” she said. “Two broken wings and a half dozen burns between them.”
Curled up at the back of the stall was a dark shape. Autumn squinted. No—three dark shapes, piled together in a heap. They were feathered, but they were too big to be birds. A thin bath of seawater covered the tile floor, rippling faintly when the creatures breathed.
“Gwyllions,” Autumn murmured. She took hold of one of the iron bars, for she felt suddenly unsteady.
“Find out what they eat,” Gran said over her shoulder as she tromped away. “Some of the stories say mountain goats. Others say babies. Let’s hope it’s the first. Easier to come by, goats.”
Autumn’s head spun. The masque was tonight. Cai wanted to look for the third cloud tower, which could be a pathway to Winter, who Autumn had sensed—impossibly—up in the sky.
And here were three monsters who would know exactly where that pathway was. The Lords and Ladies of Above, rulers of the sky itself.
Autumn felt a little shiver, fear or excitement or both. It was a feeling she’d had a lot since teaming up with Cai.
Emys gave her a dark look. “Stop that.”
Autumn blinked. “Stop what?”
“You have that look. Like you’re getting ideas.”
“Sorry,” Autumn said. “Didn’t mean to make you jealous.”
“I hope you’re not thinking about skiving off for one of your mad jaunts through the Gentlewood. I don’t want to be stuck with these things alone. Just the smell of them gives me the creeps.”
“They’re not jaunts,” Autumn said. “I don’t go into the Gentlewood to take in the scenery. I’m looking for Winter.”
Emys rolled his eyes. Of all the Malogs, Emys had the least patience for Autumn’s conviction. He’d told her a dozen times that Winter was dead and there was nothing to be done about it. Oddly, it was the thing Autumn liked best about Emys. He didn’t treat her like some old mug with a crack down the middle, liable to come apart at the slightest jostling.
Chewing her lip, Autumn watched Emys. She could hardly believe what she was about to say. Of all the things she’d done in recent days, this was probably the most preposterous, the most likely to blow up in her face. Was she mad to even consider it? Probably. But it had to be done.
For Winter.
“I need your help,” she finally managed.
Emys looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “You what my what?”
“Need,” Autumn said. “Help. I’ll give you a moment.”
Emys looked like he could use it. His shock was fading into astonished suspicion—not much better. “What are you plotting, Autumn?”
“Nothing that’s going to get you into trouble,” Autumn said. It was, of course, a bald-faced lie. “Cai’s helping me find Winter. We think we know where he is, approximately. But we’ve run into a little hiccup—”
“Good grief,” Emys said. “Why are you getting mixed up with that kid? Has he been filling your head with his hero nonsense? Millie says he’s a weirdo.” Millie was Emys’s secret girlfriend.
“My head isn’t particularly fillable,” Autumn said. “And Millie’s one to talk, isn’t she? With that squint?”
“Squint!”
“She looks like she washes her face with lemons,” Autumn said. Remembering her purpose, she hurried to add, “But apart from that, she sure is pretty, Emys. And I bet the way she walks around with her nose in the air like Choo sniffing out a fox is something you could definitely get used to eventually.”
Emys looked sour. “This is some prank you’ve planned with the boggart, isn’t it? Well, I’m not falling for it. I still haven’t found my boots.”
“They’re in the badger’s den by the old willow,” Autumn said. “I don’t think you’ll want them back. Emys, please. You know I wouldn’t ask for your help if I didn’t really need it. Really, really need it.”
“Ugh, I’m going to regret this.” Emys shook his head. “What do you want?”
Autumn blinked. She closed her mouth, swallowing all the arguments she had been marshaling. She felt as stunned by Emys’s offer of help as he had been by her asking for it. She’d been certain he’d never give it willingly, not without some serious bribery, or blackmail, or a creative combination of both.
Autumn drew in her breath. “This is going to take a while to explain.”
18
IN WHICH THERE IS A CLOAK FULL OF MONSTERS
“It’s not very convincing,” Jack said, stepping back.
“Really?” Emys said. “I think the resemblance is uncanny.”
Jack glared at him.
The gwyllion gazed back at them. “Gazed” was perhaps a strong word. It had no eyes that Autumn could see, apart from two pinprick-size spots of black on either side of its head. The gwyllion was actually three gwyllions standing atop each other, which they’d dressed in Jack’s nicest cloak. He’d been planning to wear it to the Hallowtide Masque, but would likely never wear it again, given the gwyllion stink now woven into the fabric. To add to the ridiculousness of the picture, they’d tied an old mask from the Inglenook lost and found around the topmost gwyllion’s head. This, together with the hood, hid most of the gwyllion’s face while simultaneously attracting the eye, as masks patterned with roses and violently yellow bumblebees had a tendency to do.
The gwyllions were docile and sleepy surrounded by all that sea water, and they had followed Autumn’s commands without resistance. Now, though, they were pacing slowly back and forth, muttering. A lot of monsters did that, the first time they came to the menagerie. The boots worn by the lowest gwyllion made an ominous wet dragging sound, for the thing didn’t lift its feet when it walked.
The Lords and Ladies will have their vengeance, the gwyllions muttered as they paced. Wretched children will bow to the Lords and Ladies …
Amfidzel, in the next stall, gave a low hiss that Autumn had never heard from her before. I don’t like them, she said. Make them hush.
I’m sorry, Autumn said, putting her hand against Amfidzel’s stall. She could just see a sliver of the dragon’s red eyes through the boards. We’ll try to keep it down.
Amfidzel lowered her head back onto the straw. Nobody likes their kind, she added in a sulky voice. Sky rats, dragons call them. They shouldn’t be here.
With any luck, they won’t be staying long, Autumn told her.
“They just miss their home,” Jack said. “Poor thing. Things, I mean.” He petted the gwyllion’s shoulder, or the most shoulder-like part.
The gwyllion slowly turned its head in the direction of Jack’s hand.
“Jack, how many times has Gran told you not to pet the monsters?” Autumn said, hastily drawing him back.
“This is a terrible idea,” Emys said. His arms were folded, and his long face looked even longer. “This is actually the worst idea you’ve ever had, which is quite an accomplishment. Congratulations. Do you know how dangerous this is?”
“Of course.”
“I don’t think you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have spent the last ten minutes choosing a pocket square.”
“Everyone else at the masque will have a pocket square!” Autumn said. “It’s an important accessory!”
“Of course,” Emys said, nodding. “The key to sneaking monsters into balls: accessories. Remind me why we’re doing this again?”
“I need them,” Autumn said. “They’ll know where that last tower
is.”
“We should give them names,” Jack said.
Emys and Autumn exchanged looks.
“Horrible Sky Stinkers?” Emys suggested.
Jack frowned. “No. A proper name, one word. Something that suits them.”
“Slither?” Emys said. “Squelch? Bogey?”
“We’re not naming them, Jack,” Autumn said. “Stop trying to make friends with them.”
“You’re friends with the boggart,” Jack said sulkily.
“That’s different.” Not for the first time, Autumn mused that Jack should be the one to marry the boggart, since he loved monsters so much.
“Phlegm?” Emys said.
“I think this will do,” Autumn said decisively. “With the hood up, it will hide the mask, which hides the gwyllion.” It was close enough to a sensible plan that Autumn was satisfied.
“And after you get into the masque?” Emys said. “Do you really think these things will lead you to this cloud tower?”
Autumn had told Emys and Jack everything—well, almost everything. She hadn’t told them Cai’s secret, because that wasn’t her secret to tell. Autumn hoped she didn’t end up regretting it.
Emys looked the gwyllions up and down. “I mean, why would they help you? Out of the blackness of their hearts?” He laughed at his joke.
Autumn supposed she did regret it a little.
Autumn turned to the gwyllions. Look at me, she commanded.
The gwyllions paused. They were hunched over, and while their strange bulk was hidden by the cloak and the drawn-up hood, they did not resemble anyone you’d care to introduce yourself to at a party.
If you help me tonight, she said, if you lead me and Cai to the other hidden tower, the boggart and I will fix yours. We’ll put right everything that we broke.
The wicked child thinks she can bargain with the Lords and Ladies. The gwyllion’s voice was a scandalized hiss.
Do the Lords and Ladies bargain? the one in the stomach said. No, they do not. They own. They have. The air is theirs, and all that breathes it.
Such disrespect! said the feet.
“That went well,” Emys sighed.
Autumn glared at him.
She took a step forward, then gave a deep bow. Lords and Ladies of Above, she said, I spoke wrongly before. I’m not asking for a bargain, but for a favor. I’ve heard that you are a very—er, generous folk.
The gwyllions did not reply, but they fell to a startled muttering among themselves.
If you grant me this favor, Autumn went on, I will give you a gift as a thank-you.
Gift? the gwyllions murmured. What gift does the child mean? The Lords and Ladies are rich beyond imagining, for they own the air.
Autumn swallowed. Me.
“Have you lost your mind?” Emys hissed.
“Autumn, you can’t,” Jack said plaintively.
“I’m not going to,” Autumn muttered, making a be quiet gesture. “There’s only three of them. Me and Cai can handle three gwyllions.”
Jack fell silent. The mention of Cai’s name was enough to mollify him, Autumn knew, but Emys still looked furious.
“Is this what Winter would have wanted?” he said. “For you to risk your life for him?”
“I’ve already risked my life for Winter.” Autumn drew herself to her full height. “I’ll do it as many times as I have to.”
Emys rubbed his eyes. He seemed to be swearing under his breath.
The uppermost gwyllion said, A sacrifice. Ah, how the Lords and Ladies enjoy those. Mountain folk used to leave babies on mountaintops to appease us. The Lords and Ladies miss those days, for babies are the tastiest of all, particularly their little toesies—
Is that a yes? Autumn said.
The Lords and Ladies will grant you one favor, the gwyllion said. Then they will take what is theirs.
There was a cruel cunning in its voice. Autumn’s heart quickened. She knew better than to strike bargains with monsters—they almost never worked out in your favor, for monsters were far more skilled than humans at trickery. But why should she worry? She would have Cai with her.
Autumn glanced out the window. The November sky was darkening like a bruise. The masque would be starting soon.
We have a deal, she said.
19
IN WHICH WINTER DRIFTS TOO FAR
– TODAY –
“Winter!”
Someone was yelling his name. They’d been yelling for a while, Winter realized.
“Autumn?” he murmured. And just like that, he was himself again.
“There you are,” Maddie said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The others forgot about you, but I remembered your name.”
Winter rested his hand against the window. They were in one of the towers—the Windfarer Tower, he thought, but he wasn’t sure. Beastkeepers spent most of their time outside, so though he was a servant of Inglenook, he didn’t know it very well.
“If you keep that up, the Dark will get you,” Maddie said. “I don’t want to forget you.”
“Keep what up?”
“Drifting. The more you do that, the harder it is to stay you.”
Winter looked down at himself and found that he was even more colorless than usual. Maddie was right. Still, he found it hard to care. He felt as if the grayness of the mirrors had gotten inside him.
“Please try,” Maddie said. Her lip shook a little. “I need you to help me remember. You’re so good at it. I think I would have faded by now if it hadn’t been for you.”
Winter sighed. “I’ll try.”
She relaxed and smiled. The shadows deepened beyond the window as the sun ducked its head under the mountains. But one shadow loomed up above the others and twitched as if sniffing the air.
“Maddie!” Winter cried.
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away from the Dark. She came free slowly, as if the Dark was sticky somehow. They ran from the window and into the next one. Then they ran to the windows on the floor below, for all the windows in Inglenook were connected, and up and down was the same as left and right. But still the Dark followed.
Maddie looked behind her and screamed. She tore away from Winter and ran ahead, running too fast for him to keep up.
“Maddie!” he cried. “Wait!”
He stopped, panting. He had been drifting too long—it had made him slow. He could feel the other windows and mirrors—before, he had been able to leap between them, not just run from one to the next. But now it was like trying to jump to a stepping-stone yards away. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he couldn’t make it.
He looked around. He was in the banquet hall—music played in the distance, muffled and twisted by the glass, and every surface was crowded with food and pumpkins and candles. It looked as if the hall had been decorated for Hallowtide. Winter couldn’t believe it—if it was Hallowtide, that meant he had been trapped for nearly a year.
In the corner of his eye, something large and dark shifted position.
Horror rose inside him. Normally, he was able to outrun the Dark. It might follow him through a window or two, but he always shook it off. Always.
He ran to the next window, praying that this time, this time, the Dark wouldn’t follow. But he had only stood there for a moment, panting, before a shadow began to seep across the glass.
A sob caught in his throat. He forced his weary legs to move, to feel for the edges of the next window, and pull himself into it. Was there an end to the mirrors? A place where he wouldn’t be able to reach the next one? He didn’t know. He didn’t know how long he could keep running.
He only knew that he had to.
20
IN WHICH THE GWYLLIONS TAKE WHAT IS THEIRS
Autumn, Emys, and the gwyllions made an unusual group as they climbed the mountain path to Inglenook. Emys, scowling magnificently; Autumn, wearing her only party dress under one of Gran’s oversize cloaks (the only clean one she could find) and carrying the walking stick she had taken fr
om the Gentlewood, which somehow looked more stick-like than ever; and the cloak full of gwyllions, which formed an ominously hunched and hooded figure with a crow-like strut.
Autumn’s thoughts kept drifting to the boggart. It was most unlike a boggart to stray from his home, and Autumn was worried for him. She was also worried for herself and wished he was at her side.
Inglenook loomed ahead, an immense darkness glittering like a constellation. Smoke drifted from the chimneys, and even from a distance, Autumn could smell food. Her mouth watered despite her nervousness. She could make out the masked figures of several gardeners walking some yards ahead, and pointedly slowed so that they wouldn’t catch up. There was no need for the gwyllions to be seen by more people than necessary.
The massive oak doors had been thrown open, and Autumn, Emys, and the gwyllions passed into the school without incident. The foyer was awash in candlelight. Masters, students, and servants mingled freely, in keeping with the spirit of Hallowtide, though it was also true that most people stuck to their own for the better part of the evening. Many students were wearing costumes—there were knights and dragons, ravens and Hounds of Arawn. Headmaster Neath, laughing at some joke with a knot of masters, seemed to be wearing a wolfskin for a cloak. Autumn even saw a girl wearing black claws and a rippling dress that could only be a boggart costume.
As they stepped into the banquet hall, Autumn drew in her breath. The hall was beautiful even on ordinary days, airy as an open moor. The floor was of white marble so pure it was like walking on a frozen lake. The stained-glass windows were stories limned in gold, the eyes of the knights and magicians formed by sapphires or emeralds or chocolate opals.
Tonight, the hall was decorated for Hallowtide. There were turnips carved into faces, scarecrows temporarily dragged in from farmers’ fields, ravens in cages waiting to be hand-fed harvest seeds and soul cakes. There were hundreds of candles upon every surface, most unlit, as the tradition was for revelers to light a candle after each dance they danced, so that as the evening wore on, the hall would brighten. Tables heaped with food lined the walls—white buns soft as clouds spread with creamy cheeses, whole carrots and cabbages stewed in goose fat, crispy duck with roasted plums, and trays of fresh oysters wriggling in their shells. There were squares of expensive salt cheese all the way from Langorelle, skewered and ready for toasting over the fire. There were plum puddings swimming in custard, candied ginger and chocolate-covered chestnuts, raspberry pudding with cream, and steaming apple crumbles.
The School between Winter and Fairyland Page 19