by Jenny Nimmo
“Tolly!” Petrello leaped out of bed and began to throw on his clothes. “You shouldn’t have let them go off together. Vyborn could do anything.”
“He seemed better, if you know what I mean,” said Tolly. “Perhaps all that shape-shifting last night got it out of his system for a while. I must go. I’m late. Save me some breakfast.”
Pulling on his boots, Petrello left the room. He was just in time to see Tolly turn the corner onto the stairway. By the time Petrello reached the steps, his brother had gone. “Sometimes I think he can fly,” he said to himself.
In the courtyard, Guanhamara and Elin were tidying Zeba’s hair. She was wearing a dress of buttercup yellow, with tight sleeves that were a little too long, and a green velvet hem that she kept tripping over. But she was hardly recognizable as the ragged waif of yesterday.
Petrello noticed his brother Cafal watching the girls. He had a strange, gentle smile on his face, as though he were entranced by the scene. Poor Cafal, he had to try so hard to control his unhappy affliction. Petrello had only once seen the were-beast that his brother could sometimes become. But he had heard him, howling in the forest like a creature in great pain.
So much for the gifts that the realm of enchantments had bestowed on the king’s third son. It didn’t seem fair. But as their father had explained, it was a matter of luck whether his children received a useful talent, or something they’d rather be without.
“How do I look, Prince Petrello?” asked Zeba.
“You look … almost beautiful,” Petrello answered lamely.
“Don’t say ‘almost,’” Guanhamara complained. “Zeba is transformed. She looks gorgeous.”
“Yes, of course,” Petrello agreed, wishing he knew how to pay compliments.
“It’s just for today.” Zeba ran her fingers over the bright skirt. “And then I must wear something less splendid.”
“She’s to work with the seamstresses,” Elin explained. “And the others might be jealous.”
Zeba twirled around in her new dress, smiling broadly. “I’m going to sew,” she sang. “I always wanted to, but in Castle Melyntha they’d only let me sweep and scrub.”
The breakfast bell rang out. Today it was Selgi’s duty. All the children waited impatiently for their turn to ring the bell, but Selgi was the best. He had a way of swinging the bell so that the brass clapper hit the sides in a series of long, rhythmical peals.
As children and courtiers hurried to their breakfasts, they didn’t look as happy as usual. The bell reminded them of the vanished Rigg, and now there was news that the Seeing Crystal had been stolen. People didn’t feel safe anymore.
“Have you seen Vyborn?” Petrello asked the girls.
“He was taking my brother to see the helmets,” said Zeba.
“But they’re kept in a locked room,” said Petrello, frowning.
Zeba shrugged.
“Save me some breakfast,” Petrello told Guanhamara as he sped toward the armory. “And for Tolly as well!”
“Where is Tolly?” she shouted.
“Who knows? But I don’t think Gunfrid should be alone with Vyborn.”
Petrello caught a glimpse of Zeba’s anxious face, and then he lost sight of the girls as people hurried past them to the dining halls.
“Helmets,” muttered Petrello.
The helmets were kept in a small room just off the armory. Petrello found the guard who was supposed to be on duty slumped beside the grilled door. He had a dazed expression on his face, and Petrello noticed that the grille was partly open, with the key still in the lock.
“Have you seen my brother?” asked Petrello, peering closely at the man.
“I saw a goat,” mumbled the guard. “It had the horns of a devil. When I refused to let it in, it winded me. Butted me right here.” He touched his stomach. “There was a boy with it, a scrawny lad. He said, ‘This goat wants you to unlock the door; if you don’t, he’ll butt you again and put his horns right through you.’”
“A goat?” said Petrello.
“What could I do?” groaned the guard. “I mean, what harm can a goat do in an armory? It can’t steal weapons, or put on the armor. And I didn’t want to feel those horns in my stomach again, so I unlocked the grille and the door.”
“And did they go in?”
“Of course they did,” the guard replied sourly.
Before the man could stop him, Petrello slipped through the open grille and took two steps down to a wooden door studded with iron bolts. A great key protruded from the lock, but Petrello had no need to turn it. The door creaked open at a touch.
The room beyond was bathed in brilliant light. Sunbeams glancing through the narrow windows were reflected in the armor placed on stands all about the room. It was as if a headless army stood in shining silence, waiting for their enemy.
As Petrello turned to the arch leading into the helmet room, a figure emerged. Lilith. She gave Petrello one of her hollow smiles and asked, “What are you doing here, brother?”
“I’m looking for Vyborn. The breakfast bell has rung.”
“We heard it. Vyborn is showing your little friend the helmets.” Her jaw still formed a cold smile.
“Why?” asked Petrello.
Lilith lost her false smile. “And why not?”
“Vyborn came in here as a goat. He injured the guard. Did you know?”
“He is a shape-shifter,” Lilith said, looking pleased. “It’s about time you showed some talent, brother. But then, perhaps, it’ll never happen for you.”
“Perhaps I’d rather be without.” Petrello made to pass her through the arch, but she stood in his way.
“No need to go in there,” said Lilith. “The boys are coming now.”
And so they were. Gunfrid came through first, his eyes shining. “Never thought I’d see so many splendid helmets,” he said. “All a-twinkling, and with pictures on them, and silver and gold.”
“They’re very fine,” Petrello agreed. He waited for a goat to appear, but it seemed that Vyborn was himself again. He came out of the helmet room with a look of smug satisfaction. “Were you worried for your friend? I wouldn’t have eaten him, you know.” He gave a snorting giggle.
Petrello didn’t bother to reply.
“Hurry up, boys!” Lilith called from the door. “Or you’ll miss your breakfasts.” When Gunfrid and Vyborn followed her outside, Petrello seized his chance and ran into the helmet room.
Shelves ran from floor to ceiling on three sides of the small room. Every shelf was filled with helmets. They sat neatly, side by side, on their metal stands. Nothing appeared to be out of place.
Petrello paced beside the shelves, staring at each helmet in turn, until his gaze came to rest on his favorite. It belonged to Amadis. A small golden eagle sat on the crest and strands of gold ran from the base to the crown, forming a net over the silvery steel. Each strand was embedded with silver eagles and swallows with garnet eyes. At the back of the helmet, a fringe of bronze, petal-like shapes stood out from the base like a shining skirt. A similar helmet had been made for Borlath, but he had had it melted down and fashioned into armlets. His preferred helmet was plain steel banded with iron. Cafal never wore armor.
Petrello walked around the room, and then returned to stare at the helmet belonging to Amadis. It looked as it always had. Shining. Beautiful. But something was wrong. Petrello put out his hand. He almost touched a golden strand with the tip of his finger, but his hand dropped to his side. A shiver of apprehension crept down his spine.
He was being foolish again, Petrello told himself.
But later, he wondered why the guard had never mentioned Lilith. How did she get into the armory? And why? Had she seen the open door and slipped through it while Olga had distracted the man?
Petrello didn’t discuss his fears with anyone else, even Tolly. They meant nothing, he decided, but in the schoolroom he couldn’t concentrate on his lessons, and was told off, more than once, by Friar Gereint.
It was a
n uneventful day, and by the time Petrello went to bed he had assured himself that there was really nothing to worry about.
The night was peaceful. Vyborn’s imagination had run dry. He couldn’t think of any more shapes to shift into, not satisfactorily anyway.
Petrello was the first to wake. He slipped out of bed, dressed himself as quietly as he could, and then crept back under the covers. Today, he decided, he would discover the reason for Tolomeo’s early morning disappearances. But he would have to be very careful not to let his brother know he was being followed. Tolly was obviously determined to keep his morning activities a secret.
Fortunately, Tolly woke up before the other two. Petrello closed his eyes. He heard his brother get dressed; a light creak betrayed Tolly’s almost silent footsteps. The door opened and closed. Petrello opened his eyes. Tolly had gone. Petrello threw back the covers and leaped to the door.
“Where are you going?” Gunfrid asked sleepily.
“Sssh!” Petrello answered. With infinite care, he opened the door. He didn’t bother to close it. Tolly had reached the corner leading to the stairway. Petrello waited until his brother was descending the steps, then bounded after him. Hardly daring to breathe, he slipped down the narrow spiral. Tolly’s head was still in view.
At the bottom of the stairway, Tolly strode into the courtyard. Petrello stayed in the shadowy cloister. Tolly began to run. Keeping his brother in sight, Petrello put on a spurt and bumped straight into a large basket of washing.
“Watch out!” cried the woman behind the basket. She lifted it in her thick arms and glared at Petrello.
“Ssss!” he hissed. “I mean, sorry. Sorry, sorry!” He tore on, not losing sight of his brother for a second.
Tolly raced into the second courtyard. Here, smiths and carpenters were already at work. Petrello had no trouble in concealing himself behind benches and worktables as he followed his brother into the third courtyard.
Aunt Zobayda hadn’t emerged from her chamber overlooking the fountain. Her garden was deserted. Water splashing into the pool disguised Petrello’s footsteps as he crept around the fountain. Where could Tolly be heading? he wondered. Surely not into the cameldrome. But, yes, that’s exactly where Tolly was going. He went through the arch and entered the passage leading to the king’s golden room.
Petrello was close on his heels. Once in the king’s room, he kept close to the wall of pictures while Tolly opened the door to the cameldrome. Tolly slipped through the door and closed it behind him.
Petrello hesitated but he was in luck! Gabar and Enid were arguing. Only the king and Amadis knew what the camel and the dragon argued about so often, but they always made quite a rumpus. Amadis said it was generally a friendly sort of tiff, and the animals made up afterward. Today, they drowned out any sound that Petrello might have made when he opened the cameldrome door. He closed it carefully and followed his brother into the sand dunes.
It was easy to hide behind the great banks of sand, but Petrello was now more mystified than ever. Could Tolomeo converse with animals, like the king and Amadis? If so, why did he want to keep his talent secret?
Tolomeo was now completely hidden in the dunes. Petrello tried to listen for those soft, plowing footfalls, but Gabar was grumbling so loudly it was impossible to hear anything else.
Petrello cautiously climbed a bank of sand, meaning to peer over the top, but the sand suddenly gave way and he found himself falling into a deep rift. A low growl came from above him, and, looking up, he saw three leopards staring down at him. He was not afraid of them; they had never been known to hurt anyone, and yet he felt at a definite disadvantage. He gave them a tentative smile and put a finger to his lips.
A soft rumble came from each spotted throat. Petrello felt foolish. How could they understand his clumsy gesture? And yet they were not like other creatures. They had been wrapped in the king’s enchanted cloak when they were tiny cubs. They had followed him from Africa, and spoke with him often. One had a coat as pale as a star, another had an orange patch beneath his chin, and the third was the deep copper of a setting sun. Their names were Star, Flame Chin, and Sun Cat.
The big cats bent their heads toward Petrello; they sniffed the air and then silently slipped away.
Petrello breathed a sigh of relief. Surprised by the leopards, Gabar and Enid had stopped quarreling. Now Petrello could hear the soft plush, plush of sand as someone made their way across the cameldrome.
There was only one place Tolomeo could go. He was heading for the fifth courtyard. No one went there. Petrello had only glimpsed it once, after the spirit ancestors had made an overnight visit, and surprised the king with two more towers and three walls that surrounded yet another courtyard.
No one lived in the towers overlooking the mossy flagstones of the fifth courtyard. No one occupied the rooms set into the wide walls that enclosed it. What purpose could Tolly have for going there? Petrello would soon find out.
There was no door into the fifth courtyard. Sand from the cameldrome spilled through a wide arch and drifted across the flagstones beyond. Petrello hid behind the dividing wall and, very slowly, peeped through the arch. He saw Tolly making for a door in one of the farthest towers. Before he reached it, the door opened and someone stepped out.
Petrello’s mouth fell open. It was the queen. Gone were her blue robe, her jeweled belt, and her ermine-lined cape. His mother was wearing a coarse brown shirt, green velvet breeches, and leather boots. Her hair was piled into a hareskin cap, with what looked like a squirrel’s tail hanging down her back. What was going on?
Tolly’s high voice carried across the courtyard. “Soon I want a real one, Mother.”
“This one will do,” she said. “Let us hope you will never need to use steel.”
“But if I do, I shall be ready.”
“You will, indeed. And I shall give you the finest ever made in Toledo.”
What were they talking about? Petrello risked another quick glance around the arch. He saw his mother hand Tolomeo a wooden sword. It was finely made, but surely not sharp enough to do any damage.
Tolomeo leaped away and began to slice the air with his slim wooden sword. The queen smiled and picked up another makeshift weapon: a sword made of some dull metal with a blunt end. No sooner had Petrello taken in the details of the two swords than Tolly and his mother were engaged in a spirited fight.
Forgetting to hide himself, Petrello stuck out his head, all the better to see the enthralling combat. He was amazed by his brother’s skill, by the accuracy of those deft little lunges and the crafty pricks he landed on his mother’s shoulders, on her arms, and on her back. The queen, often laughing, parried Tolly’s blows, drew back, whirled, lunged, and twisted, all the while giving him encouragement and advice: when to strike, how to think, when to leap, and how to thrust.
At last, the queen cried, “Enough! You win!” and throwing down her sword, she pulled off her leather gauntlets. When Tolly did the same, his mother said, “We have an audience, Tolomeo. Let’s ask him for his opinion.”
Caught in his mother’s eye, Petrello had no option. He stepped through the arch and walked self-consciously toward the combatants.
“You followed me,” Tolly accused his brother.
Petrello shrugged. “I was curious. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Tolly looked at the queen. “Mother told me to keep it a secret. She didn’t want our father to know she was … she was …”
“Practicing,” said the queen. “But he guessed.” She smiled. “How could we keep it from him? He knows everything.”
“So, what do you think, Trello?” Tolly picked up his sword and gave his brother a light poke in the ribs.
“I think … well, I’m astonished, really.” Petrello swung from foot to foot. “I mean you’re brilliant, Tolly. But how?” He looked at his mother.
“Instinct,” said the queen. “I noticed the way that Tolomeo walked. I watched the movements of his eyes, his leaps and runs. I had the carpenters
make a dummy sword, small enough for a boy of nine. Our lessons began in secret, and my instincts were proved right.”
“Didn’t you think the rest of us were worth a try? Me, for instance?” Petrello kicked the ground with his toe. “Maybe I could use a sword like Tolly.”
“No, Petrello.” His mother shook her head regretfully. “None of you showed any of the signs.”
“Is it a gift?” he asked. “Like Borlath’s and Lilith’s, like Olga’s and Amadis’s, and now Vyborn’s?”
“No,” she said. “It is a gift inherited from me, and from my father, the greatest swordsman in all Castile.”
Petrello couldn’t be described as jealous, but his mother’s words hurt, somehow. They gave him a small ache, deep in his chest. “I see,” he said.
“It doesn’t mean that I can’t teach you, Petrello,” his mother said quickly. “If that’s what you would like. And I’m sure that, one day, you could be a swordsman.”
“But not like Tolly,” he muttered.
“Perhaps not,” she said with a gentle smile.
Before he could stop himself, Petrello was telling his mother about Guanhamara and the rat, leaving out the spying, of course. And then Tolly recounted the events of two nights before, when their sister had stopped Vyborn’s shape-shifting with an illusion that sent him running for cover.
“Nurse Ogle came,” said Petrello. “But I don’t think she believed Vyborn’s story about Guanhamara’s monster.”
There were tears of laughter in the queen’s eyes when she said, “I’m not sure that I would have believed a description like that.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “So, your sister is an illusionist. I had been wondering lately if she would show any of the signs that her sisters eventually revealed.”
“Guanhamara’s talent isn’t cruel like theirs,” Petrello said fiercely.
“No,” said his mother. “I’m sure Guanhamara will use her gift wisely, though I must admit, she has a great sense of fun. I’m going to get changed now. You two run along or you’ll miss your breakfasts. Nurse Ogle might not be in the best of moods today.”