by Jenny Nimmo
Zeba’s eyes were open now. She stared at the falling gold and then at her brother. She saw his moving fingers and, running through the wall of fire, grabbed his hand.
The golden snow stopped falling and the flames died. The blazing line of light became three leopards, slowly pacing. They stopped at last and stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the foot of the table.
The king stepped forward. He went over to Gunfrid and, placing his hands on either side of the helmet, he smiled at Zeba and, very gently, pulled the helmet off her brother’s head.
In the fading light, Petrello saw the king step back, holding the eagle helmet. He turned it over and looked into it, his expression grim. In the next few seconds, Gunfrid slowly sat up. He had lost his golden look, and appeared to be the pale, stunned boy he was before. He rubbed his head, shook one hand vigorously, and grinned at his sister.
Petrello sank back on his heels. His toes felt sore and cold, and his eyes were longing to close. Stifling a yawn, he ran back to bed. Tolly was fast asleep, but Petrello had to tell someone the news. He shook his brother’s shoulder, whispering, “Gunfrid’s alive. The helmet has come off.”
“What?” Tolly lifted his head.
“Gunfrid’s awake,” said Petrello. “The helmet has come off.”
“Did Lilith break the spell?” Tolly propped his chin on one hand.
“No.” This wasn’t going to be easy to explain, Petrello realized. “It … it was something else.”
“What?”
“Well, I think the leopards did it.”
“Ergh?” Tolly sat up. “Are you joking?”
“We always knew they were different. Remember? They’re three hundred years old….”
“Like the camel,” said Tolly.
“And our father,” Petrello reminded him.
Tolly was now wide-awake. “But how could leopards break a power like that, when even Llyr and our father couldn’t do it?”
“I only know that they did,” said Petrello. He told his brother everything that he’d seen in the Meeting Hall that night.
“Gold?” said Tolly in an awed voice. “Gunfrid was cured with leopards’ gold?”
A muffled voice came from Vyborn’s pillow. “I’m not asleep, you know. I heard every word, and leopards can’t make gold.”
“I’m too tired to argue,” Petrello said sleepily.
“And it’s too late for you to be a donkey.” Tolly wriggled back under his covers. “And if your tusks pull my bed about, I’ll set the leopards on you.”
“Huh!” grunted Vyborn. But he must have taken Tolly’s threat to heart, because in another minute all three boys were asleep, and they didn’t wake up until well after sunrise.
The castle was full of the news by the time Petrello and Tolly went down to breakfast. The court’s mood had lightened. Gunfrid might have been a small orphan of no consequence; it was the strength of the spell that had struck him down that was so alarming. It was naturally believed to have been the wizards and the king who cured the boy. The king thought it best not to tell everyone the truth, immediately. Lilith’s awful power must not be allowed to spoil the news that had, temporarily, lifted people’s spirits.
Petrello and Tolly knew the truth, of course. And so did Vyborn. Petrello decided not to tell anyone what he had seen, and advised Tolly to do the same.
“Why?” asked Tolly.
“If Father wanted people to know about the leopards, he’d have told them. And I don’t want him to think that I was spying.”
“Oh, yes,” said Tolly, suddenly understanding. “But can we tell Guan? She can keep a secret.”
“Yes,” Petrello agreed. “Guan, and no one else.”
“Vyborn knows,” said Tolly as they reached the dining hall. “Even if he didn’t believe you, he heard, and he might tell.”
“I’ll talk to him. Now’s as good a time as any.” Petrello deliberately took the empty place beside Vyborn.
Vyborn looked at Petrello suspiciously.
“About last night,” Petrello said casually. “You didn’t believe what I said, did you, about the leopards?”
“No,” said Vyborn. “It’s silly.”
“It was a joke.” Petrello grinned apologetically. “But now I feel foolish. So don’t tell anyone about it, will you?”
Vyborn picked at his bread. “I like to make people laugh. So I’ll tell them a funny story if I want to.”
“Not this one,” Petrello said severely.
“Yes, this one. A funny story about leopards making gold.”
“No!” said Petrello.
Vyborn turned to him. Petrello’s heart sank. His brother’s face was dotted with sprouting dark hairs. The hairs began to grow at quite a rate, especially under Vyborn’s chin.
“Vyborn, no!” warned Petrello.
“Yes,” grunted his brother as two horns thrust their way out of his forehead.
Most of the children had already seen Vyborn’s nasty shape-shifting, but not Alcida, Selgi’s sister, who was sitting opposite Vyborn. She stared at Vyborn’s horns, her eyes so round they almost popped out of her head. Her mouth dropped open and she screamed.
Alcida’s scream sent other children toppling off the benches.
“What’s going on?” Nurse Ogle demanded from the head of the table.
It was Selgi who pointed at Vyborn, crying, “He’s doing it again.”
With an angry, burbling sort of bellow, the goat jumped onto the table. He stamped on a platter, lowered his head, and thrust his horns toward Petrello’s chest.
Petrello threw himself backward and somersaulted onto the floor.
“Did you set him off again, foolish Petrello?” Nurse Ogle shouted, as screaming children ran from their breakfasts and bounded up the steps.
“Didn’t mean to.” Petrello stood up, grabbed a hunk of bread, and raced after the others.
Tolly, close behind, asked, “What did you say to him?”
“Hardly anything,” said Petrello, gasping for breath.
Apart from Nurse Ogle and the goat, Guanhamara was the last to leave the hall. “This is getting boring,” she said. “Can’t he do something a bit more interesting than a goat?”
“Don’t,” begged Petrello. “Imagine a war-horse in your bedchamber.”
“Or a bear,” added Tolly.
Guanhamara laughed. “Why was he trying to attack you, Trello?”
“It’s a long story,” sighed Petrello.
Guanhamara took his arm. “So tell me.”
Petrello led his brother and sister to a quiet corner of the courtyard, and there he told Guanhamara everything that he’d seen the night before.
“The leopards!” Guanhamara clasped her hands and gave a little jump. “I knew they would do something one day. They’ve been so secretive till now, Lilith said the king’s stories about them couldn’t be true.”
“They made gold,” Petrello stated. “I saw it. But I don’t think our father wants anyone to know. And I don’t want him to think I was spying on him.”
“It’ll be our secret. Let’s go and see Gunfrid before the school bell rings. He’s probably in the sanatorium.” As she spoke, Guanhamara began to hurry across the courtyard.
The boys followed her, but not before Petrello had seen a black goat emerge from the dining hall. The goat stood, eyeing the people who were hurrying about their business: knights, scribes, masons, grooms, chancellor’s men, cooks, dressmakers, jewelers, cleaners, and children playing tag. At last, the goat spied Petrello.
“Run!” cried Petrello as the goat galloped toward him. “Or we’ll get a goat’s horns up our bottoms.”
Guanhamara, her face brimming with defiance, swung around. In a voice ten times deeper than her normal tone, she uttered three sounds, none of them recognizable. The goat stopped in its tracks, blinked, and then, lowering its head, it came on again. Guanhamara’s words became a rumbling roar as a huge creature materialized before the goat: a giant bull, its horns tipped with shining spikes. T
he earth trembled as it pawed the cobblestones, and the clouds of steam erupting from its nostrils grew into a tower of sizzling, flashing water.
Peering around the boiling tower, Petrello saw the goat’s backside disappearing fast into the second courtyard.
“That should do it,” said Guanhamara, her voice still disconcertingly low.
The bull faded, until all that was left of it was a hovering puff of steam.
“Not real.” Guanhamara grinned as she clutched a handful of empty air.
Unfortunately, Vyborn-the-goat wasn’t the only one to be scared out of his wits. People who had been busily hurrying through the courtyard had all stopped to watch the unbelievable appearance of a giant bull in their midst. They were now staring at Guanhamara, frowns of horror on all their faces.
“Sorry,” said Guanhamara, her usual sweet voice sounding a little sheepish.
“Let’s go.” Petrello pulled her arm.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, Guan,” said Tolly as they made their way to the sanatorium.
“What else was I supposed to do?” said his sister. “I’ve discovered my inherited talent. I can only suppose that I’m meant to use it.”
“You could say that that applies to Vyborn,” murmured Petrello.
Guanhamara laughed.
The sanatorium was situated in a long room at the foot of the wizards’ tower. Here, Llyr and Eri could speedily access their pharmacy if a patient needed their urgent attention. Today, only one of the ten beds was occupied. Gunfrid sat on the edge of his bed with Zeba beside him, their pale legs dangling over the side. Gunfrid had lost his awful, grayish pallor. He said it was due to “something hot and stinky” the wizard Llyr had poured down his throat.
“But he can’t walk yet,” said Zeba, casting an anxious eye on her brother’s legs.
“They’re no use, see.” Gunfrid attempted to raise his leg. His foot straightened a little and his leg moved an inch before dropping back again.
“Your brother Amadis has gone to the carpenters,” said Zeba. “He says they’ll make a chair for Gunfrid, with arms an’ all.”
“And wheels,” said Gunfrid, “so Zeba can wheel me around.”
Amadis came in with a smile on his face. But it was a grim smile. Although Amadis was trying hard not to show his anger, Petrello could see a cold fury in his brother’s dark, berry-wine eyes.
“Your chair shall have gold on it, Gunfrid,” said Amadis, “and your name shall be engraved in the wood, and you shall have a red velvet cushion with golden tassels. I’ve told the seamstresses exactly what to do. You shall be the most comfortable boy in the castle.”
“Thank you,” said Gunfrid, a catch of surprise in his voice.
Zeba gave a small cough. “They say that Gunfrid’s poisoning was meant for you, Amadis.”
“It was my helmet,” he said.
“Lilith did it,” said Tolly. “She’s confessed.”
Amadis didn’t reply. He looked into the distance for a moment, rubbed his chin with the back of his thumb, then turned on his heel and left the room.
“He seems mightily troubled,” Zeba remarked.
“Who wouldn’t be?” said Guanhamara.
The school bell began to ring and, promising to return later, Guanhamara and her brothers made their way to the schoolroom. They were almost there when a loud commotion from the next courtyard caused them to stop and listen.
Deep voices were raised in anger, and someone was screeching like a demon.
“We have to find out what that is,” said Guanhamara.
Her brothers agreed and all three ran toward the entrance to the second courtyard.
Lilith stood in the very center, her hands resting on her hips. Olga hovered behind her, an awkward smile on her lips. Lilith began to scream at a blacksmith who was trying to pull his unlit furnace farther away from her.
“What’s the matter with you?” shrieked Lilith. “Why are you looking at me as if I’ve got two heads? Anyone would think I was a monster.” She made a little run at a carpenter, who leaped back, sending his workbench flying.
“Funny looks, that’s all I get,” cried Lilith. “Do you think I’m going to stick spells on all your backs? Silly fools.”
Olga giggled nervously.
Lilith suddenly caught sight of her sister and brothers lingering in the archway. “And what do you want, children? Come to see the fun? You should be at your lessons.”
“We thought you were in trouble, sister,” Guanhamara said innocently.
“Trouble? Don’t be stupid.” Lilith swung around and pinched Olga’s arm. “Do something, Olga!”
“Yes, Lilith.” With a nasty grin, Olga stared at a large wagon. One of the smiths was trying to fit a new wheel onto the shaft. All at once, the wheel wrenched itself out of his hands, spun in the air, and came flying at Guanhamara.
Guanhamara ducked and the wheel crashed to the ground behind her. Petrello saw Guanhamara’s fingers flexing. He could see the anger in her eyes and guessed that a series of monstrous images was running through her mind.
“Don’t, Guan,” he whispered.
“Why should they get away with it?” she hissed. “I can do more than them, now.”
“Do it, then,” said Tolly with an encouraging grin.
“It’s not worth it.” Petrello tugged his sister’s arm.
Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be drawn away, and they ran to the schoolroom.
“I could have made them so, so sorry,” Guanhamara grumbled. “I wish you’d let me do what I wanted.”
“There’s been too much trouble today, already,” said Petrello. He could hear Lilith and Olga still laughing behind them, and understood how angry Guanhamara felt. But he had a terrible sense of foreboding. The court had suffered so many shocks, all at the hands of the royal children. How could the king bear any more?
Petrello’s fears were soon realized. Lessons had hardly begun when Cedric, the king’s messenger, came into the schoolroom. Everyone turned to look at him as he walked past the long tables. He wore a crimson tunic embroidered in gold, and an undershirt of gleaming yellow. A line of pearls adorned the band of his black velvet cap and also the cuffs of his buttercup shirt. Cedric was full of his own importance and proud of his appearance. He hadn’t set foot in the schoolroom since he was twelve years old. Never mind that there were three princes and a princess present, Cedric’s pointed nose was held very pointedly in the air.
There was an expectant hush as Friar Gereint unfolded the paper that Cedric handed to him.
The friar looked up and said, “Guanhamara, Petrello, Tolly, and Vyborn, you will please attend the king in the Hall of Corrections.”
“Hall of Corrections?” squeaked Tolly.
“Now?” asked Guanhamara.
“Hall of Corrections. Now!” Friar Gereint affirmed.
Cedric marched out and the four children followed him. As soon as they were in the courtyard, Cedric nodded imperiously at the Hall of Corrections and, turning his back on the children, strode away, his nose still in the air.
“Why the Hall of Corrections?” said Tolly. “Have we done something wrong?”
“You’re always doing something wrong,” muttered Vyborn.
Tolly caught Petrello’s warning eye and didn’t bother to reply.
The guard gave them a suspicious look as they filed into the hall, and Petrello remembered the rat. The king was already there, sitting on one of his high-backed chairs at the far end of the room. The queen was beside him. Petrello had half expected the chancellor to be in attendance, but their parents were alone.
The king beckoned and the children moved closer to him. All at once, there was a shout from outside, followed by a roar of anger. A heated argument began and Cafal came loping into the hall.
“Cafal, what is the altercation?” asked the king.
“It’s about the w-wolf, Father,” Cafal stammered. “Borlath doesn’t want it to come in — nor d-did I. But the guard wouldn’t pr
-prevent it.”
The king couldn’t suppress a smile. “Greyfleet will do no harm, Cafal. You know that.”
“I suppose,” mumbled Cafal.
The next moment, Borlath burst into the hall, followed by Amadis and his wolf.
“Greyfleet must remain by the door,” the king commanded.
Amadis murmured softly to the wolf, who dropped to his haunches just inside.
Olga shuffled in. Giving the wolf a wide berth and a grimace, she joined her brothers and sisters. They stood in a half circle: Amadis and Guanhamara in the center, Cafal and Olga at either end.
“Is Lilith not with you?” the queen asked Olga.
“Indisposed,” mumbled Olga.
The queen clicked her tongue.
For a few moments, the king tapped the arms of his chair. His heavy rings on the wood made the sound of a small drum. At last he said, “You will be wondering why I have chosen the Hall of Corrections to talk to you.”
“Why?” asked Borlath in a surly voice.
“Because you, my children, need correction,” said the king.
“Some of us are men and women now,” Borlath argued. “We can live as we wish, without correction.”
The queen’s eyes flashed. “King Timoken is still your father. He is your king.”
Borlath grunted. Cafal sniffed.
The king looked hard at his children, searching each face. “Some of you have forgotten the advice I gave you when you were younger. Can anyone tell me what it was?”
Why did no one speak? Was it guilt, or obstinacy? Or was each one reluctant to shame the others? Petrello remembered every word the king had said, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
It was Guanhamara who broke the awful silence. “You told us that one day we might develop a powerful talent, quite outside the range that other people might expect. And that if we did acquire this talent, we must be thankful for it, and never use it to cause grief or pain or worry. And we promised to abide by your rules.”
The king had a special affection for his youngest daughter. He tried not to show it, but anyone could see how his face softened when she spoke. “Yes, Guanhamara,” he said. “And I believe that recently your imagination has taken flight?”