Hearing her approach, Leo turned towards her. A triumphant smile spread across his face. Ottilie scanned to the top of the third-tier rankings. Sure enough, Leo was sitting securely in first place.
‘How many did they give you?’
‘A hundred and fifty,’ he said. ‘Would’ve been three hundred if it was at night. So still less than what Thrike got for that barro.’ He scowled. Ottilie doubted she would ever be completely forgiven for ruining that shot. ‘But I had enough of a lead on him before that day that one-fifty was enough to get back on top.’ He looked ready to sing about it. ‘They named it, too – they’re calling it a kappabak.’
Ottilie frowned. Naming the monster was like resurrecting it. ‘Do you think there are more of them out there?’ she said.
‘Don’t know,’ said Leo. ‘Look, your name’s back up.’ He pointed to the fledgling rankings.
Ottilie scanned the names. ‘No, it’s not.’
‘Look down. Lower,’ he said, a little too cheerfully.
Ottilie skimmed all the way to the bottom of the eighty-seven fledges. The last line read:
87. Ottilie Colter 9
‘Nine? That’s my trial score.’ She didn’t like seeing her name down at the bottom, not one bit.
‘They’re discounting all the points you earned since then on account of your deceit,’ said Leo, beaming.
‘But I was pretending to be a boy in the trials too. Why isn’t it zero?’
‘You can thank Captain Lyre for that. He said your trial was so impressive you deserved to have it count.’
‘What are you grinning about? I thought you wanted me to do well. Look, Igor Thrike’s fledge is beating me.’ She waved at the name Dimitri Vosvolder, in twenty-sixth position.
‘Everyone is beating you,’ he laughed. ‘Cheer up, you’ve got all of autumn and winter to make up the points.’ He thumped her on the back, adjusted his crutches, and made to leave. Ottilie was still glaring at her nine when she heard him say quietly, ‘Thank you. For last week.’
She blinked. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘Though you wouldn’t have been much help if I hadn’t trained you so well. So if you think about it … I did save myself.’
Ottilie wanted to kick him, but she couldn’t withhold the laugh. She covered her mouth. Leo merely grinned and hobbled on his way.
As he limped off, Ottilie thought back to that day. So much had happened, with the dredretch and the directorate, that the hooded figure had slipped from her mind yet again. What had that person been doing so close to the Withering Wood? Was it a coincidence that on the same day the strange figure had appeared, so did a completely unheard of species of dredretch?
They were unnatural. That’s what the wranglers kept saying. They weren’t meant to be there. They were wrong. They didn’t eat, or breed. Their very presence was toxic, not only to people but to the natural world as well. If she and Alba were right and a witch had hexed the king, then could it be possible that the dredretches were being summoned somehow – or even controlled – by the same witch?
‘You’re welcome.’
Ottilie spun around. Captain Lyre was leaning against one of the stone arches. He had swapped his blue coat for a fiery orange jacket with black trimming, and his usually pointed beard was twirled into a neat curl at the tip.
Ottilie blinked at him, unsure of what he meant.
He threw his cane into the air, caught it, and pointed it at the rankings.
‘Oh. Yes, thank you,’ said Ottilie. ‘For the nine.’ Her tone flattened somewhat on the last word.
‘I thought it might be interesting for you to know, Miss Ottilie Colter,’ he strode over to stand beside her, ‘that we did not assign you to Leonard Darby because of your high score in the trials.’
She looked up at him. ‘You didn’t?’
‘We try to arrange a pairing that will be beneficial to the development of both the guardian and the fledge. Your trial revealed you to be a clever and careful thinker. We thought you might be a good influence on him.’ He gripped her shoulder, his eyes twinkling. ‘You’re a crafty one.’
‘There you are, Ottil– oh, sorry.’ Preddy stopped short and flushed pink. ‘Good evening, Captain Lyre.’
‘And a marvellous evening it is, Mr Preddy. No need to apologise, I’m off, already running late. I’ll be seeing you both in a jiff. Don’t dawdle too long, you don’t want to miss the music – my fourth-favourite day.’ He turned to leave.
‘Captain Lyre!’ Ottilie couldn’t help herself. ‘What’s your first-favourite day?’
He stopped, turned his head and raised an eyebrow. ‘Your best guess?’
‘Your birthday?’ said Preddy, turning pink again.
Captain Lyre looked at Ottilie. ‘She knows,’ he said, with smiling eyes.
‘I asked the question,’ said Ottilie, baffled, but after a moment it came to her. ‘It’s the day you name the champions.’
He smiled, tilted his head in a small bow, then marched out between the stone arches.
‘How did you know?’ said Preddy.
Ottilie shrugged. ‘I guess I’m looking forward to it too.’ She frowned at the nine. ‘Or I was.’
Preddy glanced at it, but didn’t comment. ‘We were looking for you. They’ve started lighting the lanterns,’ he said.
The lantern festival was a tradition observed every year on the first night of autumn. Usklerians would hang lanterns on a tree to mark the end of the season of the sun, and traditionally pray to the old gods for a gentle winter – although that aspect of it was long gone. Nowadays the festival consisted of lantern hanging and lots of eating. Even in the Swamp Hollows the keeper would light a lantern in the chamber and hand out food scraps to his favourites.
‘There she is!’ said Scoot, appearing behind Preddy. ‘Come on. I’m starving.’
Ottilie turned away from her abysmal ranking.
‘Nice nine, Ott,’ said Scoot, cackling with glee. ‘I knew I’d overtake you!’
Ottilie grinned. ‘Well … not for long.’
‘Don’t think it quite counts as overtaking,’ said Preddy.
‘Sure it does,’ said Scoot, miming firing an arrow at Preddy’s face.
Leo had been right about Preddy. He was overjoyed at the prospect of returning to the mounts. He’d had the choice to return to his previous guardian at Richter or be paired with a Fiory fourth-tier mount. Much to Ottilie’s delight, Preddy had decided to stay, explaining that he had only agreed to take Leo as his guardian in the first place because he wanted to be at Fiory with his friends.
Ottilie, Preddy and Scoot approached the Moon Court. Joyful music wove and curled down the low-ceilinged passageway and Ottilie could see lights flickering through the arches ahead.
‘I was looking for you,’ said Gully, dashing up the passage behind them. ‘Saw you’re on the wall again, Ottilie.’
‘Last,’ said Scoot, holding up nine fingers. He flashed her a wicked grin, then snatched Preddy’s eyeglasses from his nose and slid them onto his own face, smoothing his hair, standing up poker-straight, and rising to the tips of his toes. Preddy reached for them, but Scoot jerked away and sauntered off towards the lantern light. Preddy followed quickly after, and Ottilie heard him say, ‘I do not walk like that!’ before their voices were swallowed up by the music.
‘This’ll be different,’ said Gully quietly.
‘Than scraps of boiled bird and one sad lantern in a cave?’ said Ottilie.
‘Yes,’ said Gully. ‘Do you think she’s all right? Back there without us?’
‘I don’t know if she’s ever all right. But the keeper always kept her fed, and Mr Parch’s there if she needs him.’
Ottilie stopped for a moment and pressed her fingers against the passage wall. She felt heavy yet hollow, just for a moment – an emptiness and a weight both at once. She hoped Mr Parch wasn’t too worried about them. But there was no going back now. There was too much for her to do, too much to find out, what with the hooded f
igure, the widening of the Withering Wood, the new dredretch and the idea that a villainous witch was possibly behind it all.
She would get back to the Brakkerswamp someday, she was sure of it – even if only to find Old Moss and Mr Parch and tell them her story, and to see if Bill remembered who she was. Maybe she could find a way to send Mr Parch a message, just to let him know that they were all right; that they were healthy and happy and doing something to help.
‘Come on, Ottilie.’ Pulling her sleeve, Gully sprang to a jog.
Ottilie hurried after him.
Waves of music and laughter rolled down the passage like a current of cheer. Ottilie levelled with Gully at the final arch. Preddy and Scoot were just ahead, Preddy laughing loudly at something Scoot had said. Captain Lyre was just beyond, playing a pipe with the band, and Skip stood nearby, tapping her foot to the beat of the drums.
Ottilie and Gully didn’t linger another moment. Grinning, Gully nudged her with his elbow and, shoulder to shoulder, they stepped into the light.
THE END
About the Author
Originally from Taradale, Victoria, Rhiannon now lives and writes in Sydney, and shares an apartment with two friends and the ghost of a cat. Rhiannon has a background in theatre and hopes to tell stories until the end of her days. Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt was the first middle-grade novel to win the Ampersand Prize. It is her debut novel.
Acknowledgements
An enormous thank you to Hardie Grant Egmont and the team behind the Ampersand Prize for giving this fledgling author a chance. Thank you to Marisa Pintado and Luna Soo for your wonderful wisdom and guidance. This book became everything I hoped it would be and it couldn’t have got there without you.
Penelope White, Maike Plenzke and Jess Cruikshank, you created the cover of my dreams, thank you.
Thank you to the Williams and Huck clans for your encouragement, and for just being fantastic people. And a special thank you to Trish for the books and the confidence boosts. Your belief in me means the world.
Jackaboy, thank you for the rhythmic snoring. I wrote the best chapters with you by my side. And Solly, our unsettling enactment of a certain chapter in this book convinced me this story was something special. I forgive you for terrifying me.
Matty, my first adventure companion, thank you for the good days. I’ll never stop trying to write myself back into the worlds we explored.
Lucy Fry, my sister in spirit, I would have gone mad without you. Thank you for never leaving the cat alone in the dark.
Catrin, if you hadn’t been there from the very beginning I might not have found the courage. Thank you for reading the roughest drafts and always just getting it.
To my incredibly supportive parents, I can’t thank you enough. Dad, you have never let me feel unloved a day in my life, and that makes all the difference in the world. Thank you for helping me believe this was something I could do. And to my mum, you are a true example of strength and kindness. I know how to write about hope and heroes because of you.
Rhiannon Williams’ debut novel, Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt, won the 2016 Ampersand Prize, the premier award in Australia and New Zealand for first-time authors.
Since it was established in 2011, the Ampersand Prize has launched the careers of several amazing Australian writers, including Erin Gough (The Flywheel, Amelia Westlake), Melissa Keil (Life in Outer Space, The Incredible Adventures of Cinnamon Girl, The Secret Science of Magic) and Cally Black (In the Dark Spaces). Their books have won awards and been published all around the world. The most recent winner, Lisa Siberry, will publish her debut middle-grade novel with Hardie Grant Egmont in 2019.
For more information on the Ampersand Prize, including how to submit your manuscript, follow us at @AmpersandYA or visit our website: www.hardiegrant.com/egmont/ampersand-prize
For Catrin, who kept the secret.
Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt
published in 2018 by
Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
www.hardiegrantegmont.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.
eISBN 9781743585726
Text copyright © 2018 Rhiannon Williams
Design copyright © 2018 Hardie Grant Egmont
Cover illustration by Maike Plenzke
Cover design by Jess Cruickshank
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