Silver Ravens

by Jane Fletcher

  Each creature grabbed a sack then scuttled away in the direction of the stores.

  “Are they fay?” If so, they were nothing like Lori had imagined.

  Hippo laughed. “No. Of course not. They’re boggarts.”

  “Boggarts?”

  “They’re mostly harmless, if you’re wearing a torc. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them. They do the donkey work round here, as long as somebody keeps a watch on them. Otherwise they’d just loaf around, scratching their arses.” He beckoned for her to stand back. “Come on. We’ll leave them to it.”

  The boggarts returned for a second round of sacks, chattering among themselves. Hippo ignored them and, with a sweep of his arm, indicated the whole castle. “So, Lauren. What do you think of Caersiddi?”

  “It’s umm…” Not where I expected to end up when I left Adam’s this morning—or whenever it was. “Impressive. And you can call me Lori.”

  “I’m Hippo.”

  Yes. I know. “That can’t be your real name.”

  He laughed. “Of course not. We all get nicknames. You’ll get one too, if you stay here long enough.”

  Something to look forward to. “Why Hippo?”

  “The guys saw me dancing.”

  “And the other Silver Ravens? They all have nicknames too.”

  “Well, Shorty stands for itself. Same as Widget—that’s a slang term for a bit of equipment.”

  Or a GUI control. She nodded. Hippo might not be the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but, if nothing else, he was friendly. “What about Finn? Is that his real name?”

  “Nah. The story goes, when he first came to Annwyn he was a bit overweight. He told someone he’d like to be thin, but he couldn’t pronounce his tee-haitches.

  “Finn? Overweight?” He was not now.

  “It was a long time ago. Anyway, he got his wish. All it took was exercise and healthy living.”

  “The other woman in your group? BH, wasn’t it? Are those her initials?”

  “She’s our tracker. BH stands for bloodhound. She grew up hunting kangaroos across the desert.”

  So it was sparkling wit and sophisticated humour all round. “Australian.”

  “Yup. Except her people had another name for it back when she came through. She’s been in Annwyn longer than anyone else. She looked after me when I was a baby.”

  “You were born here?”

  He shook his head. “Nobody is. Annwyn mucks up women’s cycles, if you know what I mean.” He blushed faintly. “You should ask the other women about it.”

  “How did you get here as a baby? Did you crawl around a standing stone?”

  “There’s a cave with an underground river that used to be a portal. I was put in a basket and left to float through.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably an offering to the djinn. That’s what the desert folk called the fay.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they had something personal against me or my parents. I can’t go and ask. They’d all have snuffed it eons ago.”

  The boggarts finished unloading. Lori took a seat on the tailboard of the empty wagon. The door in the gatehouse remained closed. What was going to happen now?

  “So Tamsin’s the only one who doesn’t have a made up nickname. It’s just a cut down version of her real—”

  Hippo stopped her with a hand on her arm. “She’s Captain when we’re on duty, and Tazer when we’re not. You should stick with Tamsin.” He lowered his voice. “I overheard you ask what it was short for. You were taking a risk there. She’s flattened people before over the other name. Still, she must like you if she owned up to it.”

  The ridiculous uptick to her pulse rate was followed by a flash of irritation. “She hasn’t seen enough of me to like.”

  “The captain’s quick to size folk up, and spot the wrong ’uns. It’s one of the things that makes her good at the job. Take it from me, you’re doing okay with her.”

  Well, she’s not doing okay with me. I don’t like being kidnapped. Tamsin was the leader of an armed mercenary gang. Only a gullible fool could imagine there was a chance of any sort of friendship between them. She had to keep a grip on the facts. She was being held against her will, and her first goal was to escape.

  “The avenue of stones we came through, that’s the only way to get to Earth?”

  “Is now. There used to be portals dotted all over. Like I said, I came through on an underground river. For BH, there’s a big rock in the desert that used to have a portal in it. But they’ve all been closed. Now there’s just Hobs Geat left.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t know. Queen Rianna must have a reason, and that’s good enough for me.” Hippo was also clearly infatuated with the queen.

  The door in the gatehouse opened and Tamsin reappeared. “Sorry about the wait. I had things to sort out. I’ll take you to Queen Rianna, now.”

  “Now? Isn’t it a bit late?” An anxious flutter unsettled Lori’s stomach.

  “Don’t worry She won’t expect you to start work tonight. But she’ll want to see you. She’s keen to get the decoding done as quickly as possible.”

  “Right.” No pressure then.

  The guards on duty saluted as Tamsin led the way through the second gateway, Lori paused to take in her new surroundings. The change was startling. The outer bailey had been an army camp. This was a baroque fantasy garden.

  The terrain rose in a series of terraces, interlinked by broad, winding stairways. Each tier was laid out with lawns, flower beds, ornamental trees, and statues of fantastic beasts. The scent of roses and honeysuckle carried on the breeze. Dozens of fountains cascaded between levels. The surrounding buildings were domestic in style rather than military, with large windows and open balconies.

  Several groups of off-duty soldiers were relaxing in the garden. The sound of good-natured banter mingled with the splash of fountains and the twitter of birds. Two people lay under a tree, in a lovers’ embrace, kissing passionately. Their gender was hard to state with one hundred percent certainty, but both appeared male. Of course, Tamsin and BH were hardly examples of fragile femininity. Regardless, nobody seemed at all bothered.

  A few boggarts scuttled back and forth, heads down, knuckles almost dragging on the ground. They were cleaner and better dressed than those in the outer bailey. Each one wore a small black poncho, emblazoned with the symbol of a white raven. A memory dropped out of nowhere. Tabards—that’s what the garments were called. The experience with fantasy role-playing games might prove more practical than ever expected. Although she could be excused for not anticipating her current situation.

  “This is the middle bailey. Where we humans live.” Tamsin pointed out a building with a large entrance porch. “That’s the mess hall. And over there is the Silver Ravens’ quarters. I expect you’ll be given a room with us.”

  Better than a dungeon. One less thing to worry about.

  “You don’t need me any more, do you, Captain?” Hippo asked.

  “No. Have a good night.”

  Hippo waved an informal salute and headed for the Silver Ravens’ quarters, while Tamsin, Lori, and Finn zigzagged a route up through the garden, switching between flights of stairs. The steepness of the land increased as they climbed higher. At the top of the middle bailey stood another gatehouse.

  The light was fading fast, and burning torches were set in brackets on either side of the arched entrance. This gate was also guarded by its complement of human soldiers. However, rather than salute and allow them through, one of the sentries called out. It sounded like a challenge, although the words were hard to make out.

  A door set in the arch of the gatehouse opened, and somebody stepped out—somebody who could only be one of the fay. He was male, an assumption based more on clothing than looks. Surely fay women did not sport padded codpieces—at least, Lori assumed it was padded, and preferred not to take the thought further. His silken hose and loose shirt shimmered iridescent blue and green in the torchlight. His short cloak would m
ake a peacock envious. It rippled dramatically in the breeze, but was unlikely to provide much in the way of warmth.

  The fay’s skin was pale blue. His hair was long and white. It was too dark to see his eyes, but Lori made a bet with herself they would turn out to be either silver or violet. He was the same height as Tamsin, five foot nine or so. His build was so light-boned that a description of “willowy” was inadequate. And, of course, he had pointed ears.

  He held up his hand, showing off long, delicate fingers. “Alith da sei?” His musical voice was pitched higher than normal for humans. Lori did not need to understand what he said to pick up on the disdain in his tone.

  Tamsin replied in the same language.

  I’m going to need a translator while I’m here. Of course she would. Stupid to have not given it a moment’s thought before. Universal English was one of the more unrealistic conventions of sci-fi films and TV.

  The fay inclined his head to examine Lori. Judging by his expression, he was unimpressed, although possibly fay always looked as if they had just found something smelly on the sole of their shoe.

  After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Ae esi calida,” then stalked away. The door closed behind him.

  Presumably, this was permission to proceed. Tamsin continued through the gatehouse. A push from Finn prompted Lori to follow.

  Tamsin glanced back over her shoulder. “This is the inner bailey, where the fay live. As you saw, access is more tightly controlled. Humans aren’t allowed to just wander around in here, but we’re on the queen’s business, and besides, we’re her Silver Ravens.”

  The ground was now rising steeply, almost sheer in parts. The inner bailey took the form of a three-dimensional maze of stairways, verandas, patios, and ethereal towers linked by archways. Fountains of liquid light flowed from the mouths of stone dragons. Thornless roses climbed the walls. Banners hung from every window.

  Lori tilted her head back. Turrets and balconies hung over her, lit by a myriad of candles, lanterns, and torches. Caersiddi was both exquisite and disquieting. The beauty came with too much sugar. She could not shake the feeling it was candy-coating, and that something quite different lay beneath the facade.

  Boggart servants scurried around, ignored by haughty fay, who posed ornamentally at strategic points along the route. As expected, fay women did not wear padded codpieces. Instead they favoured flowing dresses in the distressed damsel style, made from same the shimmering rainbow material as the official at the gate. They watched the trio of humans pass, their faces masks of bored indifference. The fay were not endearing themselves. Was it valid to assign human emotions to their features? Fair or not, Lori preferred the boggarts.

  Would Queen Rianna be any better? Tamsin had claimed so, but Tamsin was hardly a neutral observer. She was in love with her queen—that much was obvious. Still, this did not necessarily mean Tamsin was wrong, but something jarred. Red flags were fluttering.

  They climbed yet one more flight of stairs, avoiding a pair of boggarts sweeping up rose petals. From her position a few steps behind, she had a good view of Tamsin’s rear end. A very good view. Lori restrained a groan. I need a slap. Was it that simple? Jealousy? Welcome to the Stockholm Syndrome with added dyke drama—just possibly the very last thing she needed.

  After a final assent, they reached a drawbridge spanning a chasm in the rock. On the other side lay the keep. The guards here were fay, armed with silver halberds. They eyed the humans with the same disdain as their fellows, but issued no challenge.

  The keep’s interior matched the outside. The first room was a large open lobby under a domed roof. A branching staircase swept up through two stories, joining ring galleries that marked the upper levels. In daytime, windows in the dome would let in light, but now crystal chandeliers provided illumination in shimmering rainbow colours. The arches, columns, and balconies were all beautifully proportioned. The marble floor tiles were polished to a sheen. Gold thread glinted in the wall hangings. The whole scene below just cried out for a troop of multicoloured miniature ponies to come prancing through, leaving behind multicoloured poop for an overworked boggart to shovel onto the roses outside.

  Tamsin led them up the staircase to the top floor and then through a wide double doorway. This section of the keep rose higher than the lobby. They entered what was obviously the royal audience chamber. At the far end, a silver throne stood on a raised dais, lit by yet more chandeliers hanging from the high vaulted ceiling. Behind the throne was a huge stained glass window, decorated with floral patterns, although now the colours were lost to the night. On either side, a high gallery ran the length of the hall, presumably to provide spectators with a grandstand view, though at the moment, both floor and balconies were deserted.

  Tamsin stopped a few yards from the empty throne.

  Lori stopped beside her. “Do we need to let someone know we’re here?”

  “Don’t worry. Her Majesty will have been told.”

  “Right.”

  For a while, nothing happened, except for Lori’s hands getting sticky and her stomach developing a lump.

  A sudden bustle of activity sounded from an open archway. Tamsin and Finn dropped to one knee, heads bowed. Lori did not need Tamsin’s sharp gesture to work out she was supposed to do the same. Her heart hammered in her chest. Supposing Queen Rianna decided she was not up to the job. Would she be sent back to Earth or simply disposed of as a waste of time?

  “Tal cello a da.” How could such a high, tinkling voice be so authoritative? Presumably, it was permission to stand, since Tamsin and Finn both got to their feet.

  Queen Rianna was seated on her throne. An elderly male attendant stood on either side, and a gaggle of fay clustered in the background.

  I don’t like her. An instant gut reaction. Nobody with pointed ears and blue skin should be that attractive. Maybe it was the cheekbones so sharp you could use them to slice fruit, or the perfect bow of her lips. Her skin was flawless, as long as you were not put off by the colour. Had Rianna been human, Lori would have guessed her age on the low side of forty.

  Tamsin gave a bow and spouted something lengthy.

  The queen’s eyes fixed on Lori. Her smile might not count as a sneer, but neither was it warm or reassuring—more the smile a biologist bestowed on her favourite lab rat. “Ealon na talina seila de.”

  If the queen expected a reply, she was out of luck.

  Queen Rianna slithered from her throne and circled the group of humans. Her hips swayed with each slow step, setting off a kaleidoscope of swirling colour in her dress. Lori forced herself to stand still, battling the overwhelming urge to turn, keeping the queen in sight. Rianna’s gaze was an itch between her shoulder blades.

  The queen completed her circuit and stepped close. “Dion ae palloni, de sei? A cali.”

  If a woman in a bar had used the same tone, Lori would have taken it as blatant flirting. Did the same rules work with the fay? If so, she was not interested. However, she had won her private bet—the fay’s eyes were a brilliant violet.

  “Her Majesty wishes to know if you’re willing to accept this task for her.” Tamsin gave the translation.

  “Tell her I’ll do my best.” Like there was a choice.

  “Ae esi.” The queen returned to her throne, although she remained standing. She rattled off another stream in whatever the fay language was called.

  “Her Majesty says, if you succeed, you’ll be given you your weight in gold as a reward.”

  And if I don’t? Probably wiser not to ask.

  “You’re to be at the gates of the inner bailey tomorrow morning, after breakfast. Somebody will meet you and show you where you’ll be working.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Queen Rianna turned to leave, but then looked back, fixing Lori with her eyes. “Kallio na chivas da calido. Dioletia dano annwyna falisi lo talina.”

  “Her Majesty says, do not underestimate the importance of this task. The fate of her kingdom hangs on your success.�
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  So you’ll be royally pissed off if I fail. That part did not need a translation.

  Queen Rianna and her entourage left the hall.

  Nothing else was said until they were back in the middle bailey. By now, true dark had fallen. The only light came from a few wavering torches. No moon had risen, and the sky was ablaze with a glittering array of stars, brighter than anything seen on Earth.

  Finn nodded in Lori’s direction. “Are you wanting me to sort out her room?”

  I do have a name.

  “I’ll do it,” Tamsin said. “You can take yourself off. I’ll see you tomorrow on the target range.”

  “Right you are then, Tazer.” Finn strolled away.

  Tamsin showed Lori to a room on the second floor of the Silver Ravens’ quarters decorated like a set from a low-budget Robin Hood film. The dark oak and white plaster walls were smoke blackened over the stone fireplace. The floorboards were old and warped, with stains partly concealed by a large rush mat. The four-poster bed and iron bound chest both looked suitably medieval. The only other furniture was a wooden chair and small table. After Adam’s spare room, the absence of clutter was a relief.

  The bay window would overlook the garden in daylight, but was now a dark mirror, reflecting back light from the wagon-wheel candelabra hanging in the middle of the room. Decoration consisted of three animal heads—a boar, a deer, and something Lori could not put a name to, despite her work on fantasy games. While a TV set would have ruined the Robin Hood ambience, there was not as much as a bookshelf by way of entertainment. Nor was there an adjoining room. It prompted a question that had been growing steadily more urgent.

  “Where’s the ladies’?” she asked.

  “Which ladies?”

  “The toilet? W.C? Restrooms?”

  The confusion cleared from Tamsin’s face. “Oh. That. There’ll be a chamber pot under your bed.”

  “A chamber pot!” Something else that got overlooked in Robin bloody Hood movies.

  “The boggarts who clean your room will empty it.”

  “I’m not…” It was pointless—what choice did she have?