by J M Sanford
15: WILD MAGIC
At the first prickle on the back of her neck, Bessie had prayed the feeling was only the after-effects of her feathers disappearing – gaps in reality closing up, itching like a broken bone mending. Now, though, she couldn't deny that something was following them. Some time ago she'd felt the creature's attention upon her. She'd heard the clatter of its claws. Then, even as she hurried towards the service tunnels that might lead them to safety, she'd caught a glimpse; the flicker of lively shadow in the corner of her eye… one of Archalthus' monstrous menagerie. And now it was right behind her.
She turned to face it, and in the pale bluish glow of her light spell stood a creature of shadow given substance. The griffin stood as tall as a horse and no more than ten feet away from them. Its wings and foreparts were those of some kind of freakishly huge crow, and its hindquarters were a panther's. Its head, with a crow's powerful-looking black beak and a crest of bristling black feathers, turned so that one wild silver-blue eye fixed unblinkingly upon Bessie. At best, it had been sent to fetch the two prisoners back to their cell; at worst, it was looking for its lunch. What to do, what to do… Fight? The only weapon she had on her person was one small, slim blade. Run? She had no hope of outrunning the beast itself, though she could easily outrun that great lump Amelia… Instead, she scrambled into the service tunnel, fear of the griffin spurring her in past the tingle of dense magic on her skin that warned her to stay out. “Come on!” she urged, pulling at Amelia's sleeve, glad that Amelia had the sense to climb right into the service tunnel after her. Bessie slammed the hatch behind the two of them with a ringing clang. An instant later, claws and wicked beak shrieked against the metal of the hatch, and the griffin screamed the hoarse scream of a rook. Amelia cried out, but even if the griffin could open the hatch, it was far too big to enter the service tunnel. The two girls crouched in darkness. Even in fear and flight, Bessie had had the sense to extinguish her light spell, too dangerous to use in the powerful magical field immediately surrounding the Keystone. Thick stone walls and thick lead-lined doors prevented too much powerful magic from leaking out into inhabited parts of the City. Now they were within that chamber, and Bessie could feel magical potential swirling lazily in the air around her. A dim golden light illuminated the cramped service tunnel just enough for Bessie to make out the shadowy figure of her companion, and she could hear Amelia's breathing, ragged and shallow with fear.
“Let's get moving,” Bessie whispered. “Quick as we can.” They couldn't get out of the dungeon the way they'd come in, with it being right in the cursed prince's palace and doubtless guarded, but she'd known all along that there would be a way in and out close to the Keystone. It had to be possible for the Citizens to access the Keystone for changes and repairs. No City, not even one ruled by a lone madman and inhabited by monsters and automatons, would be quite so foolish as to seal off the lower reaches of the Keystone and let its runes decay into unintelligible scratches, magic driven mad. Archalthus had a captive Archmage, after all, and mages had to be able to get in to check the writing on the Keystone from time to time, so Bessie knew by the common sense of one who has lived all her life in a Flying City that there must be service shafts leading to each underground portion of the Keystone. She knew too that these service shafts would all combine and lead eventually to the surface. Unfortunately, for as long as she could remember, grownups had been warning Bessie not to play in those service shafts, so close to the immense magic of the Keystone (you'll turn into a toad, it'll eat you up, your liver will catch fire) that she hadn't the faintest idea which of their dire predictions were realistic and which were not. She'd understood Amelia's objections all too well, but what choice did they have if they wanted their freedom? More importantly, how else could they have escaped the griffin? Up ahead, she could see the surface of the Keystone, the stormcloud grey marble black in the darkness, golden light glowing from the figures engraved in its surface. Bessie led the way, crawling on all fours and feeling carefully for the end of the tunnel by which they'd entered. She was soon glad of her caution: she didn't see the edge, but felt the rock beneath her hands run out.
“All right,” she said, “There's a sheer drop coming up, and a ladder on the wall. It'll be a bit of a climb, but soon we'll be at the surface.” Satisfied that Amelia had followed and understood, Bessie climbed into the great vertical shaft that housed the bulk of the Keystone, into the narrow dark space between it and the wall. As she'd hoped, the rungs leading up the wall were clean and well-fixed.
“Are you sure this is safe?” Amelia asked, rather too late. They could both feel the magical field churning around them – the energy building in the metal and gems of their conjuring rings.
“We'll be fine, just as long as we don't hang about.” Which wasn't really true. Ilgrevnia was docked at a node, and that was quite possibly the worst time to be in the service tunnels, as the Keystone soaked up local magic. As the two girls climbed, they passed tunnels leading off into pitch darkness, and some of them were marked with the glowing blue square that indicated a hatch out into the City, but if such a journey had to be made, the only thing to do was to make it as short as possible. Bessie had to get back to Greyfell, in hopes that he might know the best way to dispose of a dragon…
“It's getting rather cramped in here,” Amelia's plaintive voice echoed up from somewhere below Bessie.
“No it isn't.” While Amelia might be taller and fuller-figured than Bessie, the service tunnels had been built to admit a grown man, if not in great comfort. Bessie paused and, hearing no sound of climbing, looked down to see Amelia stopped ten feet or more below, with her back pressed against the surface of the Keystone. Meanwhile, Bessie had plenty of freedom to move, and such a comfortable distance between her and the smooth surface of the Keystone that she could have leaned right out, one arm outstretched, and still not touch the polished stone… Which seemed odd, now that she came to think about it, given that somebody would need to be able to get down here and work on the stone with hammer and chisel.
“I think perhaps we'd best get out at the next hatch and take a break from climbing,” said Bessie, moving briskly on. A blue light glowed on the wall above them, indicating a way out.
“Am I growing, or are you shrinking?” Amelia asked, finding the climbing harder work.
Bessie ignored the question – she'd been trying not to worry too much about that, since worrying never seemed to do any good – but by the time she tumbled out of the service hatch and into an open corridor, she was convinced she'd lost at least six inches in height. Six inches that she hadn't had to spare in the first place… She conjured a light spell to examine the place where they found themselves, and dodged just in time as Amelia squeezed her way out of the narrow service tunnel, the crown of her golden hair brushing the ceiling of the corridor.
The newly enormous Amelia scowled down at her tiny companion. “I thought you said it was safe!”
Bessie gritted her teeth, doing her best to fix her attention on where to go next. These corridors were cleaner and drier, fresh air flowing through them from somewhere. No windows, though. “It could have been worse,” she said, nonchalantly as she could. “At least you got taller.”
“I didn't want to be taller!”
Bessie struck off down the hall, Amelia grumbling as she followed, her footsteps heavy.
~
Away from the capricious magic of the Keystone, it seemed Bessie was slowly getting taller again, and Amelia could only hope that the wild spell would gradually relinquish its hold on her. Though she no longer had to watch her head on the ceiling, she must still be more than six feet tall, and wasn't used to having to duck through doorways. And though the bruises and the indignity of banging her head a few times galled her, she was more annoyed with herself for following Bessie on this fool's errand to find a way to freedom. She’d given up on the idea of seeing the girl Archalthus kept prisoner, and would be glad just to escape Ilgrevnia, but if the two of them had made any
progress at all, it had been done with no thanks to Bessie's navigation. They soon discovered that they'd exited the Keystone shaft at a more frequented level of the City, though. Lamps lit the way, and the floors had been swept recently, albeit by somebody who was either lazy or in a hurry. Gone were the cells and machinery; instead the two girls discovered unlocked doors that opened on to spacious rooms filled with random blocky shapes under dustcovers, as if they'd caught the furniture playing at being ghosts. Two or three times they heard measured pairs of footsteps close by, and when Bessie darted for cover, Amelia vanished into thin air with a sharp intake of breath. No matter how many times Amelia swore afterwards that she'd made Bessie invisible too, the assassin-in-training preferred to rely on her own skills. All signs pointed to this being an underground floor of the prince's palace, awaiting the day when he and his victorious Queen would be crowned, and Bessie trod as carefully down here as she had in the dungeon with all its dangers. Nevertheless, when they turned a corner and came face to face with the huge black apparition, it took them both completely by surprise. Bigger still than the black griffin, dark smoke billowed from its hide, and the monster’s fiery eyes blazed. It leapt at Amelia, who – with a scream of terror – disappeared from view. The monster looked puzzled, sniffing the ground with a snout made of thick black smoke, blue-green sparks jumping off it like fleas. It wagged its tail as it paced around, acrid smoke soon filling the corridor, the palace's fancy ventilation system completely unable to cope.
Amelia coughed, wafting the smoke away from her face. “Stupid? What are you doing here?” Having recognised her lifelong companion despite his unusual guise, she dropped her invisibility spell, and at once the huge smoky figure began to circle round her like an enormous friendly cat, making her skirt sooty. She rather thought it was worth it for the look of astonishment on Bessie's face. The girl had drawn her blade again, as if plain steel could rend the insubstantial flesh of the fire sprite. “You can put that away,” said Amelia, sternly. “For one thing, it won't do you any good, and for another, this is a pet of mine. Shall we continue?”
They did, with Stupid prowling ahead of them, a smoky black figure stalking the gloom.
Bessie, maintaining an overcautious distance, watched him. “You're sure it's tame?”
“Oh, he generally does as I tell him,” said Amelia breezily. She was a little worried she might lose sight of him in the dark, though, as the green crackles of his ersatz fur faded further into the distance. “Stupid! Make yourself useful: can't you light the way?” Up the black smoke went, pulling itself into a ball of fiercely turquoise flame that bobbed companionably around Amelia. “What are you doing here, though? I thought I left you with Meg.” A thought struck her. “Does that mean she's here?” She hardly dared hope, but was still sorely disappointed when the fire sprite swayed and shuddered in a gesture she knew meant 'no'. “Is she all right? And Harold, and Percival?”
The fireball bounced up and down encouragingly. Yes, as far as he knew. Amelia left it at that. You could spend all day asking Stupid 'yes' and 'no' questions, but beyond that, even she couldn't draw much of an explanation from her mute companion. Judging by the way his glow shaded gradually towards emerald green, he at least felt everything must be well in the world.
As Bessie and Amelia continued to roam the corridors, which were just as twisting and nonsensical as the streets above, Amelia was distracted from their search for an exit by the enticing smell of kippers coming from somewhere close by. Bessie hurried on, but Amelia, who had not only missed breakfast, but missed it much more than Bessie seemed to, ducked down a side corridor in search of the source. If there were kitchens, perhaps she could steal some bread and cheese, if nothing else. She soon found a door left half open, with kippery steam issuing forth. In the small kitchen beyond, a woman hummed a cheerful ditty over a hot frying pan. Her hair, bright as turmeric, was tied up in a messy bun, and her dress, a colourful patchwork of offcuts, sparkled with coins and glass beads. Here was someone who belonged to neither the dismal dungeon, nor the grand palace upstairs…
“Oh, hello, poppet!” said the woman, spotting Amelia. “Would you like a kipper or two?”
Amelia didn't know what to say. She really shouldn't have let anybody see her roaming the corridors, but her own fairy tale logic dictated that this smiling round-cheeked cook might well be the one person in Ilgrevnia she could trust. And she was so very hungry… “Yes please,” she said. Stupid kept close to her, flickering green as grass in sunshine.
The cook looked momentarily taken aback at the sight of the disembodied flame, but seemed to recognise what he was. “Well, aren't you a handsome fellow?” she said.
Stupid bobbed, burning brighter with pride, quite at ease with the cheery red-haired woman, and Amelia took that as confirmation of her own judgement.
“Amelia, what are you doing?” Bessie asked in exasperation, having come back looking for her fellow escapee.
“She's just having some breakfast,” said the cook. “Would you like some too, lovey? Oh! But just look at your coat! Let me fix that up for you – I've got needle and thread somewhere about the place.”
Bessie, looking all around the kitchen for signs of impending doom, reluctantly shrugged off her ruined blazer and sat down. The kitchen was even more cramped than the interior of Meg's snailcastletank, undeniably taller than it was wide (although it was a very tall room) and it was with difficulty that the two girls managed to arrange themselves at the table. The kitchen was an incongruous little pocket of homeliness in the half-ruined City of Ilgrevnia: a fat black stove dominated the tiny kitchen; pans, utensils and ornaments hung from every available hook and beam; a string of tiny lanterns lit the windowless room, and somebody had painted the walls with funny fishy motifs. Looking up, Amelia could see a large opening high up in one of the walls, well above head height. A couple of cushions hung precariously over the edge, and having noticed the nook, Amelia could pick out what must be handholds and footholds in the wall beneath it. The chimney-shaped room was more than a kitchen; it seemed to be an entire self-contained dwelling.
“My name's Scarlet,” said the cook.
“Pleased to meet you. I'm Amelia, and this is Bessie.”
“You're meant to be locked away, aren't you?” said Scarlet, grinning mischievously. “But I won't tell anybody, don't you worry. You sit down and let me get you a nice breakfast.”
“Thank you,” said Bessie sincerely, although her expression remained anxious, “but we don't want to get you in any trouble.”
“Oh, bless your heart! You needn't worry about that – Master's too grand for my kitchen, and Mister Breaker's gentlemen don't have no use for it.”
Scarlet dished up plates of kippers for the two girls, then sat down and set to work on Bessie's ruined blazer. Her fingers flew and her needle flashed. “Did Master bring you two here?” she asked. “He wants the prettiest girl in all the three Kingdoms for his bride, so I heard.”
“Well I think he's found her,” said Bessie, watching the swiftly moving needle and perhaps wondering if she had time to let Scarlet sew up the holes in her blouse as well. “Can you help us get away from here?”
“Oh no. No, I can't do that.”
“You can't tell us the way out?” Amelia chimed in. “We just want to get back to our friends – we really don't want to get you in any trouble.”
The red-haired cook shook her head vehemently, looking frightened at the very thought.
“Only, the prince has already chosen some other girl to be his bride,” Amelia continued, “and we're afraid for our lives.”
Scarlet's eyes widened in shock. “Oh no! Master hasn't tried to hurt you, has he?”
“Not yet,” Bessie admitted, “but he won't want two extra queens running about and getting in his way, that's for sure.”
Scarlet shook her head. “I don't pretend to understand these things. Oh, it's a funny business, all right. Perhaps…” She bit her lip. “Perhaps I can find you a map. But right n
ow you poor girls look all wrung out – why don't you stop here a bit longer, and rest? There's cushions and blankets up there,” she added, pointing to the nook high up the wall.
“Oh, yes please,” said Amelia. “Do you have somewhere for my fire sprite? A lamp or something?” Bessie opened her mouth to protest, but Amelia was ahead of her. “I've been up all night. I can't do magic when I haven't had any sleep,” she reasoned.
Bessie gave the red-haired servant a long and suspicious look. “All right, we'll rest a bit longer,” she said, when she realised she had no counter to Amelia’s argument. “But then we have to get out of here.” She helped Amelia up the wall, and climbed into the nook after her. The strange bedchamber was warm and cosy, lined with woollen blankets and soft down-stuffed cushions, and Amelia succumbed to sleep in minutes.
16: THE SWORDSMAN IN BLACK
A solitary wyvern sailed the stormy sky, bright flame jetting from its jaws, marking its right to the sky for all to see. Meg, with her fists on her broad hips, stood and watched. She knew better than to call the creature. Since she'd sent Amelia up to Ilgrevnia, she'd seen the wyvern more than once, embattled with a griffin white as a ghost, and she knew she'd get no sense out of it while it fought to settle the old score and stake its claim on the territory. She could have used magic to force the beast to come to her and do her bidding, but that was no way to win or keep its loyalty. If she tricked the wyvern into submission, it would be gone forever as soon as her control of it slipped. What’s more, she’d have Sir Percival’s strong disapproval to contend with…
She glanced at Harold, sitting close by and staring sullenly at the ground. Though he might have given over to childish sulking now, Meg had to admit that he was not so much of a lad, and more of a man. A bit less pudge and a bit more muscle, and something of a more serious look in his eyes. Fighting and adventuring would make him into a different kind of man than one who worked in the fields or at an anvil, and most certainly a different kind of man than one who spent his days in books…