“I was just with Peridot,” she explained, brushing herself off. “We were looking for you. Then there was this sound like a giant bell—just like when I came through the church—but this time it was like it was trying to pull me to it.” Brinley had noticed the bell in his hand. “What is that? Is that what brought me here?” She reached for it, but he whisked it back into his pocket.
“Oh,” he said, blushing. “It’s nothing—I mean, it is a bell obviously. I—uh—got into a bit of trouble and so I rang it, and, well, I guess it worked.”
“Where did you get it?”
“From Archibald. It’s supposed to summon the Magemother.”
“He gave it to you?”
Hugo shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Well, not exactly,” he admitted. “During all the excitement in the Hall of Records it nearly fell out of Archibald’s pocket, and I, er—picked it up.
“You stole it,” she said shortly. “Aren’t you the prince? You stole it, and you were trying to summon the Magemother with it to help you?”
Hugo blushed. “I didn’t really think it through. I’ve tried it before, and so has Archibald. But the bell never works.”
“Except for when it brought me to that library.”
“Right,” Hugo said, then he looked back at her again sharply. “Wait, it did?”
“I think so. And it brought me here just now.”
“Well,” Hugo was fiddling uncomfortably with his pocket. “Yeah, I guess. But it’s supposed to summon the Magemother, not you.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. It sounded rude. “Well,” he laughed weakly. “Maybe you’re the Magemother.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what that means.” She thought for a moment. “Can I try ringing the bell?”
Hugo looked startled. “Why?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “this might not make any sense, but if the bell is supposed to summon the Magemother, and it summons me instead, what will happen when I ring it?”
Hugo considered it. “It’s worth a shot, I guess,” he said. He took it out and it vanished from his hand as Brinley snatched it up. Apparently anything she held became invisible too.
It was small and light, not at all the kind of thing you would expect to make a loud noise. She rang it firmly, then dropped it and clamped her hands over her ears as the gong rang out right above her head.
“Well,” she said, “it was worth a shot.” She bent down to pick up the bell. “Do you want it back?”
“You keep it,” he said.
“But it might be useful if we get separated again,” she insisted.
“It isn’t mine. You should hold on to it.”
“Well, let’s not stand here arguing about it,” she said in exasperation, stowing it in the pocket of her jeans. She eyed the dark trees nervously. “I don’t like the looks of this place.”
With a jolt, Hugo remembered why he had needed help in the first place. There was no sign of the owl now, but there was no telling when it might be back. “We should go,” he said.
He picked a direction, giving his best guess as to the way he had come in the darkness, and they set off.
“I’m glad I’m here,” Brinley said a moment later.
“You are? I mean—you aren’t mad?”
“No,” Brinley said. “Why would I be? I mean, I was surprised, being in one place one second and then being clobbered by you the next, but I’m glad I found you.”
“Me too,” Hugo agreed. “I just hope we can find our way out before it finds us.”
“Before what finds us?” Brinley asked, coming to a stop beside him.
Hugo told her about the Kutha.
“You have owls that big here?”
He could tell by the timbre of her voice that she was afraid. “No,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “That’s the thing. This owl is famous—legendary, even—and not in a good way. It’s supposed to be trapped in the Wizard’s Ire! I don’t know how it could have got out. Nothing is supposed to get out of the Ire. That’s the point.”
“Look,” Brinley whispered. “Is this a path?”
She was right. It was faint, but it was definitely a path.
A few more minutes went by and Hugo began to think they were going in the wrong direction. They couldn’t have been this far in.
“There’s a light ahead!” Brinley said excitedly.
“Hold on a minute.”
Hugo was thinking. That light was in the middle of the forest still, and they should be making their way out.
“Let’s see what it is,” Brinley said.
“Hold on a minute.” Something was tugging at the back of Hugo’s mind.
“I’m going. Maybe there’s someone there who can help us.”
“Wait,” Hugo followed her footsteps down the path. It widened into a small road and joined with others. This was no campsite. There were little huts among the trees, and a few buildings big enough to be called houses. Most of them were dark, but the largest one had light pouring out of every window. This was a town. That might be good, or it might be bad. He wished bitterly that he had paid more attention in his geography lessons. There were a few small towns in the Norwood. Stilthig was one of them…or was it Stirling? That would be okay. Kokum was another. That would be very bad.
Two shadows were making their way along a path toward the road they were on. He slowed to hear their conversation, trying to sink back into the shadows so as not to be noticed.
A squeaky voice pierced the night air sharply. “Come on, Pike, don’t dawdle. If the Kutha gets you, you’re on your own. Serves you right. A team of snails would move faster. Maybe I’ll just hire some and have done with you.” Her words were punctuated by raspy grunts as she labored along the path. She must have been very old for walking to be that hard. It sounded like she was using a cane too; Hugo could hear the tip slapping against the underbrush as she moved.
The woman stepped through a moonbeam and Hugo caught a glimpse of her. She had a face that looked like a fish—all nose and lifted chin, with odd teeth sprouting here and there. She passed out of the light and into darkness as quickly as she had come. The man that followed her could have been a gorilla. He was tall, hairy, and walked bent low to the ground. He was pushing a little wooden wheelbarrow, which was much too small for him. It struck Hugo as very strange. It might have looked almost comical somewhere else, but in the middle of the night, it was just creepy.
“C’mon, Marchy,” said the gorilla-man in a deep, unintelligent sort of voice. “I’m’a doin’ me besties.
Hugo’s lip curled. That name…Marchy…Marchy…March…He racked his brain. He should know it.
“Hush up,” she said in a sharp whisper, and the lumbering man fell silent. “You there!” she croaked, looking straight at Hugo.
Hugo went stiff.
“Why are you skulking like that?” she demanded. “If you’re trying to knife me in the dark, you’ve got a nasty surprise waiting for you.”
“Oh, no,” Hugo said hastily, moving out from the shadows. “I mean, I’m just on my way to the inn.” He hoped there was an inn in this town. This lady gave him the creeps.
“The inn, eh?” the woman grinned. “Well, get on your way then.”
Hugo jumped back onto the street. He thought he could hear Brinley’s soft steps beside him. He quickened his pace, not wanting to be overtaken by the old lady again. When they reached the inn, Hugo stopped. Something that smelled like sour cider was wafting from an open window and he could hear the rumble of voices inside. He paused under the sign; it had been too dark to see it from the street. A great owl was carved into the wood. It had a heart-shaped face, and there was something hanging from its talons: an emerald green salamander. His blood went cold. This was Kokum, the witches’ village. How had they come so far south? He shouldn’t be here. Not ever. Definitely not in the middle of the night, dressed like the prince of Caraway. The witches of Kokum had been the morta
l enemies of his family for generations.
He turned around, but the old woman was right behind him. He remembered who she was; the March Witch had been banished to the Wizard’s Ire a hundred years ago when she was caught trying to throw his great grandfather—then a baby—into the river. If she had escaped and made it all the way to Kokum without being caught, he didn’t want to be anywhere near here. He reached up hastily and folded down his shirt collar, hiding the salamander. He might as well just introduce himself if he was going to sport the king’s crest on his clothing.
“Stay close and be quiet,” he whispered under his breath. Brinley had no way of knowing what kind of danger they were in. If she did anything that drew attention to them they would likely pay for it with their lives. He pushed the door open and ducked inside, sliding past a group of people without looking at them. He would make his way to a corner and then hope nobody noticed him. Maybe there was a back door. No, then he’d have to go through the kitchen. He sat down at a vacant table in the taproom, trying not to stand out.
He did stand out, though. Indeed, any normal person would have; the taproom was a spook alley. There was a witch with black skin and black eyes that looked like bugs had crawled into them, a witch wearing a hat with a dead hawk on it, and another witch that might have been a man. This last one had a head that looked more like a third shoulder. Hugo couldn’t look at him too long without gagging; he had a peculiar wart-like hairy bump on his neck with a yellow tooth growing out of it.
“Sneak away while you can,” he whispered to Brinley.
For a second, he thought she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she had already left. But then a hand touched his shoulder. “We’ll get out together.”
But there was no place to go. If he got up now and left just as he had come in, he was sure to be noticed. They didn’t just need to get out either, they needed to get out without being chased. After all, they were a long way from help now. Even if they could get out of the inn, there was no way they were going to escape if anyone in there figured out just who Hugo was.
Chapter Nineteen
In which Archibald fights a giant
Tabitha met Archibald halfway down the hill next to the lake. He was leading Pilfer and looking very much like a man in a hurry.
“I saw a great beast fly by,” he said excitedly, hurrying up to her. “Was it Peridot? Do you know?”
“It was Peridot,” Tabitha said. “Peridot, and the wizard Cannon, and Prince Hugo, and my friend Brinley.”
“You know Brinley?”
“Yes,” Tabitha said patiently. “I told you, she’s my friend.”
“How did my pony end up all the way out here?” Archibald asked, collecting himself.
“Oh,” Tabitha said, “We took him. He’s been wonderful, except for when Peridot roared. He didn’t like that much.”
“No,” Archibald said, “I don’t suppose he would have.”
In that moment, Tabitha and Archibald realized that they did not actually know each other, so they introduced themselves. Tabitha, who usually did not make friends easily (human friends, that is), decided that since Pilfer seemed to trust Archibald, she could too. “We have to go to Caraway Castle,” she informed him, taking the reins out of his hands and turning Pilfer around.
“Excuse me,” he said incredulously. “Whatever for?”
“Well,” she said, considering the question. She was walking ahead now, which forced Archibald to follow her. “I suppose I don’t know exactly—but Flitlitter says so.”
“Flitlitter?”
“Yes,” she said, and introduced him to the magpie on her shoulder. “Flitlitter knows lots of things. He is usually very quiet, and never brings any news. He just listens…but not today. Today he knows things.”
“Really?” Archibald asked absently. He was searching the sky for Peridot and the others. It looked like they had flown back toward the Magisterium, but he had lost them behind the clouds.
“Oh, yes,” Tabitha continued, “Flitlitter was the one that told me about Peridot in the first place.”
“Really?” Archibald said again, more interested than before.
“Yes, and now he says that we must go to the castle!”
Archibald gave a half smile. “Does he say why?”
Tabitha screwed up her mouth in concentration as Flitlitter let out a series of small, gurgling squawks.
“The king is in danger,” she interpreted.
Archibald hesitated. There was still Hugo to consider. “Do you know what has become of the prince?” he asked her.
“He’s safe,” Tabitha said. “He went with Peridot and the others.”
That was all Archibald needed to hear. Wherever they had gone, it was out of his hands now. If the king was in danger, that was where he needed to be.
“Very well,” he said, and together they turned toward the Magisterium.
***
For the first time in her life, Tabitha did not return to her tower. She wanted to, but she didn’t; she was too afraid that she would get caught up with the birds and forget to leave with Archibald when the morning came. Accordingly, she slept in a little chamber beside his. They rose early, ate a quick breakfast, and left for Caraway without delay.
It didn’t take long for them to warm up to each other; Tabitha was very curious, and Archibald loved to teach. There were many things that Tabitha knew as well, things that most people don’t—such as the secret life of birds—and Archibald was just as good a student as he was a teacher.
This was how they found themselves late in the afternoon on the day after they had separated from the others. They were walking down a forest road in the opposite direction that Archibald had come days before, and Tabitha was pointing out a magpie nest high in a tree that they were passing. She was explaining how magpie nests are often large and domed on top, and very soft inside except for the ceiling, which is left rough to let the breeze in, and how lovely they are when magpies are in them, but that they can fall into disrepair or be taken over by owls if the magpie leaves for too long.
As they were talking, they spotted the owner of the nest, and Flitlitter, who had been sitting on Pilfer’s rump and picking bugs off of him for a snack, flew into the air to greet it.
The other magpie let out a vehement squawk and Flitlitter withdrew.
“That bird seems to be very territorial,” Archibald commented.
“Something’s wrong,” Tabitha told him, looking around.
“What?”
“I don’t know—oh, look!”
Archibald looked up quickly to where she pointed, and there, high in the tree, he saw the source of the disturbance. A giant barn owl, larger than a horse, had drifted out of nowhere. Its heart-shaped face was the color of ash.
Tabitha held her breath as its wings spread outward. It held them there, white wings high against the daylight so that she could see its bones through the feathers. Its dark eyes were locked on the magpie in the nest, talons reaching out carefully.
There was a hush as the owl alighted softly on the nest. Then it turned and flew away without so much as a backward glance, the lifeless body of a magpie dangling from its talons.
“That was a very bad owl,” Tabitha said darkly.
Archibald shivered. “That was no owl.”
“What do you mean?” Tabitha asked.
“It was—”Archibald gave a small start and cut himself off. He had looked back down from the trees to find a small boy, dressed in rags, standing right beside them. He must have walked up when they were distracted by the owl. The boy was patting Pilfer on the nose. Apart from his sudden arrival, there was something in the boy’s eyes that made Archibald feel uneasy.
“Sorry,” the boy said shyly. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Just startled us, is all,” Archibald said hastily, gathering himself. “Who are you?”
The boy didn’t answer.
Tabitha was tugging at Archibald’s coat, tryi
ng to get his attention, but he shrugged her off. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the boy. “Where are you going?”
“Where are you going?” the boy repeated. “Do you have any food?”
Archibald slid a piece of cheese out of Pilfer’s saddle bag and handed it to the boy. Tabitha was still sitting behind him, tugging on his sleeve.
“Here you are,” Archibald said. “Now, where are you going?”
“Caraway Castle.”
“Really? Why? Ninebridge is closer. You could get a meal there.”
“I have to deliver something to the king.”
“You? Deliver something to the king? What?”
“A message.”
Tabitha yanked hard on his sleeve.
“What message? From whom?”
The boy bit off a piece of cheese. “From my master.”
Archibald felt a little chill. He was remembering how Cannon had described the idris. Tabitha was practically bouncing up and down behind him now.
“The boy is bad!” she whispered desperately. “Flitlitter says the boy is bad!”
Archibald dug in his heels to spur Pilfer forward, but the boy had hold of the reins too. Pilfer gave a jolt, but the boy’s grip was unnaturally strong. The pony pulled and pulled, but he could not break free.
The boy smiled. Then in the blink of an eye, he was no longer a boy. A giant stood in his place, two times the size of a normal man. His body was tall and graceful, rippled with muscle and naked except for a pair of short, sheepskin pants. He had mean eyes and a twisted face.
“GO GO GO!”
Pilfer reared up and turned, streaking off through the trees. Flitlitter took to the air and darted away—going for help, Tabitha hoped. Archibald bent close over the pony’s neck to avoid hanging branches; Tabitha was squeezing him tight from behind. They could hear the cracking of brush and branches behind them that meant they were being followed.
Tabitha screamed as Pilfer lurched forward. They plummeted down a ravine into a dry riverbed. A moment later they heard a giant clash of stone and dirt as the idris leapt down behind them.
Before he could catch them, the riverbed opened into a meadow and the giant stumbled in the afternoon sun, missing a step. That one stumble is what saved them. The giant’s outstretched fist missed Pilfer’s head and slammed into the grass instead, making a deep impression.
The Mage and the Magpie Page 14