Voyage of the Owl

by Belinda Murrell

  Saxon stripped off his blood-smeared smock, Lily her mob cap and apron, Ethan handed over his sweep’s brush and Roana her sack. They scrubbed their faces and hands with wet rags Master Drummond gave them. Cloaks, packs and quivers were hurriedly put on, and bows restrung.

  Ethan ran his hands lovingly over his beloved bow with its freshly waxed bow string of flax-linen and leather grip. His father, Willem, had carved the bow for him from a single piece of yew timber. The arrows were painted yellow and green and fletched with grey goose feathers, stored in a leather quiver. He immediately felt stronger and more confident with them slung across his back.

  ‘Now I have news of your friend Fox,’ whispered Master Drummond. ‘He will meet you at the fishing village of Ainsley, three kilometres to the west, at dusk tonight. You should head there now and keep yourselves hidden from the Sedahs. Good luck with your task. Now I must go.’

  Master Drummond waved hurriedly and then clicked to the beautiful draughthorse, Judy. ‘Giddup, girl. Gallop on home.’

  Judy obeyed immediately, pulling strongly on the laden cart. The four children, with Aisha at their heels, set off at a quick pace, heading west to Ainsley.

  Cookie was singing about her work in the palace kitchen. She was making an apple pie, rolling out the pastry with a huge wooden rolling pin, folding it over and over, then rolling it flat again.

  She was completely ignoring Sniffer, who prowled up and down from pantry door to kitchen door, snuffling and frowning, searching vainly for clues.

  Cookie felt again the little flour-stained note in her apron pocket. The eggs had been delivered safely, unbroken, and were going on a sea journey. She had no doubt what the note was referring to.

  Two Sedah guards came up from the dungeons.

  ‘Time to collect the pig slops, Mistress Cookie,’ sneered one of the guards. ‘We have plenty of hungry swine to feed down below.’

  ‘Don’t you “Mistress Cookie” me, you rogue,’ bellowed Cookie, raising her rolling pin above her head. ‘It’s Mistress Drummond to you.’

  By the kitchen door were a line of huge buckets filled with kitchen scraps – vegetable parings, stale bread, left-over lard, rinds and the scrapings of the oatmeal pot. The guards hefted a couple of buckets in each hand.

  Cookie turned away. She picked up two thick slices of mouldy green bread and, sandwiched between the two, she inserted the note from her apron pocket.

  Then she wedged the revolting bread down the side of another bucket, which was filled with much more appetising ‘scraps’ – thick slabs of hot roast pork, chunks of apple sauce, roast potatoes and vegetables in cheese sauce.

  ‘Lord Lazlac asked me to prepare special rations for some of the poor Goddess-forsaken prisoners you are tormenting down there. He doesn’t want these prisoners to die,’ Cookie said in an indifferent voice. ‘He said you’d know who they were.’

  One of the guard’s eyes lit up greedily as he smelt the delicious aromas of the roast pork.

  ‘Smells too good for stinking prisoners, no matter who they are,’ the soldier replied, his mouth watering. ‘It smells a lot better than our guard rations.’

  ‘I wouldn’t try it if I were you,’ Cookie said, feigning indifference. ‘The pork’s a few days old and starting to turn. And look at this bread – it’s seriously green. I don’t want you vomiting in my kitchen. Bad pork can give you severe stomach gripes, but it won’t kill you. I have some more here if you really want to try it.’

  ‘No thanks,’ replied the guard, who was looking a little green himself. ‘We’ll leave it for the prisoners to suffer.’

  Cookie breathed a secret sigh of relief. She hoped the food she had specially prepared for the queen would reach her, and that the queen would find the note she had hidden in the mouldy bread. She hoped that the queen would understand that Princess Roana and the other children were safe. Lastly, she hoped that the Sedahs would not find the note, or discover its hidden meaning.

  But there was nothing she could do about it now, so Cookie returned to her singing and her apple pie.

  At that moment a rather scruffy-looking young Sedah soldier raced into the kitchen, accompanied by a peculiar aroma. Cookie sniffed and frowned. Sniffer wrinkled his nose in distaste.

  ‘Sniffer, sir,’ cried Burgis, his voice quivering with excitement and importance. ‘My name is Burgis. Captain Malish has sent me to you with news.’

  Sniffer looked around the kitchen cautiously.

  ‘Come over here and tell me quietly,’ responded Sniffer, his eyes keen with interest.

  Burgis came closer. Sniffer obviously found his close presence uncomfortable but listened carefully as Burgis whispered in his ear. Sniffer’s eyes shone with excitement. His nose quivered and snuffled.

  ‘Good work, Burgis,’ Sniffer replied. ‘Show me the way. I will call my guards.’

  With Burgis trotting at his heels, Sniffer strode out of the kitchen to find the guards, who were still fruitlessly searching the palace.

  Cookie stopped pressing her pastry into the pie dish. She had dug such deep holes into the base with her thumbs that she was sure the pastry was completely ruined.

  A young apprentice strolled into the kitchen carrying a basket of fresh fish from the markets, wrapped in newspaper.

  ‘Pooh,’ he cried, his nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘What is that terrible smell in here? It smells like something has died.’

  ‘It is probably that fish you’ve brought me,’ raged Cookie. ‘I said fresh, you idiotic boy. I can’t serve that to the governor. Oh, never mind. I see I will have to buy the fish myself. How I’ll ever get supper ready on time with no-one with any brains to help me, I don’t know.’

  Cookie tore off her apron, fetched her basket and shawl, and stormed out of the kitchen. The hapless kitchen boy looked at the giggling maids and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘What’s got into old Cookie now?’ he asked. ‘The fish is fine – just what she asked for. And what is that peculiar smell?’

  ‘One of the stinking Sedah guards was here,’ chuckled one of the maids. ‘I think that was what got up Cookie’s nose. Anyway, she’ll calm down again. You know she is a total perfectionist when it comes to food. I am sure that barbarian Lord Lazlac doesn’t even notice the difference.’

  Cookie hurried all the way to the palace gates.

  ‘Idiotic kitchen boy bought off fish,’ barked Cookie to the guard when she was challenged. ‘I’m running late preparing Lord Lazlac’s supper.’

  The guards raised their eyebrows and waved her on. Cookie ran all the way to the White Horse Inn, her large figure quivering at the unexpected exercise. At the inn she found her brother supervising the stabling of four beautiful, obviously well-bred horses.

  He had just removed a fine lady’s sidesaddle, inlaid with gems, and was looking closely at the horse’s motley brown coat. After a couple of weeks of hard riding and being out in all weather, her dyed coat was starting to look slightly patchy. The very roots of each hair were growing back pure white.

  ‘Some of the best hunters I’ve seen,’ Albert mused to himself. ‘But this poor girl looks a tad grubby at the moment. I think we will need to top up the colour on that coat.’

  He stroked the horse’s flanks gently.

  ‘Well, hello, Cookie darling. What is wrong? You looked puffed.’

  Cookie impatiently blurted out her story about Burgis and Sniffer and the pie and the fish. Albert listened patiently.

  ‘That horrible Sniffer is on his way down to the port now to look for those blessed children,’ Cookie continued with tears of fright streaming down her face.

  Standing by the stable, still saddled, was Lily’s beautiful chestnut horse. Albert vaulted onto its back.

  ‘Don’t worry, Cookie, my sweet,’ he soothed. ‘You go to the market and buy some more fish. I will head down to Ainsley and warn the children.’

  Albert galloped out of the courtyard and through the town centre towards the western gate once more. Cookie heaved a
massive sigh of relief and trudged back to the palace, via the fishmonger.

  ‘I’m riding for the quack,’ Albert shouted to the guards on the bridge. ‘He’s down at the port and my poor mother has the fever. It may be the Black Pox.’

  The guards waved him on hurriedly.

  ‘That’s the second case of the Black Pox we’ve heard about today!’ commented one guard to the other. ‘Sounds like we might have a plague on our hands soon.’

  ‘Governor Lazlac won’t like that,’ said the other guard. ‘He’s really having a bad day today. All sorts of fracas up at the palace.’

  Down in the dungeons, the guards banged on the door of the royal cell. Inside lay a group of prisoners, most of them wearing grubby and torn silk. One was her royal highness, Queen Ashana, mother of Princess Roana and Prince Caspar.

  Lily and Ethan’s parents were also imprisoned here – Willem, Royal Master of Horse, and Marnie, a gifted healer and herbalist.

  ‘Come on, Queenie,’ bellowed the guard, who fancied himself something of a comedian. ‘Come and get your pig slops. Actually, the slops smell better than usual today. Maybe it’s your lucky day and the food is edible.’

  Willem stood up from his spot on the filthy, damp straw. Marnie barely raised her head at the ruckus. Willem fetched the bucket and carefully carried it over to where Queen Ashana lay motionless in the straw.

  His nose could not believe the aroma he was smelling. There was meat in this bucket. Real meat, hot and delicious, with gravy and vegetables. They had not had real food for weeks – only stale bread and kitchen scraps.

  The only odd detail was the two slices of mouldy green bread, wedged at the side. Willem pulled the stale bread out of the bucket, so it did not spoil the rest of the food.

  ‘Not stealing her royal highness Queen Ashana’s food before she has a chance to devour it herself, are you?’ asked Lord Mortimer, in a mocking voice. ‘That surely would be treason!’

  Lord Mortimer lay by himself, over to the side of the cell, with his head resting daintily on his hand, propped up on his elbow. The king’s cousin still looked like a dandy, with his soiled cravat and his flowery waistcoat. His thick black hair, no longer curled, was pulled back with a crimson velvet ribbon, although he now had an inch of steel-grey hair growing at the roots.

  Willem gritted his teeth in dislike, but smiled politely.

  ‘No, my lord,’ Willem replied, waving the green bread in the air. ‘Just removing the mouldy crusts. Would you like them yourself?’

  Lord Mortimer sneered in disdain. ‘Thank you, but I would rather starve, my good man.’

  Lord Mortimer returned to filing his fingernails on the stone flagging of the floor. Willem carried the bucket of roast pork over to Queen Ashana and tried to rouse her gently, waving the bucket under her nose so she could smell the contents.

  ‘Your highness, you must eat,’ he whispered gently. ‘You must keep your strength up.’

  Queen Ashana stirred and sat up, looking in disbelief at the bucket of food.

  ‘Oh, praise the blessed Moonmother!’ Queen Ashana cried. ‘Food!’

  The queen began to gobble at a piece of meat in her fingers, all manners forgotten. The ladies-in-waiting gathered around, eager to sample this novelty.

  ‘Willem, here, take some food,’ ordered Queen Ashana.

  ‘Thank you, your highness,’ replied Willem. ‘Let me take some food for Marnie. I am worried about her.’

  Willem was still holding the two pieces of mouldy bread, and he dropped them in disgust. The sandwich fell apart, revealing a floury piece of paper with writing on it. Willem picked it up surreptitiously. Everyone was concentrating on the bucket of food.

  On one side of the paper was written ‘To Mistress Cookie Drummond, Palace Kitchens’. On the other side was:

  Dearest Sister,

  Thank you kindly for your gift of eggs. Please tell the farmer that they arrived fresh and unbroken this morning. They were so good I have decided to share them with my friends down in the port. They are preparing for a sea voyage so will welcome some fresh farm produce.

  If you need any high quality fish for the palace kitchens, let me know.

  Best wishes, your loving brother

  Albert.

  Willem was puzzled. The bucket of delicious food – the first edible food in weeks – with a note hidden in mouldy bread, sent just hours after Ethan and Lily had visited them in the dungeons. It all seemed too coincidental.

  But why hide a note about eggs? Unless it was a code! Willem’s heart raced with excitement.

  What if, just what if the eggs referred to Ethan, Lily, Saxon and Princess Roana? Then the note was saying they arrived safe and unbroken this morning and were preparing for a sea voyage. It seemed too far-fetched to be possible, but what other explanation could there be?

  Yes, of course, this Cookie may have dropped the note in the bucket when she was preparing the food. It may simply be a note from a brother to a sister about eggs and fish. But someone had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare this food, and it looked like they had gone to a lot of trouble to hide this note.

  Willem’s heart filled with hope and joy to think they might have friends on the outside, who knew they were here and might be able to help them. He hid the note in his pocket and went to fetch some meat to share with Marnie.

  When he was sure no-one was watching, he whispered his theory about the note to Marnie. She was filled with hope and joy. Oh, if only her precious children were safe! Her cheeks glowed with a bright spot of colour.

  Later, Willem shared his thoughts with Queen Ashana.

  ‘Cookie!’ squealed Queen Ashana. ‘Oh, Cookie is one of the most wonderful, generous people alive. She must be helping them.’

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone about this, your highness,’ begged Willem. ‘Not even Lord Mortimer. We must keep it a secret between Marnie, you and me. Our children’s lives may depend upon it!’

  Willem was so determined to destroy any evidence that he smeared the note in some gravy and cheese sauce and ate it.

  Down at the port, the light was fading fast. Sniffer arrived with his entourage of armoured soldiers. Burgis showed him where he had seen the children watching the Sea Dragon. Their footsteps were obliterated by the port guards, who had already tried to find them without success. Sniffer swore. It was impossible to tell anything from these tracks.

  Sniffer found the tracks of a horse-drawn cart heading back to Tira. He found some fresh silver fish scales and the bristles of a brush that smelt strongly of soot, but nothing useful. He searched wider, examining the tracks that led down to the beach.

  Always at his heels trotted the enthusiastic Burgis. Sniffer found him unbearably annoying – whether it was his interfering presence or his cloying smell, Sniffer wasn’t sure.

  Finally Sniffer searched the narrow roadway that led further west, to the fishing village of Ainsley. In the last of the light he saw the large pawprint of a dog. Just in front was the perfect, narrow print of a girl’s boot. Sniffer smiled triumphantly. ‘At last!’

  ‘Fetch me some more lanterns,’ he barked to Burgis. ‘Come on, men. I have found the trail.’

  Sniffer loped off into the darkness, stopping every few minutes to check the footprints in the dusty track with his lantern.

  It was dusk when Ethan, Lily, Roana, Saxon and Aisha rounded the last bend and wandered down into the fishing village of Ainsley. The dirt streets were empty, and the cottages were dark. But a waft of merry music and the light of many fires beckoned them down to the beach.

  The fisherfolk of Ainsley were celebrating. Bonfires burned on the sand. Lanterns hung in the trees and from the bows of the fishing boats pulled high above the tideline. Long tables were set up on the sand, covered in colourful cloths and laden with platters of delicious food.

  A band played lively, cheery music – fiddles, drums, flutes and guitars. Children, dressed in their festive best and crowned with wildflowers, danced in the sand. A troupe of gaily d
ressed gypsies performed – juggling fiery torches, walking on their hands, performing acrobatics, dancing on stilts. The four children were entranced by the colour, movement and noise of the festival.

  Ethan inched closer to a woman who was serving food behind one of the tables. ‘Excuse me, mistress,’ he asked politely. ‘Have you seen a seaman called Fox?’

  Saxon was asking the same question of a salty old fisherman who was draining a tankard of golden ale.

  ‘Aye, laddie,’ the fishwife replied. ‘Fox will be here for t’ blessing of t’ fleet. ’Tis t’ full moon, you know. Tonight we ask t’ Moonmother t’ bless our boats and nets, and fill them with t’ harvest of t’ seas. Coom join in with your friends. Eat. Drink. Dance with us. Bring us good luck. We’ll let Fox know you seek him.’

  Saxon received a similar reply. The children searched the crowds, asking several people for Fox, but no-one had seen him. They were jostled and bumped by the happy crowd. The first woman Ethan had spoken to came over with a large tray of crispy calamari.

  ‘Here,’ she smiled merrily. ‘Try this. They are quite delicious and need to be eaten hot.’

  The children crunched on the hot calamari – golden fried on the outside and thick and chewy on the inside. Lily took an extra piece and fed it to Charcoal, snuggled in her pocket. Charcoal nibbled it daintily, licking the crumbs off her long white whiskers.

  A fisherman pressed tankards of ice-cold, foaming apple cider in their hands. The bubbles tingled their tongues and fizzed tiny bubbles on their skin.

  Someone else offered them a platter of herbed mussels stewed in onion and tomato, which they slurped straight from the shell. The fisherfolk talked and laughed and ate and drank.

  To the west, the sky was streaked scarlet, hot pink and delicate violet. To the east a huge glowing moon, full and round, rose slowly from the sea. It was cheered with great welcome by the gathered crowd.