The Key & the Flame

by Claire M. Caterer

  Meanwhile, the castle bustled with preparations for the tournament. Knights from all over the kingdom began arriving. Avery’s notices had spread the word about the strange young knight and his magic, and everyone wondered what the king would say. The knights whispered among themselves that whatever His Highness pretended, Everett’s feats looked like real magic, not a show. And hadn’t the two youths appeared in the forest from nowhere? Did His Majesty know what Avery was about, that he had captured an Adept and was setting him against the king’s own champions?

  But of course the king knew nothing of the sort. He had been off on a hunting party the last two weeks. And even in the midst of all the cheering and praise that Everett was earning, in the back of his mind—like looking forward to a very hard exam or a flu shot—was the idea that soon the king would return to the castle and find out exactly what they were up to.

  At that afternoon’s luncheon—in fact, the same afternoon that Holly made her mad gallop back from the Wandwright’s cottage—Prince Avery sat both boys next to him at the high table, and he commanded a toast be drunk to Sir Everett and his prodigious skill. They ate well, even if the food was a little strange—venison and cygnets and boar’s head and eel pasties. Even Ben seemed to be getting used to it. Dessert was custard tarts flavored with honey and cinnamon and some other spice Everett couldn’t identify. It was just as he turned to Avery to ask him what it was that it happened.

  First came a gasp from the far end of the Great Hall. A young woman, the daughter of one of the nobles, pointed to the arched doorway and shrank away from it. In the doorway stood something—a ghost, Everett thought.

  And why not? If this place had magic wands and flying panthers, why shouldn’t there be ghosts, too? The figure was a girl, transparent, but at turns almost solid, as if she were a film projection just out of focus. Her hair was in long braids, and . . .

  Everett felt the blood leave his face. The ghost was in blue jeans. And glasses.

  Ben glanced at him. “What the—?” Then he stood up so fast he knocked over his goblet of juice. “That’s—Holly! It’s Holly!”

  “It can’t be,” Everett whispered.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Ben cried, but Grandor, who had been standing just to one side of the high table, had already leaped off the dais.

  The phantom figure held out a hand, as if trying to reach them.

  Grandor charged forward, his sword drawn. Avery, speechless, sat with his mouth open. The knights and ladies stampeded toward the dais, and Grandor pushed against them as if swimming upstream. “Stop!” he hollered. “In the name of the crown!”

  Too late, Everett thought of going to help her. It would be impossible to push through the crowd now, and from the dais he could see Grandor’s hand reach out to grab Holly as he brought the sword down.

  But, just as suddenly as she had appeared, she vanished.

  “Where did she go? Is she okay?” Ben was babbling. But she hadn’t run away; she had simply disappeared, like a TV turned off, like . . .

  Like Holly’s living-museum people, back about a hundred years ago.

  Everett grabbed Ben’s sleeve and pulled him down on the bench. All around them, men and women were talking in panicky voices, Grandor was bellowing, and Avery was trying to shout over the commotion.

  “She was here,” Ben insisted in a low voice.

  “No, she wasn’t,” said Everett. “At least, not really. Remember that day in Darton Castle? When she kept saying she saw the people in fancy dress? When she said she saw you?”

  Ben’s eyes grew round. “No way—”

  “She said someone came at her with a sword—a big dark-haired bloke, remember? At a party, with you sitting at the high table? She was here, Ben!”

  Ben grew pale, and he looked like his eel pasty might be making a return appearance at any moment.

  And then Everett’s stomach did a somersault too, for he heard a sound that, without realizing it, he had been listening for all day: a round, full series of trumpeted notes.

  “What’s that?” Ben asked.

  “The king,” said Everett, feeling a cold fist around his heart. “The king is home.”

  The trumpets only threw the Great Hall into further chaos. Clearly, the feast was over. Loverian seized the boys and led them out of the hall to their room. Avery didn’t glance at them twice, but seemed busy conferring with Lord Clement on how best to track down the Adept. Before the boys were even out of the Great Hall, they saw Gervase bound up to Avery. “His Majesty has returned and would see you at once, Your Highness.”

  “I knew it,” Ben said gloomily as the door banged shut behind them. “There goes any chance we have of getting out of here. The king’s never going to let you use the wand, Everett. We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill us tonight. They probably think we let Holly in somehow too.”

  “Shut it,” said Everett, but he knew Ben was right. “They might not even have noticed she’d come in if you hadn’t stood up and pointed at her.”

  “It was because of everybody else pointing that I saw her in the first place!” Ben said, his face reddening.

  Everett shrugged, by which he clearly meant, If you say so. It was unfair—untrue, even—what he’d said, but he was frightened now, and it made him irritable. He thrust a hand into his pocket, clutching at the red silk scarf, hoping it would calm him. But it didn’t. The last few days, all the practice, all the cozying up to Avery, was getting them nowhere. He didn’t feel right without that wand in his hand. It gave him a power, a feeling that he was right and good, which justified whatever else he might say or do. What Ben didn’t understand is that sometimes you had to make sacrifices to do great things, things like perform flawlessly in a jousting tournament to save your friends.

  Of course, it was really Holly who had tried to save them, and he was counting on her to come back and rescue them again, as Sol had said. But it was him, Everett, who was doing all the work. And Holly would probably come dashing in and take all the credit.

  Ben heaved a sigh and flopped onto his pallet. “We went to that castle days ago. How could Holly be in Hawkesbury and here at the same time?”

  Everett thought a moment, trying to still the irritation that burned in his chest. “I don’t know, exactly. But she said the key unlocks places and times. Maybe just being there at Darton Castle, holding that wand—that key—it’s like she looked through a veil, like Gallaway said.” He shrugged. “I mean, if it was a few days ago. If she is still here.”

  “What do you mean, if? Where else would she be?”

  Perhaps it was the lady’s favor that he wrapped so tightly around his hand that the fabric cut into his knuckles, or maybe it was just the fear rising in his throat now that the king was home, but something prompted a rather awful thing to come out of his mouth. “Maybe she found a way home and left without us.”

  Ben stared at him for a moment, then said tightly, “Take that back, Everett.”

  “And how’s she going to rescue us?” Everett went on, unable to stop himself. “Those Adept powers of hers didn’t look so brill the other night.”

  “Holly doesn’t even need powers!” Ben shouted. “You don’t know her! She’s supersmart and knows all about animals and fossils and weird myths and stuff, plus she’s a wicked rock climber and she’s brave and she does things! She knows how to plan and think and strategize—well, okay, not in computer games, but in real life, anyway. And she’s loyal. She’d never leave without us, even if she could.”

  “How do you know?” Everett countered. “She got out of the castle somehow, but she didn’t take us with her, did she? She’s off making friends with flying cats and centaurs and all!”

  “You’re making friends with Avery!”

  “I didn’t notice you turning down any of the food today!”

  The two of them stood about a foot apart, breathing hard, faces red. Ben looked like he wanted to hit Everett, but instead he turned away and rubbed his eyes.

  Everett threw
himself down on his own pallet and turned his back on Ben. He shouldn’t have said that about Holly; he didn’t really believe it. Or maybe he did. He didn’t know her that well, and anyway, it seemed like these Adepts and their friends were bent on taking over the kingdom, like they’d tried to do before. Maybe Holly’s whole rescue plan was more like a cover for a castle siege. Ben’s view of things was skewed; he’d gotten kind of a raw deal, even Everett admitted that much. He was so sure Avery and his lot were in the wrong, but hadn’t they done what anyone would have, finding poachers on their land? And hadn’t Avery been a pretty regular bloke since then?

  But what was Everett going to do when Holly came for them? Sol would be unhappy—no, furious—if he didn’t give Holly up to her. But what could she really do to him? Sol couldn’t touch the wand—she’d said so. She needed Everett to make it work. So there was something special about him, whether or not he was of the Blood. His wand could perform feats that Holly could only dream of. He would make sure the rescue wasn’t botched. Unlike Holly, he knew what he was doing.

  After a while Everett heard Ben begin playing a solo game of Battleship on his side of the room. The shadows began to lengthen, made late by the impending solstice, and finally Everett admitted to Ben that he’d been out of line and of course Holly hadn’t left them stranded in Anglielle. Ben took to checking his watch every fifteen minutes and announcing the time like Westminster. No one brought them either news or food. Surely by now the king had discussed matters with Avery.

  “Maybe the queen will help us,” Ben suggested. “She gave the order to hold our execution. She seems nicer than anyone else.”

  “But she’s never around, is she? I saw her one time in the berfrois—at least, I think it was her—but she’s not even at the feasts.”

  “I never saw her up in the—thingy,” said Ben, pouting a little. “What’s she like?”

  “I don’t know—pale. Avery says she’s often ill or something.”

  “The king’s probably got her locked in a tower someplace,” Ben said.

  “No worries. I’m sure Avery’s putting in the good word,” said Everett.

  “If he’s not stabbing us in the back, you mean.”

  “There you go again. Look, just because he and I’ve gotten to be mates—”

  “He’s not your mate, Ev. He’s a prince. And now his dad’s home. You think he’s going to take your side over the king’s? What choice is he gonna have?”

  “But he’s sort of a prisoner too, isn’t he? He made it sound like he never gets to go anywhere, except hunting for poachers.”

  Ben sighed. “I just wish this was over.”

  There wasn’t much else to say after that. Ben tried to get Everett to tell him how he’d got the wand working so well, but Everett didn’t dare tell him about his agreement with Sol. Besides, she had chosen Everett, not Ben, because of his—well—special gifts. Like Mr. Gallaway had chosen Holly.

  They lapsed into a bored silence as the room darkened. It was well past midnight when a key finally rattled in the lock. Dart scurried in, holding a tray with some leftover meat and a flagon of mulled wine.

  “What’s going on?” Ben asked. “Is the king mad? Is Avery okay?”

  Dart was out of breath. “Apologies, my lords. We are much occupied with preparations for the tournament. The vespers has already begun, wherein the squires compete. The king is hosting a feast with the knights and ladies, and more arriving all the time, all needing rooms, and food and drink—”

  “That’s all right,” Everett said. “But stay a moment, can’t you? Do you know if the king’s been told about us?”

  Dart set down his tray and sat on one of the pallets. “He and His Highness were closed inside the king’s chamber for a long while. And at the feast, whispers travel up and down the trestle, telling of thy feats.”

  “Oh.” Everett felt a bit queasy.

  “The king said naught of you in my hearing. He talks only of his hunting party and the tournament to come.” Dart stood up. “I beg your leave, my lords. I have duties.”

  “Sure,” Everett said. “Go ahead.”

  Dart gave a little bow before running out, as if the boys weren’t prisoners at all. They picked at the food. Occasionally they heard a loud cheer from the Great Hall below, and sometimes the voices of the castle guards who patrolled the grounds. The moon rose, high and full in the sky. Ben muttered that no news was good news. But Everett wondered if the king had dismissed Avery’s idea outright without giving it another thought. After all, an execution might make an interesting addition to the tournament’s entertainment.

  Chapter 38

  * * *

  His Majesty’s Knight

  Not long after dawn Everett startled awake and sat up on his pallet. He had heard a key turning in the lock.

  This time it was Avery himself who came in and sat next to Everett. Ben stirred.

  “What’s going on?” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Do not fear,” whispered the prince to Everett. “The king will permit thee to compete.”

  Ben sat up. “And he knows that Everett’s going to be using the wand?”

  The prince glanced away. “I had . . . other matters to discuss with my father.”

  “You mean you chickened out,” said Everett.

  “Thou art fortunate to be alive,” Avery snapped. “Have I not told thee what I wouldst do to see thy world? We shall escape as planned. I have spoken with His Majesty’s advisers about the wand. They assure me all will be well.”

  “Oh well, that ought to be good enough.” Ben scowled.

  “It’s the only plan we’ve got,” said Everett. “Are we together?” He held his hand out and Ben laid his on top. After a moment, but firmly enough, Avery covered Ben’s hand with his own.

  —

  It was the sort of spectacle that would have been great fun to watch if you weren’t afraid of being shot at, arrested, or gored with a knight’s lance. The berfrois was draped in banners of red and gold, and scarlet pennants flew from every corner. The stands were full of people. Young ladies-in-waiting, their hair woven through with gold ribbons, waved handkerchiefs from the upper boxes. Silken veils flew from their tall conical hats. The knights had hung their shields all around the berfrois. Each was different, rampant with lions or eagles or swans, but all were emblazoned at the top with the king’s emblem—the black raven holding crossed swords.

  Everett clambered up on Buttercup behind the berfrois at the end nearest the castle, surrounded by the king’s knights on horseback. He was hot and itching in places that he couldn’t reach, and his palms sweated inside leather gloves. He’d been outfitted with odds and ends from the king’s armory that morning, and wore a chain-mail shirt that hung to his knees and two mismatched, clunky leg pieces. His helmet was round with a horizontal slit that kept slipping below his eyes.

  The older knights chuckled when they saw him. Their own gleaming armor was covered by surcoats decorated with their emblems. Even their horses wore silk housings in bright colors, and they pawed and snorted, eager to race onto the lists. Buttercup, who’d had to make do with a cursory brushing, sniffed the dirt and looked bored.

  Next to Everett, Loverian held his helmet in one hand and Buttercup’s reins in the other. Suddenly he lurched toward Everett as someone shoved him from behind. His jaw tightened. Grandor edged up beside them.

  “My pardon, Sir Loverian, I beg you. I only wish to see that our newest knight of the realm not try any tricks.” He sneered at Everett.

  “I have charge of him,” said Loverian. “He knows well that should Their Majesties fall into danger, his life is forfeit.”

  Grandor’s hot breath tickled Everett’s neck. “It shall be forfeit in any case. That is my oath to you.”

  The trumpets sounded, and the horses jostled each other. Everett could see Lord Clement pacing the lists. He raised one arm and shouted: “Hear ye, hear ye! Well met, Your Majesties, Your Royal Highness, lords and ladies from all corners of
the realm of His Most Royal Majesty King Reynard! Here shall ye witness feats beyond imagining, bravery and skill ne’er before witnessed! Your welcome, I bid you, to His Majesty’s Royal Tournament of Skills! And now I give you His Majesty’s knights!”

  The horns trumpeted again, and Pagett, at the front, cantered his horse out, his squire trotting alongside. He circled the tilt, reared the horse, and galloped back the way he had come, passing the others. Close on his heels rode Grandor, who had somehow pushed his way to the front, and then Gervase and Tullian. Then it was Everett’s turn.

  The sunlight dazzled him for a moment. Loverian rode with him, leading Buttercup around the tilt. It was broader than the fence he’d practiced with, and draped in banners like those on the berfrois. As they cantered down the other side, Everett glanced up at the gallery.

  He spied Avery first, wearing a silk surcoat and a heavy, brocaded cloak; the circlet on his head sparkled. Next to him sat the tall, pale woman Everett had seen before. She wore a dazzling white gown, and her hair caught the sun like a flame. She stared down at him without expression. Beside her was the king.

  If Everett had expected to see a fat, jovial-looking fellow sporting an oversize crown, he was disappointed. The king was thickly muscled, tall, and hard. His jawline looked chiseled from stone, his eyes dead in his face. His crown was short and heavy, studded with a very large, white-blue stone like a diamond. Everett could almost see his thoughts: Everything and everyone belongs to me, to do with as I please. But it didn’t look like much pleased him. His eyes stayed fixed on Everett until he and Loverian cantered off the lists. Everett let out his breath as they retreated behind the berfrois. Sweat trickled down his back.

  “Ev, are you okay?” Ben handed him up a waterskin, from which he took a long pull.

  “I’m all right,” he said, but he was trembling as he dismounted, the armor clanking like the Tin Man. “What about you?”