by Angie Sage
But the only reply Zerra got was the swash of the retreating sea far below and the sudden call of a gull, which was—she just knew it—mocking her.
Far below Zerra’s feet, Benn was deep inside the cliff, stumbling down rough-cut steps in a tunnel in the darkness. He went as fast as he dared, convinced that Zerra must have seen where he’d gone and would be after him. At last he reached the point where the steps joined those going up to Rekadom, where the Jackal had taken him and Alex the day before. Pushing away all thoughts of Alex, Benn leaped down onto the wider steps, and soon he could see daylight coming up from the entrance on the beach below. A minute later Benn was out on the damp sand of the beach, running toward the causeway. There were still six inches of water covering the highest point, but Benn did not care. He ran into the sea and splashed his way across the soft sand. As he reached the middle of the causeway, the water grew deeper, but Benn continued wading until at last he reached the firm ground near Oracle Rock. Dripping with water, he raced up the steps and headed along the path that led to the harbor. He took a while to free the oars from their knots, but then he was down the harbor steps and jumping into Merry, where he sat, getting his breath back, letting the feeling of relief slowly wash over him.
Some minutes later, Benn was rowing Merry out of the harbor. A feeling of sadness came over him as he remembered how he had arrived there with Alex and with such optimism, and now he would probably never see her again. Slowly, he edged Merry out of the protecting harbor, and as they hit the choppy waves beyond and the wind filled Merry’s red sail, Benn felt his melancholy lift. Merry set off like a pony let loose in a field, and Benn took her in close to the cliffs so that if Zerra was watching, they would not be so easy to spot.
Zerra was indeed watching, but from the safety of the old railway platform. Still convinced that an invisible boy was waiting for her to get close enough to the cliff so that he could push her over, she was swinging her lance from side to side saying very loudly—so that he would know she was not scared at all, not one little bit—“I can see you! I can see you! I’ll shoot! I will!” But she was met with nothing but silence, and she was beginning to feel just a little bit foolish. Trying to look purposeful, Zerra took out her spyglass and swung around, scanning the horizon. She expected to see empty, endless desert, but to her surprise she saw a distant figure heading away along the cliff top. It looked familiar. It looked like . . . “Alex!” Zerra yelled out. “Ha ha! Alex!”
She was not going to mess this one up. No way.
Alex stopped. She thought she heard someone calling her name. She swung around and saw a small figure on the old railway platform and a bright glint of silver.
Zerra dropped down on one knee to steady herself. She squinted through the sight of the Lightning Lance until in the middle of the crosshairs she saw the tiny dot that was Alex. Then, very carefully, she primed the bolt. And fired.
Alex saw a bolt of blue fire erupt and come arcing toward her. She hurled herself behind a hillock of sand and landed facedown. There was a soft thump as the bolt buried itself into the mound and began to fizz ominously.
Expecting an explosion any second, Alex scrambled to her feet and raced away. Skidding over the gritty soil, she ran until she had no breath left and then, when she could go no farther and was convinced the blast must come right now, she threw herself to the ground and lay with her arms covering her head, waiting. Nothing happened. Tentatively, Alex looked back at the mound. In a second she was on her feet and running again, faster than she had thought possible. But this time it was not from a Lightning Lance bolt about to explode, it was from the huge yellow scorpion she had just seen rise up from the mound, the silver barb upon its tail arched over its head and pointing straight at her.
Suddenly, Alex heard a muffled therwumpp and a shower of grit and sand landed all around her. She risked a glance back over her shoulder and saw the Skorpas lying on its back, legs in the air, on top of its mound. Zerra’s bolt had at last exploded—and killed it.
Alex set off with new hope in her heart. Determined to get to Netters Cove before the sun went down, she broke into a steady trot. She could do it. She knew she could.
Chapter 23
The King’s Spy
OUTSIDE THE GATES OF REKADOM, the Beguiler Bell rang with a resounding ker-langgg.
“Let me in!” Zerra yelled, hammering on the wicket. “I am the King’s Spy!”
The little door in the gate opened a crack and the young, pimply guard peered nervously out. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
“Yes, stupid, it’s me. And the stupid crows are still ringing the stupid bell. Now let me in.” Zerra waved her wristband at the guard and he let her in, knowing that there was no way the king would have a spy who was also a Beguiler.
Zerra headed across Gate Court on her important mission—she was going to see the king, and she had a lot to tell him. Wanting to avoid Bartlett, Zerra used her spy plan of the city to work out another way to get to the Gold Tower. Heading for Horse Court, where the horses for the king and the Jackal chariots were kept, she stepped through the snicket into a succession of peaceful apple and cherry orchards, where a few horses and sheep were cropping grass contentedly.
Zerra thought horses were weird and was pleased when she reached the next snicket into Farm Court. Here were vegetable gardens kept by the few townspeople left in the city. It was mostly full of weeds, but along the far wall by the next snicket Zerra saw an elderly couple working on a line of green things—she had no idea what they were. The couple watched Zerra with deep suspicion as she headed toward them, and as it became clear that Zerra was going into the next court, the woman called out, “Can’t go no farther, girl! It’s King’s Court!”
Zerra ignored them. She was feeling nervous now, but there was no way she was going to let a couple of busybodies see that. Without breaking her stride, she approached the Jackal lounging in the snicket and confidently held up her twisted silk wristband to show the King’s Spy seal, with its simple pass sign that a Jackal could recognize: .
Zerra savored the looks of astonishment on the old couple’s faces as the Jackal bowed and stepped aside. She flipped them a rude sign and disappeared through the snicket.
King’s Court was laid out as a formal garden but was somewhat neglected. The lines of low hedging needed a trim, the gravel paths were scattered with weeds, and the lanterns that sat atop randomly placed posts were tarnished and clearly never lit. One elderly gardener resting on her rake watched Zerra suspiciously as she made her way to the wide archway at the foot of the king’s Gold Tower, which rose up from the apex of the triangular court.
A Jackal was leaning against the archway, filing its talons. It looked lazily down at Zerra and a low, threatening growl came rolling from its throat. Once again, Zerra showed her pass sign, but this time the Jackal was more thorough. It lifted the wristband—along with Zerra’s arm—with its talon and peered at it closely. As its talon traced the zigzag pass sign, Zerra could feel the meaty warmth of Jackal breath upon her skin. After what felt like forever, the Jackal let her arm drop and stepped aside. Relieved, Zerra hurried away up the winding stone stairs, treading softly upon their threadbare strip of red carpet.
At last she reached the top landing, which was strewn with faded old rugs and had a line of delicate gold chairs placed along the curved wall. Yet another red-coated Jackal stood in front of a polished ebony door, upon which was carved a golden winged crown. Zerra took a deep breath to steady her nerves and once again showed her Spy Pass to the Jackal. This one was easier to convince. It gave a curt nod of its huge head and pushed upon the door, which swung silently open. Nervously, Zerra stepped inside—where she stopped, utterly confused.
The place was stuffed full of gold pillars with golden benches running between them. Standing between the pillars was a pack of scruffy kids in dusty jerkins and crazy hair. Zerra was shocked. Who’d have thought the king would have a crowd of brats hanging around? She put her hand up to her own ha
ir to check that it wasn’t as bad as these kids’ hair, only to have them all copy her exactly. She snatched her hand away and they did the same.
“Hey!” Zerra yelled out. “Stop that. It’s not funny.” Her voice echoed in the pillared lobby and, mortified, she realized her mistake—the kids were her reflection. Horrified, Zerra stared at her multiple reflections in the mirrors set between the pillars. She looked awful. Rumpled old clothes, knees of her trousers stiff with bird poop, her hair tangled, her face streaked with dirt. But what shocked Zerra the most was that she had not recognized herself.
Zerra walked up to the mirrored wall and stared into her own eyes. It seemed that a stranger looked back at her. This was not the old Zerra who had lived in Luma with her family, who had gone to school every day and been just an ordinary, discontented kid. But then, Zerra remembered how she’d loathed coming home every day to her annoying sisters, her kid brother and her dozy mother, who just ignored everything, and particularly Zerra. No one is going to ignore me now. No one, Zerra told herself. She stood up tall, and when a concealed door faced with a mirror opened behind her, she turned around and smiled confidently at the king in his silly winged crown. “Sire,” she said, remembering to bow her head. “I am your spy and I have come to deliver my first report.”
King Belamus looked at the wild-looking kid standing in front of him. The standard of spies was not what it was, that was for sure. But it had been a long time since he’d had any spy at all reporting to him and he probably couldn’t be choosy. He sighed. “Very well, Spy,” he said. “Deliver your report.”
“I have three things to report.”
“Three!” The king was a little disconcerted to hear that so much had been happening in Rekadom.
“The first thing is that your Enchanter—I mean, the Beguiler who is your prisoner at the top of the Silver Tower—has been pretending to be you.”
“Me?” Belamus squeaked.
“Yes, Sire.”
“But you, being Dark, saw through it.”
Zerra was pleased about this. This would show Bartlett. “Yes, Sire. I saw him for what he was.”
Belamus was furious. “A low-down no-good cheating trickster.”
“Exactly, Sire,” Zerra said, her confidence growing. This was going better than she’d hoped.
“What was he doing while pretending to be me?” Belamus asked, hoping it wasn’t anything embarrassing.
“That’s the second thing I have to report, Sire. The Beguiler was helping another Beguiler escape.”
Belamus began to tremble. “Another Beguiler?”
“A boy, Sire. One of the ones who escaped from your Jackal yesterday. I believe the Beguiler at the top of the tower was harboring him, Sire. And in addition, Sire, the girl Beguiler has also escaped. I gave chase to both outside the city, but they . . .” Zerra searched for a way to tell the king they had got away without it looking like her fault. “They eluded me. By trickery and Beguilement.”
Belamus let out a loud groan and sank down onto one of the golden benches. The room was filled with despairing kings, which Zerra found rather amusing. The king looked up at Zerra, almost pleadingly. “Tell me, Spy. As Flyer you caught so many Beguilers on your first mission. Do you think there are many more left out there?”
It occurred to Zerra that if she said there were any more left, she would have to go out looking for them on the new Hawke once it was ready, and she really didn’t want anything more to do with birds, large or small. So, after a pause that made her reply sound very considered, she said, “Those two kids are the last ones outside Rekadom, Sire. If you get them, that’s the end of it.”
Belamus got to his feet, looking as though a weight of worry was lifted from him. “Then we will get them and make an end of it. Well, Spy, is there anything else you wish to tell me?”
Zerra smiled. There certainly was. “The deputy falconer, Bartlett, Sire. She was at the city gate with the Beguiler, helping the boy escape. The guards will confirm it.”
Belamus nodded. “Thank you, Spy. Bartlett will be dealt with.”
Thinking that the king was going to tell her what a great spy she was, Zerra waited patiently while trying not to look at her reflections, which still spooked her.
At last King Belamus said irritably, “What are you waiting for? Get back to work. I want you out in Star Court every night. Watching. Particularly the Silver Tower.”
“But what about the Slicers, Sire?”
“You’re young. You can jump, can’t you?”
Chapter 24
The House of Ratchet
IT WASN’T OFTEN MA RATCHET had her son back home, for which she was grateful. Ma loved her son, of course she did, but he wasn’t easy company. And tonight he was being particularly difficult. “Well, this Bartlett sounds like a very sensible young woman to me,” Ma Ratchet said after listening to a long diatribe from her son about his assistant. “And if you’ve made a mistake with this new Flyer and she isn’t a Dark, then you should do the decent thing and own up to it. How many times have I told you that?”
“You don’t understand, Ma. This girl, the new Flyer, arrived already Flying the Hawke, so naturally at the time I assumed she was a Dark. And she told the king she’d caught a ‘ton of Enchanters’ and now he won’t hear anything against her. Not to mention the fact she’s become his Spy now. So I’m stuck with her. The trouble is, Bartlett thinks she’s a Beguiler.”
Ma Ratchet stirred the soup. It was fish heads and beans, her son’s favorite. “A Beguiler. Well, well. Won’t that be a little awkward for you, dear, Harboring a Beguiler?”
Ratchet resisted stamping his foot—but only just. “I am not Harboring a Beguiler, Ma. Don’t you start as well. Once and for all, my new Flyer is not a Beguiler. It’s a plot. Bartlett is bad-mouthing me because she wants my job. I can’t afford to make any mistakes.”
“I thought you were just telling me that you hadn’t made any mistakes,” his mother said mildly.
“Of course I haven’t,” said Ratchet.
“So I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Ma said.
“I am not upset!” Ratchet yelled.
Ma Ratchet sighed. She picked up a small jar of fish eyes and took them out to the little table by the window that looked out over the harbor. They always looked nice sprinkled on the soup, she thought.
Ratchet followed his mother out of the kitchen and went over to his merlin falcon, Merle, who was perching on the back of Ma’s best chair, watching with his bright eyes. Ratchet offered Merle the knuckle of his left index finger to bite, which Merle accepted while he watched keenly as his surrogate parent drew a small waxed-paper packet from his pocket and then offered his left wrist to the bird. Merle stepped daintily onto the thick leather band Ratchet wore around his wrist and allowed Ratchet to carry him across to the table.
Ma Ratchet sighed. “Nigel. Does that bird really have to be at the table?”
Ratchet hated being called by his first name. It reminded him of being teased at school. “Don’t call me Nigel, Ma,” he said petulantly, as he took his place at the little polished table by the window. “Ratchet is what I am now. And yes, he does.”
Merle hopped neatly off his perch on Ratchet’s wrist and graciously accepted a fish eye from the jar. Ma Ratchet tutted loudly and went to fetch the soup.
When the soup was ladled out and sat steaming in its bowls and Ma Ratchet had taken her seat opposite her son, Ratchet unwound the roll of waxed paper to reveal a rather sad dried mouse. Merle gave a muted caw of excitement, which was drowned out by Ma Ratchet.
“Nigel, no! I am not having a dead mouse at the table. No, no, no.”
“It won’t be there for long,” Ratchet told her as he held it out to Merle. A little shudder of anticipation ran through the bird, he leaned forward, and in a second the mouse was gone. “There you are, Ma. All gone,” said Ratchet.
“Either that bird leaves the table or I do,” his mother told him.
Ratchet decided his mini
rebellion had lasted long enough. He got up from the table and took the soporific bird back to his roost on the shelf above the coats. Merle settled contentedly and began the serious business of digesting a whole mouse.
Ratchet and his mother now did the same with their fish head soup. The muted clattering of spoons, the crunching of fish heads and the soft popping sound of fish eyes sucked in through pursed lips were all that could be heard. As he gulped down the last succulent fish head and then licked the back of his spoon, Ratchet wished he didn’t feel compelled to act like a sulky teen whenever he came home. He knew it wasn’t fair. But he just couldn’t help himself. To make amends, he took the soup bowls out and brought in the fruitcake that his mother always made for him.
She accepted the peace offering and made no comment when behind her Merle coughed up a small pellet of fur and bones. “I do wish you’d get a nicer job, Nigel,” Ma Ratchet said.
Some three hundred feet above the Ratchets’ quietly combative supper, Alex had arrived at an overgrown platform on which was a tumbledown tower with a pointy roof. Upon the tower, in faded letters, were two words: Netters Halt.
Alex could hardly believe she had made it just in time. The sky was gloomy now with heavy clouds, but a chink of brightness showed on the horizon where the setting sun appeared to be touching the ocean. At the foot of the cliff lay the little fishing village of Netters Cove, where she and Benn had spent a night a few days back. Alex knew two good things about the place: it was free of Xin, and its inhabitants seemed friendly. She wasn’t sure where she’d sleep, but she’d work that out when she got down there.
Alex left the old railway track and headed along an overgrown path to a gate, beyond which she could see the path dropping down to the cove. She was about to push open the gate when the earsplitting sound of shattering glass sent her hands flying to her ears to block the sound out.