Accidental Heroes

by Lian Tanner

  Who can I trust with a secret like this? he wondered.

  His first thought was that he should tell Arms-mistress Krieg. Or the Grafine. Or even the Margravine. People above him. People who were good and wise and all-knowing.

  But he was learning to be more cautious. And apart from Duckling, the only person he could be really sure of was Lord Rump.

  ‘I’ll tell him as soon as I get the chance,’ he whispered.

  He felt so relieved at the decision that he almost walked straight back through the wall. He had the raashk to his eye. He was striding forward. His hand brushed against something that felt like a fine cobweb—

  He saw the horses just in time, and froze.

  He pulled his hand back.

  He carefully lowered the raashk, so that everything was solid again.

  Then he leaned against the wall and trembled.

  When Duckling heard hooves coming back up the stairs, she almost fell over with fright.

  Where’s Pummel? What if he comes jumping back through that wall while the hunt’s here?

  Except it wasn’t the hunt, or at least not all of it. It was the Young Margrave – and Arms-mistress Krieg, who was too sharp-eyed for comfort.

  Duckling’s thoughts rattled around inside her head like broken glass. Let the shock show, she told herself. If the cat really had jumped out the window, you’d feel a bit like this.

  Krieg and the Heir stopped their horses a few paces away. The boy didn’t move, but Krieg dismounted, scowling. ‘I heard what happened.’

  ‘You heard about the – the hunt?’ asked Duckling, and the wobble was there in her voice without even trying. ‘And the c-cat?’

  Krieg nodded and strode to the window. She ran her hand over the stone sill. She inspected the scrap of fur.

  On his horse, the Heir looked as if he was carved from the same wood as his mother.

  Duckling’s fingertips pressed against the wall behind her. Don’t come through yet, Pummel. Please don’t come through yet!

  ‘So,’ said the arms-mistress, ‘the creature leaped to its death.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Duckling.

  ‘Where is Pummel?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Duckling hoped that Krieg would be satisfied with that, and leave. But the arms-mistress didn’t move. She just stood there, with her arms folded, as if she could see right through Duckling’s obedient exterior to the treacherous heart that lay within.

  She knows something’s wrong, thought Duckling. I’d better put her off the scent—

  ‘Councillor Triggs,’ Duckling said.

  Krieg’s eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He was lying. He’s not poor. He’s one of the richest men I’ve ever seen. He just dressed poor to come here.’

  The arms-mistress nodded slowly. ‘I wondered if you would tell us.’

  ‘You knew?’ said Duckling.

  The Young Margrave shifted on his horse. ‘We are not stupid, Tanglefoot. The Privy Councillors have been lying to us for as long as anyone can remember. They do not want the Strong-hold to open – they would lose all their power and influence.’

  ‘Then why don’t you do something?’

  ‘It is complicated,’ said Krieg, swinging herself up into the saddle. ‘We depend on them for food. If we press them too hard, they might cut us off …’

  ‘Oh,’ said Duckling.

  The arms-mistress gathered up her reins. ‘In future, stay away from the hunt.’

  ‘You mean it might happen again?’

  ‘There have been hunts for as long as I can remember,’ said Krieg. ‘It is a way of letting off steam. And sometimes it turns wild. Then it cannot be stopped.’

  ‘But people could get hurt!’

  Krieg looked down at Duckling with sardonic amusement. ‘That has never prevented anyone in the Strong-hold from doing anything.’ She nudged her horse forward, then spoke over her shoulder. ‘Watch your back. Tell Pummel the same.’

  ‘I will,’ said Duckling. ‘You can rely on me, Arms-mistress.’

  The expression of amusement on Krieg’s face didn’t change. ‘Of course I can, Duckling. Of course I can.’

  And she and the Young Margrave rode away.

  By the time Pummel came back through the wall, Duckling was so full of questions that she was afraid she might burst.

  ‘What did it feel like?’ she demanded. ‘Did it hurt? Why is your nose bleeding? Did you see any more ghosts? Krieg and the Young Margrave were here; could you see them through the wall?’

  But instead of answering her questions, Pummel mopped his nose with his sleeve and said, ‘What did you do to the hunt, Duckling?’

  ‘I told you, it wasn’t me. One of the horses must’ve—’

  ‘Tell me the truth. I told you about the raashk, didn’t I? I showed it to you.’

  It went against all Grandpa’s training to give away any sort of secret. If the raashk had been Duckling’s, she would never have told anyone.

  But Pummel trusted her. And for some reason that she didn’t quite understand, she wanted him to keep trusting her. It felt – nice.

  Which made her wonder if she’d caught a fever.

  ‘You were humming,’ said Pummel. ‘I heard you. It was some sort of witchery—’

  So Duckling took a deep breath and told him.

  Now it was his turn to goggle. ‘You can control the wind?’

  ‘Not sure about control,’ said Duckling. ‘It was luck, mostly. First time it happened was in Tooth and Claw—’

  ‘The market? But that’s where I got the raashk. Did you see an old woman with feathers in her hair?’

  ‘I think so,’ said Duckling. ‘And I felt something. As if she blew clean through my head, from one ear to the other.’

  They looked at each other, round-eyed. Pummel whispered, ‘Witchery is real. So why do people say it’s not? Why do they say it’s sabotage?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Duckling. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

  They started back down the stairs in silence. There was no one around except a few servants, still frayed and jumpy from the hunt, and not the least bit interested in a couple of Outsider children. That suited Duckling. The lack of sleep had caught up with her at last and all she wanted to do was climb into her flea-ridden bed and close her eyes—

  Pummel stopped. ‘I think we should take a vow.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering why the old woman gave us the witchery. But it’s obvious.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘It’s to save the Young Margrave. We’re his guards, aren’t we?’

  ‘Not officially.’

  ‘I know,’ said Pummel, ‘but what if the old woman can see into the future? What if she knows someone is going to try to kill the Young Margrave, and she sent us to save him?’ He wrinkled his forehead. ‘Maybe the Saffies aren’t as bad as everyone says.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with a vow?’

  Pummel looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I think we should promise to use our witchery to protect the Heir.’

  Duckling stared at him. She’d thought he wasn’t much good as a guard, because he trusted people too easily. She’d thought Grandpa was better. And so he was, if it was just a matter of spotting danger from afar.

  But once the danger came close, Grandpa would slip out the back way to save his own neck. Or make a deal with the assassin, so they both came out of it richer.

  Maybe Pummel was the better guard.

  She nodded. ‘Let’s do it.’

  And so, right there in the middle of the stairway, they clasped hands and swore that they’d use their witchery to protect the Young Margrave from harm.

  ‘And to protect each other as well,’ added Pummel.

  Duckling had broken dozens of vows in her life, and never thought twice about it. But she intended to keep this one.

  Which surprised her so much that she forgot the very important thing she’d meant to say to Pummel
.

  A HIDDEN CONVERSATION

  It wasn’t until the two children reached the seventh floor that Duckling remembered the very important thing.

  She whispered to Pummel, ‘We mustn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘About what really happened to the cat? No, of course not. I hope she’s all right. I hope Otte’s all right too. Do you think we should try to find them?’

  ‘They’re probably back in the Young Margrave’s rooms by now,’ said Duckling. ‘But no, I meant the raashk. And the breeze. Don’t say anything. Don’t even hint about it.’

  Pummel looked offended. ‘I’m not an idiot. Of course I won’t tell anyone. Well, no one except—’

  ‘Duckling,’ said Arms-mistress Krieg, striding around the corner. ‘I see you found Pummel.’

  Duckling put on her most truthful face. ‘He was closer than I realised, weren’t you, Pummel?’

  ‘Um – yes,’ said Pummel.

  Krieg folded her arms and stared at the boy. ‘Were you there also, when the cat leaped to its death?’

  ‘Um—’

  Duckling had told von Stoen that they both saw the cat. But she didn’t want Krieg questioning Pummel too closely, so she said, ‘No, he wasn’t. He didn’t see anything.’

  ‘Very well. Pummel, you may go. Duckling, I have some questions.’

  ‘What?’ said Duckling. ‘No, Pummel can’t go. We have to—’ She stopped. For once, she couldn’t think of a single sensible excuse.

  Krieg nodded to Pummel. ‘Go.’

  Pummel went. But not towards the Young Margrave’s rooms.

  Duckling hardly heard what Krieg said next. Her mind was racing in all sorts of directions. Where’s he going? What did he mean, he’s not going to tell anyone except—? Except who? Who would he trust, apart from me?

  When she put it like that, the answer was obvious.

  Her tiredness left her. I’ve got to stop him!

  ‘You are not listening to me,’ said Krieg.

  Duckling still couldn’t come up with a proper excuse. So she gabbled the first thing that came into her head.

  ‘I’ve got to see someone about a – a – a pineapple. I bet you’ve never tried one, they don’t grow in Neuhalt, do they? But we have them in the Spavey Isles, juiciest thing you’ve ever tasted. Mm-hm! Hang on, I can hear someone calling me. That’ll be the pineapple man now. Got to go!’

  And she ran for the stairway.

  Lord Rump beamed when he opened the door to Pummel. ‘My boy! I thought you might have become too grand for me, now that you are companion to the Heir. I should have known better. You have a loyal heart, and your old friends will always come first. Am I right? Of course I am.’

  He ushered Pummel to the most comfortable chair in the room, removed a pile of old books from the table, and replaced them with an earthenware jug and a beaker.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said, ‘and make yourself at home. A drink? Help yourself. No no, I prefer to sit on the stool; it is better for my gout. Now, tell me everything you have been doing. I still love to hear about other people’s adventures, even if I cannot manage them myself. Did you sleep well? How is the Heir?’

  Pummel was beginning to wish he’d waited for Duckling. She would’ve been able to explain what had happened far better than he could.

  But Duckling wasn’t here. So he must do his best.

  He bent down to take the leather pouch from his boot, but stopped halfway. For some reason, he felt even more reluctant than when he’d shown the raashk to Duckling.

  That’s because Lord Rump is so important, he told himself. But he’s from the Spavey Isles, which means he’s used to all sorts of oddities.

  Still, he almost left the pouch where it was.

  ‘I can see there is something worrying you, lad,’ said Lord Rump, in his deep voice. ‘If you wish to lighten your burden, you have come to the right place. I have carried the secrets of kings, queens and arch-dukes in my time. There is knowledge in this old head that would have brought down governments if I had told a single soul. But I shall take these secrets to my grave.’

  He paused, looking a little hurt. ‘Of course you may not trust me. And if that is the case, I must respect it. Though I had thought we were friends—’

  ‘I do trust you,’ Pummel said quickly. And he took

  the pouch from his boot, adding, ‘It’s easiest if I just show you.’

  Lord Rump nodded and settled back on his stool.

  Pummel stood up. He was shaking and the pouch felt too hot in his hand. But he took out the tooth, held it to his eye, and stepped through the nearest wall.

  The first thing he noticed, on the other side, was a terrible pain in his right ear. The second thing was the smell.

  The third thing – or rather, person – was Otte, crouched beside an open chest.

  ‘What—’ squeaked Otte. ‘Where did you—’

  Pummel had no idea what to say. So he put the raashk to his eye once again and stepped back into Lord Rump’s room – just as the door opened, and Duckling came racing in.

  When he was shocked, Duckling’s grandpa looked like a guinea pig.

  It didn’t happen often. Lord Rump had seen military coups, assassinations and public beheadings without raising an eyebrow. He was the most unshockable person Duckling had ever met.

  But he was shocked now. His eyes bulged. His mouth quivered. His whiskers looked as if they were trying to escape from his chin.

  Duckling skidded to a halt in the middle of the room. I’m too late. Pummel’s told him.

  No, she realised. It’s even worse. He’s shown him.

  Pummel was leaning against an armchair. His face was white and he had that not-quite-sure-where-I-am look about him.

  I’ve got to get him out of here, thought Duckling, before he makes any promises.

  The conversation that followed was as devious as any she’d known. There were words that Pummel could hear, and words he could not. Those words, the ones that only Duckling and Grandpa knew about – those were the important bits.

  ‘There you are, Pummel,’ said Duckling. ‘I was wondering where you’d gone. You’ve shown Grandpa your little trick, have you?’

  [There’s nothing important here, Grandpa. Nothing worth your notice.]

  ‘Yes,’ said Pummel, gingerly touching his ear. ‘I thought—’

  ‘And a very fine trick it is, lad.’ Grandpa had his whiskers under control at last. But his eyes gleamed. ‘Can you explain to a poor ignorant old man how it works?’

  [Do not try to fool me, Granddaughter. I know pure gold when I see it. And this is the purest gold I have seen for years.]

  ‘We don’t know how it works, do we, Pummel?’

  [It’s no use questioning him. I’ve tried, and it didn’t get me anywhere.]

  ‘Well—’ began Pummel.

  Grandpa swivelled on his stool and beamed at Duckling. ‘So you knew about this remarkable talent, my dear? How splendid! I do wish you had allowed me to join in the excitement.’

  [You are supposed to tell me EVERYTHING. What are you playing at?]

  ‘I’ve only just found out about it myself, Grandpa. And besides, I was worried about your weak heart.’

  [I’ll tell you later, when he’s not around.]

  ‘Your heart, Lord Rump!’ Pummel looked stricken. ‘I forgot!’

  Grandpa could never resist the opportunity to perform. His heart was as strong as Duckling’s, but he wheezed a couple of times, clutched his chest and said, ‘Nothing to worry about, lad. I’m more concerned about you.’

  [He can walk through walls? By the Seven Gods, I can use him in a hundred thousand ways!]

  ‘Pummel’s all right,’ said Duckling.

  [Leave him alone, Grandpa. You don’t need this.]

  ‘No, he is not all right, my dear. There are too many villains in this world who would take advantage of his talent for their own evil ends.’

  [Do not NEED it? What are you talking about? What has got into you?]


  ‘That’s not what I want,’ said Pummel.

  ‘Of course it is not,’ said Grandpa. ‘I think the safest thing, lad, is for you to show me exactly how you do it. I cannot protect you otherwise.’

  [Perhaps I do not even need the boy. Perhaps I can learn to walk through walls myself…]

  Before Duckling could think of a way to stop him, Pummel held up the tooth. ‘It’s called a raashk. I put my eye to the hole, and then I – I step through the wall.’

  Duckling groaned silently. But she wasn’t beaten yet. ‘It’s not just the raashk,’ she said. ‘I tried it too, didn’t I, Pummel? And it didn’t work for me. Don’t reckon it works for anyone except you.’

  [Don’t even think of stealing it, Grandpa. If you want someone to walk through walls, you need Pummel. Which brings us back to the Scheme. Like I said yesterday, you have to cancel it.]

  ‘You put things so clearly, my dear,’ said Grandpa. ‘How fortunate I am to have such a granddaughter.’

  [It seems you are right. I must cancel the Scheme.]

  He flicked his watch open, then remembered it didn’t work in the Strong-hold. ‘I have an appointment with an old friend,’ he said, ‘and must not miss it. But, Duckling, perhaps you will dine with your poor old grandfather later? Here in my room?’

  [I have tracked down the go-between, and will be meeting him shortly. Come back tonight and tell me everything you know.]

  ‘I can’t come tonight, Grandpa. I’ve got duties. How about breakfast tomorrow?’

  [Make sure you stop the Scheme. No excuses.]

  ‘Breakfast it shall be,’ said Grandpa. ‘And Pummel, do not worry. You are under my protection. No villain will get his hands on you as long as I live.’

  [No villain except me, that is.]

  ‘Thank you, Lord Rump,’ said Pummel, stuffing the tooth back in its pouch. ‘That makes me feel a lot better.’

  Grandpa beamed. ‘My pleasure. Now before you go, I want you to make me a little promise. I know you are an honest lad—’

  [You are the sort of fool who thinks that promises must be kept. So if I can just—]