by Lian Tanner
‘Ooh, did you hear that?’ said Duckling, putting her hand to her ear. ‘Sounds like Arms-mistress Krieg’s calling us. Come on, Pummel, we’d better go. See you tomorrow morning, Grandpa. Don’t miss your appointment!’
THE SAFEST PLACE
There was no sign of Arms-mistress Krieg calling for them outside Lord Rump’s room.
‘I must’ve imagined it,’ said Duckling. ‘Never mind, let’s go and see if we can find Otte.’
Pummel was about to say, I saw him just a moment ago, when he smelled something awful.
He peered at the doorway next to Lord Rump’s. And there was Otte, wearing a tunic that was far too big for him, and carrying something that looked like a pair of stockings. His face was covered in scratches.
‘You were there,’ whispered Otte, pointing to the room behind him. ‘You were in Physician Berl’s room – and then you were gone!’
Duckling crept up beside Pummel. ‘You saw him?’
Otte nodded. ‘He – he walked straight through—’
‘Shhh!’ said Duckling. ‘It’s a deathly secret, by order of the Margravine. She made us swear not to tell anyone.’
Pummel blinked at her. When did that happen?
‘Her Grace knows about it?’ whispered Otte.
‘Yes,’ said Duckling. ‘But we’re not allowed to say anything more.’ She put her finger to her lips. ‘What’ve you done with the cat?’
‘I left her near the privy.’ Otte pointed down the passageway. ‘I could not carry her far.’
‘I’ll carry her,’ said Pummel. ‘Where do you want to take her?’
‘To the Heir’s rooms. I need to strap up her leg. But I do not know how to get her there. If anyone sees her, they will call the hunt.’
Duckling looked at the doorway behind Otte. ‘That’s Physician Berl’s room?’
Otte nodded.
‘You two go and get the cat,’ said Duckling. ‘I’ll meet you back here.’
‘What are you going to—’ began Pummel.
But Duckling had already walked into the room. A moment later, her face reappeared. ‘What are you waiting for? Go and get the cat!’
The cat was in a dreadful temper. She hissed at Pummel when he approached, and wouldn’t let Otte clean her stinking fur with the stockings until she’d made his hand bleed.
Then she glared at Pummel and demanded, ‘Up!’
‘You won’t scratch me?’ he said.
‘Uuuuup!’
Pummel took a deep breath. Then he bent down, wrapped his hands carefully around the cat and lifted her. She muttered to herself and growled several times, but she didn’t scratch.
Up close, the smell was even worse.
Duckling was waiting for them outside Physician Berl’s room, with a chamber-pot in one hand and a robe and floppy hat in the other. She wrinkled her nose at the smell and said to the cat, ‘Can I move you?’
‘Hooow?’
‘Like this.’ Duckling lifted the cat out of Pummel’s arms and draped her carefully around his neck. ‘Pretend to be dead,’ she said. ‘Pretend you’re one of those fur collars the physician likes to wear.’
The cat stared at her through narrowed eyes, and let herself fall limp. Duckling put the robe around Pummel’s shoulders and plonked the floppy hat on his head, so his face was mostly hidden. Then she handed him the chamber-pot.
‘What do you think?’ she asked Otte. ‘Could he pass for Physician Berl?’
Otte squinted. ‘If no one looks too closely.’
‘We can do something about that,’ said Duckling. ‘Come on.’
There were more people about now, and they’d mostly lost that jumpy look. Duckling didn’t take any notice of them, apart from raising her voice and saying, ‘So you think it’s the black flux, Physician Berl? Is that catching?’
The first time it happened, Pummel ducked his head in dismay. But after seeing how everyone scuttled out of their way with horrified expressions, he grew more confident and began to nod his head and mumble in self-important tones.
Otte kept pace with them on his crutches, but by the time they reached the seventh floor, his face was red with exertion and he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. ‘How – how will we get past the door guards? They will not – be fooled by the – black flux.’
‘Course they won’t,’ replied Duckling. ‘So Pummel’s going to take you and the cat through the wall.’
‘Waaall?’ said the cat, raising her head.
‘What?’ said Pummel. ‘No!’
Duckling rolled her eyes. ‘Remember the hunt, Pummel? You want them to catch the cat and tear her to pieces?’
‘No, of course not,’ said Pummel. ‘But—’
‘Then we need to hide her.’ She yawned. ‘And Otte needs to strap her leg.’
‘But I don’t know if I can,’ said Pummel. ‘I hardly know how I did it myself. What if they get stuck halfway?’
Otte gulped. ‘If it will help the cat, I will do it.’
‘Waaaall,’ murmured the cat.
‘Good,’ said Duckling. ‘Wait here while I check there’s no one on the other side.’
And she dashed around the corner.
Pummel hardly dared look at Otte and the cat. What if they were torn apart by the wall? What if they died, and it was his fault?
Otte whispered, ‘Does the Margravine really know about—’
‘No,’ said Pummel. He hesitated, then added, ‘Duckling’s not quite who I thought she was. But you can trust her.’
‘Be ssstill,’ hissed the cat.
‘Sorry,’ said Pummel.
‘How—’ began Otte.
Pummel held up a hand to stop him. He could hear Duckling coming out of the Young Margrave’s rooms, talking to the door guards.
‘—don’t know where I left it,’ she said, with a laugh. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
And she trotted around the corner towards them.
‘All clear,’ she whispered. ‘Get going.’
Pummel took out the raashk. He was used to the warmth of it now, and although it still worried him, he was more worried by the thought of the hunt catching the cat.
He raised the tooth to his eye, and peered through it.
Immediately, Otte became nothing more than a collection of bones. The wall vanished and so did the Keep. Pummel’s stomach lurched, but he was expecting it this time, and he closed his eyes until it steadied.
When he opened them again, he was surrounded by ghosts – and they were all trying to tell him something.
The trouble was, he couldn’t hear their voices. They pressed around him, their eyes pleading, their mouths opening and shutting.
‘I can’t hear you,’ he whispered.
The ghosts fell back, disappointed.
Pummel reached out carefully towards the bones that were Otte. He thought he heard a gasp, but he didn’t let go. He pulled the bones closer.
Then, before he could think too much about it, he hauled Otte and the cat through the wall.
OTTE’S GOT SECRETS
All the way up to the Heir’s rooms, Duckling had been worrying about Grandpa. He’d managed to trace the go-between, but what if he couldn’t cancel the Scheme? What if the person behind it wouldn’t stop the invisible assassin? What if they couldn’t stop him?
By the time Pummel staggered out the other side of the wall, hanging onto Otte and the cat for dear life, she’d decided to tell the younger boy about the assassin after all, so he could help them protect the Heir.
But now she was having second thoughts.
In the last hour or so, Otte had met a talking cat and been dragged through a stone wall. He should have been horrified. He should’ve been refusing to believe any of it.
But he wasn’t. What’s more, when they walked into the long room, the table held a neat array of bandages and splints.
Duckling glared suspiciously at the bandages. ‘How did you know the cat was going to need those?’
‘What do
you mean?’ asked Otte.
‘You’ve got everything ready …’
Otte took the cat from Pummel, and ran his hand over her hind leg. ‘This is the Strong-hold,’ he said. ‘I have never known a day in my life when Brun or someone else was not fighting. I am always ready.’
‘All right then, how did you find the cat? She was way up near the top of the Strong-hold – don’t tell me you climbed all those stairs for fun.’
‘Someone told me she was up there,’ said Otte.
‘Who?’
‘A friend.’
It wasn’t good enough. Duckling waited until the boy was bent over the cat, then she whispered to Pummel, ‘Don’t say anything about the assassin.’
‘What?’ said Pummel.
He looked shaky and sick, as if taking someone else through the wall had been twice as hard as doing it alone.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Duckling.
‘I feel as if someone turned me inside out and back again.’ Pummel blinked. ‘What did you say about the—’
‘Sshh! Don’t tell Otte.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s got secrets, and I don’t like it.’
‘We’ve all got secrets,’ whispered Pummel. ‘Even Lord Rump. That doesn’t make him untrustworthy.’
If you only knew, thought Duckling, and she shook her head.
But for once Pummel didn’t listen to her. He cleared his throat and said, ‘Otte, there was an intruder the night before last. Duckling and I stopped him—’
‘And meeee,’ said the cat, raising her head.
‘Sorry,’ said Pummel. ‘Duckling and I and Frow Cat stopped him just outside the Young Margrave’s bedchamber. We think he was an assassin.’
Otte went very still, but he didn’t look up. ‘Why was there no alarm?’
‘We haven’t told anyone,’ said Pummel. ‘We didn’t know who to trust, apart from each other.’
‘The guards—’ said Otte.
‘They were asleep.’
‘No,’ said Otte. ‘They would not fall asleep.’
‘Well, they did,’ said Pummel.
Otte looked up at last. ‘Who was it?’ He turned to Duckling. ‘What did he look like?’
That was the other reason Duckling hadn’t wanted to say anything. She scowled at Pummel. ‘I couldn’t see hi-his face.’
‘But was he big or small? Wide or thin? Old or—’
‘Duckling couldn’t see him at all,’ blurted Pummel. ‘But I could.’
The long room grew very quiet. Duckling sighed. There was no point trying to keep it a secret now. ‘I could see something. Like a dark cloud. But that’s all. He was invisible. An invisible assassin.’
‘Iiiice,’ said the cat. ‘There was iiiiice.’
Otte flinched. ‘Ice?’
‘Well yes, I saw that,’ said Duckling. ‘Icy footprints. It was really cold.’
‘And he—’ Pummel started to speak, then stopped.
‘He what?’ demanded Otte.
‘I think he had iron teeth,’ Pummel said reluctantly. ‘And there was a bird. A hawk.’
Otte’s face turned deathly white. ‘But that is impossible!’
‘I know,’ said Pummel. ‘I know it’s impossible.’
‘Iron teeth?’ said Duckling. ‘Who has iron teeth?’
Pummel looked at the floor. ‘The Harshman.’
‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’
‘He’s like the bogeyman. He’s not real.’
‘I do not know the name “Harshman”,’ whispered Otte. ‘But there is a legend from the Old Country of a man who was made from the bones of a dead warrior. He had iron teeth and a hawk, and he left ice everywhere he trod. Swords could not harm him, nor wood, nor stone. And no one could see him unless—’
‘Pummel saw him,’ said Duckling.
‘Unless what?’ asked Pummel.
‘No one could see him unless he killed someone, which made him stronger and more visible.’ Otte swallowed. ‘In the legend, he killed the Heir and became unbeatable …’
The three children stared at each other. The cat set about shredding her bandages.
Duckling needed to sleep before tonight’s watch, but she couldn’t leave, not now. ‘So is Pummel’s Harshman the same as your legend?’ she asked Otte.
He nodded slowly. ‘I think he must be. The first Margrave of Neuhalt was called Hemmer the Harsh, because he was so cruel. Perhaps the two stories got mixed up somehow, in people’s minds. And that is where the name Harshman came from.’
‘Except he’s not a legend,’ said Duckling. ‘He’s here in the Strong-hold. I wonder if it was him who killed the beekeeper. Because if it was, he’s stronger already.’
‘We have to tell Arms-mistress Krieg,’ said Pummel.
To Duckling’s surprise, Otte shook his head. ‘No.’
‘But she’s your mother—’
‘We will not tell her,’ Otte said firmly. ‘Neither will we tell Brun.’
‘Why not?’ asked Pummel. ‘It’s his life at stake.’
‘Brun is reckless. If he knows someone is trying to kill him, he will take more risks, not fewer. We can protect him better if he does not know.’
And although Pummel argued with him, Otte would not budge.
Duckling was drifting off to sleep at last when she heard Grandpa’s voice booming along the passageway.
‘My dear Ser, I would never take you from your duties. Just point me in the right direction for the Young Margrave’s companions.’
Duckling groaned. There were only a few hours left till nightfall, and she wanted to sleep through every one of them. But she couldn’t have Grandpa wandering around the Heir’s rooms on his own, making mischief.
She fumbled for her boots. As she pulled them on, the curtain was whipped aside and Lord Rump edged into the alcove.
He prodded the wooden chest with his walking cane, inspected the ceiling, and peeked through the curtain to make sure no one was lingering on the other side.
Then he lowered himself onto the chest, leaned towards Duckling and whispered, ‘He is dead.’
‘Who?’
‘The man I was dealing with in regard to a certain matter.’
Duckling’s stomach lurched. ‘You mean—?’
Grandpa nodded and put his lips to her ear. ‘The go-between was a beekeeper. They say a cat killed him—’
‘It wasn’t the cat, Grandpa.’
‘Of course it was not. Someone murdered him so he could not give away any names.’
‘But you said you could guess who was behind him.’
‘In a situation like this, a guess is not enough.’
‘So you can’t stop the—’ Duckling drew her finger across her throat.
Lord Rump grimaced. ‘No. And neither have I found a way out of the Strong-hold. We are suddenly in very dangerous waters, my dear, and I can see only one solution.’
‘What is it?’
‘We must protect the Young Margrave. Now tell me everything you know about this invisible assassin.’
A DIFFERENT DIRECTION
In the small, hidden room at the top of the hidden stairs, the woman slammed her fist onto the table so hard that one of the pages of the book fell out.
‘What is the use of a gargoyle that misses its target?’ she hissed. ‘What is the use of a net that can be untangled? What is the use of Mysteries that can be torn apart by children?’
She turned her back on the book and began to pace from one side of the room to the other. Above her, the hawk shifted on its perch.
The woman looked up. ‘Your master is stronger than he was,’ she muttered. ‘But is he strong enough? Should I send him again tonight? Or should I—’
She stopped in mid-stride. Since finding the book she had thought of little else but the noble Mysteries, and how she might use them.
But there were other ways of getting what she wanted. More reliable ways.
Her fury vanished, and cold determination t
ook its place. She looked up at the hawk. ‘We shall approach this from a different direction, yes?’
WHEN DANGER APPROACHES
‘When danger approaches, we stand together,’ declared Lord Rump, brandishing his cane. ‘We shall not sleep, we three; we shall not quail. This we pledge, by the honour of the Spavey Isles, and of—’
He looked at Pummel, who was standing on the other side of Duckling’s mattress. ‘Where did you come from again, lad? Ah, yes. By the honour of the Spavey Isles and of a small farm southwest of Dross, we pledge that we will protect the Young Margrave, even if it costs us our lives.’
Like all Grandpa’s proclamations, it sounded noble and heartfelt. But Duckling wasn’t fooled. Grandpa didn’t give a hoot about the Young Margrave; he was here for a very different reason.
Greed. She could see it in his eyes every time he spoke to Pummel.
‘It’s we five, Lord Rump,’ Pummel said helpfully. ‘Frow Cat is hidden in the Young Margrave’s bedchamber, just around the corner. And Otte’s there too, waiting for the Heir to come back from supper.’
‘Frow – Cat?’ said Lord Rump. ‘I do not believe I have met her. One of the grafines, perhaps? Or a serving maid?’
‘She’s a cat, Grandpa,’ said Duckling. ‘Just a cat.’
‘Not just a cat,’ said Pummel. ‘She’s an amazing cat, Lord Rump. She can talk!’
The greed in Grandpa’s eyes doubled. ‘I look forward to meeting her when tonight’s dangers are past,’ he said. ‘But for now we must decide where to place our troops. When I was fighting the headhunters of Andrica—’
‘There’s nowhere much to put us but here,’ interrupted Duckling. ‘If we go round that corner, the guards’ll see us and start asking questions. Then they’ll tell the Young Margrave, which Otte doesn’t want. And if we go the other way, we’ve got further to run if the Harshman comes. I say we stay where we are.’
‘Exactly what I was about to suggest,’ said Lord Rump. ‘You have inherited my talent for strategy, my dear.’
It was dreadfully cramped in the little alcove, with three people standing around the mattress, and nothing to do but wait. Duckling didn’t dare sit down in case she fell asleep again. She shifted from foot to foot and pinched the back of her own hand, but her eyes still drooped.