Accidental Heroes

by Lian Tanner

  Duckling gritted her teeth. ‘Grandpa. Think!’

  Lord Rump sighed. ‘You are right, my dear. I have poked in a few corners. But I cannot think of another place that is mouldy and dripping. The cellars are underground, but they are dry.’

  Duckling sagged against a wall. The breeze must’ve told me wrong. Or maybe I read it wrong. Maybe Grandpa’s right, and we should just get out of here.

  ‘Of course,’ added Lord Rump, ‘there is the vergessen. I have not actually seen it, but one of the grafs described it to me—’

  ‘What’s the vergessen?’ demanded Duckling, pushing herself away from the wall.

  ‘It is the hole where the Margraves and Margravines used to throw their enemies, to be forgotten. Once someone was dropped into the vergessen, they were never heard of again. It is below us somewhere, I believe. But they will not be there.’

  He sounded so sure that for a second or two even Duckling was persuaded. But then she remembered that Grandpa could make the wildest opinion sound like fact, and she set off into the darkness with the other two close behind.

  It didn’t take long to find the entrance to the vergessen. All Duckling had to do was creep to the far end of the dungeons – and there was a narrow doorway, covered in cobwebs.

  ‘They can’t be here,’ she whispered. ‘No one’s been this way for years.’

  Up till then, Pummel had hardly spoken, but now he said, in a tired voice, ‘The Harshman doesn’t need doorways.’ And he pushed past her, through the cobwebs and into the passage.

  From behind them, Grandpa hissed, ‘Be careful, my boy. There will be a hole in the floor somewhere. Do not fall into it, whatever you do.’

  That slowed Pummel down. Duckling could hear him edging along the damp passage just in front of her. They hadn’t gone far when he stopped abruptly. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, breathing and listening.

  Duckling listened too, and heard the drip drip drip of water. She edged closer to Pummel and whispered, ‘It sounds right. It smells right.’

  That whisper was so quiet, but someone – no, something heard it.

  The Harshman’s hawk.

  It didn’t bother with the hole. It flew up at them, straight through stone, so suddenly that Duckling dropped the candle and fell backwards. It was just as well she did – she felt the wind of the bird’s passing against her face, but that terrible beak missed her.

  Pummel cried out, and Duckling reached into the darkness and grabbed him, in case he fell down the hole. Her fingers brushed against a claw, which tried to latch onto her hand. Feathers and fury filled the passage. Grandpa shouted, ‘Duckling!’ and dragged her backwards. She thought she heard a shout from below—

  And everything went quiet again.

  Duckling hardly dared move in case the bird was still there. The darkness felt as if it might smother her. The silence grew longer and longer.

  ‘It’s gone,’ croaked Pummel. ‘I threw the raashk.’

  ‘Pummel? Is that you?’ The voice floated up to them, full of hope and fear.

  ‘Otte?’ cried Pummel.

  ‘Yes! We are down here. The Harshman has gone, but I think he will be back. Can you get us out?’

  ‘Course we can,’ called Duckling. ‘We’ve got to, before the hunt catches up with us.’

  ‘They have set the hunt on you?’ called the Young Margrave.

  ‘They think Pummel killed you. Hang on a bit!’ She felt around for the candle, but when she found it, the wick was damp and it wouldn’t light.

  She edged towards the hole, trying not to bump into Pummel. ‘Can you go down and get them?’

  ‘No,’ said Pummel.

  Duckling tried to sound encouraging. ‘If you can go through a wall, you should be able to go through rock. It won’t be easy, but I reckon if we back up a bit, you could walk down, like a staircase—’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Pummel.

  ‘What is this, lad?’ cried Grandpa, from somewhere behind Duckling. ‘You can’t? There should be no such word! Why, if I had said can’t when I was fighting the ice giants—’

  Pummel spoke over the top of him. ‘I can’t. I threw the raashk at the hawk, and now I can’t find it. I think – I think it fell into the vergessen.’

  Pummel had had several moments of despair in his life. But this was one of the worst. Otte and the Young Margrave were so close, and he could do nothing to help them.

  He ran his hands over the rough floor of the passage again, in case the raashk was there somewhere. But it wasn’t. He had felt it fall after it hit the hawk. And now he could feel it below him.

  The Young Margrave’s voice floated up. ‘I think I have found it. It is a tooth, yes? A big one?’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Pummel. But finding it was not enough. Unless it was in his hand, he could not use it.

  ‘It wants to come to you,’ said the Young Margrave. ‘Wait, I will try throwing it—’

  Pummel heard something clatter to the ground, and his heart sank even further.

  ‘It is too far,’ called the Young Margrave. ‘I think it flew up a little way, then came down … yes, I have it again.’

  Lord Rump edged along the passage until he was directly behind Pummel. ‘Well now, my boy, we have a dilemma. We must get the raashk back in your hands.’

  ‘We have to get Otte and the Young Margrave out,’ Pummel said coldly. ‘That’s more important than the raashk.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Lord Rump. ‘When I fought the Man-eating Dwarves of New Zumpy—’

  Duckling sighed. ‘Grandpa, if you’ve got a plan, just say so.’

  ‘I do have a plan, my dear.’ He called out, ‘Young Otte, how high is the vergessen? Floor to ceiling.’

  Otte’s voice drifted up to them. ‘I think it is the height of five men.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Lord Rump began to make grunting noises. One of his elbows caught Pummel in the chest, and he said, ‘Sorry, lad. Trying to get my waistcoat off. Not much room – ah, there we are. Now my cravat … Duckling, I think we will need your tunic. Good strong wool, that’s what we want.’

  ‘A rope,’ said Pummel. ‘You’re making a rope!’

  ‘I am indeed, lad. Your tunic too, if you please. Excellent. Now, I shall have to cut them …’

  With Lord Rump supervising, and the darkness heavy around them, they cut and knotted their clothes into the longest rope they could manage. Below them, the young Margrave and Otte whispered to each other. The stone under Pummel’s feet was cold and hard, and he kept expecting the Harshman to return.

  Where’s he gone? The hawk disappeared when I threw the raashk. Does that mean the Harshman disappeared too? Or is he on his way back, right now?

  ‘That should be long enough,’ said Lord Rump. ‘Duckling, take the rapier and stand guard.’

  ‘It won’t do any good against the Harshman, Grandpa.’

  ‘But it might slow the hunt a little. Now let me past, lad. I need to brace myself across the passage.’

  Pummel wriggled out of the way, and Lord Rump dropped the rope down into the vergessen.

  ‘Can you find it, boys? Follow the sound of my voice. Here I am, the rope is directly below me.’

  ‘It is too short,’ called the Young Margrave in a strained voice. ‘I can – just touch it if I stand – on my toes. But I cannot take hold of it.’

  ‘And if you climb onto your friend’s back?’ asked Lord Rump.

  There came a muttering from down below.

  ‘You could not hold my weight, Otte.’

  ‘I could try. I could use the bone as a walking stick.’

  ‘And how would you get up, once I was gone? No, we must think of another way.’

  ‘Our hose, Grandpa,’ said Duckling.

  ‘Of course,’ said Lord Rump. ‘Quickly now! I assume you are both wearing undergarments and will not embarrass us? Good, good. Now, if I tie the hose to the end of the rope …’

  He raised his voice. ‘Can you reach it now, boys? No,
wait, my grip is not quite good enough.’ He grunted a bit more, bumped against Pummel and shifted his weight. ‘Ah, that is better. Are you ready?’

  The next few minutes were so tense that Pummel could hardly bear it. Every time he shivered, he thought, Is it getting colder? Is the Harshman coming back? How will we fight him, without the raashk?

  Somewhere below him, Otte and Brun were talking to each other, but it was things like, ‘You go first, Otte,’ and ‘That is my ear,’ and, ‘Why are you taking those with you?’, which didn’t tell him nearly enough.

  He whispered to Duckling, ‘You don’t think the hunt will come down here, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she replied.

  But that was probably a lie. After all, everything else had been.

  Lord Rump groaned a couple of times, as if he was barely managing to hold the makeshift rope. He called out, ‘Don’t forget the raashk. Have you still got it?’

  ‘Yes,’ came Otte’s voice, sounding a little closer.

  It was then that Duckling leaned past Pummel and called, ‘Otte? Are you coming up first? Can you hand the raashk back to Brun? Tuck it between his teeth, maybe?’

  ‘Now now, my dear,’ murmured Lord Rump. ‘There’s no need for that.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ replied Duckling, in an undertone. ‘But it’s good to be sure, isn’t it, Grandpa. I’d hate you to accidentally drop the Heir, once you’ve got hold of the tooth.’

  Pummel blinked into the darkness. Surely Lord Rump wouldn’t—

  Yes, he would. I can’t trust him. I can’t trust Duckling either.

  At last Otte’s voice sounded almost in his ear. ‘Can someone help me?’

  Pummel leaned forward until he found the boy’s arm. Then he pulled and pulled until Otte fell out of the hole on top of him.

  A moment later, the Young Margrave was out too. He scrambled past Pummel, but as he did so he whispered, ‘Give me your hand,’ and he pressed the raashk into Pummel’s palm.

  Behind them, Otte said, ‘Can we leave, please? Before the Harshman comes back?’

  IF YOU WISH TO LIVE

  The Harshman was grinding his iron teeth. The woman was supposed to be in the small room at the top of the Keep. That was where she had been each time she had summoned him.

  But she was not there now.

  ‘I…Was…The…First…Margrave…Of…Neuhalt,’ he growled. ‘I…Was…Hemmer…The…Harsh. She… Should…Not…Make…Me…Wait.’

  He stood there for a little while, growing more and more angry, then stormed down through the Keep, spreading ice and sleep wherever he trod.

  He was striding through a wall on the fifth floor when he heard the war horns. The sound stirred the blood he no longer had. It made him want to ride into battle with his banner flying above his head. It made him want glory. It made him want to slaughter as many people as possible.

  His caution over the boys suddenly seemed foolish.

  ‘I…Will…Kill…Both…Of…Them…And… Anyone…Else…Who…Stands…In…My…Way.’

  The war horns sounded again. The Harshman strode faster.

  Duckling led the way up out of the dungeons as quickly as she could – which wasn’t quick at all, without a candle to light the way. She wore nothing but her undershirt and drawers, and was shivering violently, but she didn’t care. The Harshman might return at any moment, and the last thing she wanted was to face him in total darkness.

  Without his crutches Otte couldn’t hurry, so Pummel and the Young Margrave made a chair of their hands and carried him between them. Grandpa brought up the rear with his rapier.

  They were hurrying towards the main door when they heard a heart-stopping howl somewhere behind them.

  ‘He is back,’ whispered the Young Margrave. ‘He knows we have escaped. Quickly!’

  They broke into a run, expecting to be overtaken by ice at any moment. But the ice didn’t come.

  ‘Where is he?’ whispered Otte.

  ‘Don’t – know,’ panted Pummel. ‘Maybe he’s given up.’

  They reached the door and leaped down the steps. But before they could set out across the bailey, they heard a second howl, from a completely different quarter.

  Duckling stopped dead. ‘He hasn’t given up,’ she whispered. ‘He’s over there.’ She pointed towards the dark bulk of the Keep. ‘He’s waiting for us!’

  ‘We will fight him,’ said the Young Margrave, who was clutching a couple of white sticks. ‘Lord Rump, you have beaten him once already.’

  Grandpa cleared his throat. But before he could make excuses, Pummel whispered, ‘The gargoyles are talking. Listen!’

  Duckling listened, but heard nothing. ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘Kill the Heir,’ whispered Pummel. ‘Kill the Heir kill the Heir kill the Heir.’

  It was such a strange, frightening night, that not a single person doubted him. As one, they slipped into the shadows at the side of the Bear Tower, where it joined the outer wall.

  ‘There aren’t any gargoyles here, are there?’ whispered Duckling, peering upwards.

  ‘No,’ said Otte. ‘They are only on the Keep.’

  ‘Can we get past them?’

  War horns blew from the second bailey.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Otte. ‘But to get past them and the Harshman and the hunt …’

  Low-voiced, Pummel said, ‘We don’t have to get past the hunt, Otte. You and the Young Margrave just have to show yourselves. They think you’re dead. When they find out you’re not, they’ll stop chasing us.’

  ‘And the Harshman?’ asked Grandpa. ‘And the – ah – gargoyles? I do not imagine that they will stop. Someone wants the Heir dead, and if it does not happen tonight it will happen tomorrow night or the night after. If the boy wishes to live, we must get him out of the—’

  ‘Stop pretending you care about him,’ hissed Pummel.

  For once, Grandpa told the truth. ‘I do not care about him in the slightest. But I care very much for my own skin. We must get out of the Strong-hold. All of us, including the Young Margrave. And we cannot do it without you.’

  ‘He is right,’ said the Young Margrave.

  ‘But Brun—’ began Otte.

  ‘He is right, you know he is, Otte. I will not be safe from the Harshman while I am inside the Strong-hold. If Pummel can truly take us out, we must go with him.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You want to see what the world is like outside, do you not? And we can always come back. Let us go, yes?’

  There was the slightest hesitation. Then, ‘Yes,’ said Otte.

  Grandpa sighed with relief. ‘What sensible boys you are. Let us go at once, before it is too late.’

  Pummel glared at him. ‘Don’t think I’m taking you and Duckling. Because I’m not.’

  The outer wall loomed over Pummel like a mountain. It’s ten feet thick, he thought, and solid stone. How can I walk through that?

  The walls inside the Keep seemed like paper in comparison, which was silly, because they were stone too.

  But ten feet!

  And he’d be taking two people with him. What if he lost one of them? His nose felt as if it might start bleeding again just from thinking about it.

  ‘My dear boy,’ whispered Lord Rump, ‘I am sure you do not mean to leave us behind. I can explain everything if you will just—’

  Pummel interrupted him. ‘Not a single one of those things you and Duckling told me was true, was it? The farm, the greedy landlord. I bet you’re not even an ambassador. You used me, right from the start.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Grandpa. ‘But it was just business. Nothing personal.’

  ‘And that makes it all right, does it?’ said Pummel.

  ‘Well, yes—’ began Lord Rump.

  ‘Shut up, Grandpa,’ said Duckling. ‘You’re just making things worse.’

  Pummel edged past them and whispered to Otte. ‘Are you ready?’

  Otte nodded.

  ‘I beg you,’ said Lord Rump. ‘
I would be down on my knees, but the wounds I suffered while fighting the frost giants stop me. Please do not leave us behind.’

  If he’d had a spare hand, Pummel would have put his fingers in his ears. He didn’t want to hear Lord Rump begging. He didn’t want to be persuaded.

  They betrayed me. Why should I care about them?

  He raised the raashk and looked through the hole. The wall fell away, and on the other side of it he could see the night city of Berren. Or rather, he could see through the city. In the shadowy world of the raashk, the great buildings were cobwebs; the fine boulevards and avenues didn’t exist. There were ghosts everywhere, with skin cloaks around their shoulders and eagle feathers in their hair.

  They looked as real as Pummel.

  No. They looked more real.

  He swallowed, and stared at the wall again – or rather, the place where the wall should be.

  The ground beneath it was a tangle of silver threads. There were so many of them, and they were layered so thickly, that he couldn’t see where one stopped and the next began. It was like a long, shining barrier, and Pummel knew he wouldn’t be able to pass it.

  Still, he had to try.

  ‘Take my arm,’ he whispered.

  He felt Otte’s hand grip his right elbow, and the Young Margrave his left.

  Please, thought Pummel. And he stepped forward.

  He hit the barrier almost straight away. His right foot was inside the wall, and his knee and his nose, but that was as far as he could go. And even that felt dangerous.

  He had a sudden vision of himself, Otte and the Young Margrave trapped inside the wall forever.

  It was such an awful thought that he leaped backwards, dragging the others with him. When he took the raashk from his eye, he was standing in the lee of the Bear Tower again. His knees felt weak. He had a cramp in his left leg.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ he whispered.

  A shadow limped towards him, with other shadows scurrying in its wake. ‘Hiiide,’ hissed the first shadow. ‘The hunt isssss coming!’