by Laura Powell
His descendant was also kneeling, but before the cross, her lips moving in soundless prayer. Then she lit a fresh candle from a bundle in a corner of the room and moved to the wall opposite the altar. Unlike the others, it looked to be sheer rock. Eleri ran her fingers over its rough surface, until she hooked her finger on a crack that Pattern was sure was so small it could not be seen, only felt.
‘Ta-dah!’
At her touch, there was a clicking sound, and the crack grew and widened, until the gap was just large enough to step through. Pattern did not know what she expected to find beyond. Some treasure-trove, perhaps, or an alchemist’s laboratory. Instead, all that was revealed was a downward-sloping passageway.
‘Does it lead to the dungeons?’ Pattern ventured.
‘A dungeon of sorts!’
Eleri picked up her skirts and set off. Pattern followed more slowly, through the flare of candlelight and plunging darkness, feeling the weight of the rock press down all around. Her breathing grew light and rapid; her heart leaped awkwardly against her ribs.
They continued in silence for what felt like a long time but what was probably no more than a quarter of an hour. The passage became steadily rougher and more tunnel-like, though Eleri swept along confidently enough. At least the mystery of her torn slippers and soiled nightgowns was now answered. Suddenly she came to a halt. ‘We are nearly there,’ she whispered. ‘The passage forks just ahead. The right-hand path will take us up and out; the left leads to an iron grate. I want you to go ahead and look through the grate, keeping quiet all the while.’ She paused. ‘Pattern, are you ready for this?’
‘Yes, Highness. Eleri, I mean.’
‘Will you be strong? Will you be steadfast?’
‘I – I will do my best.’
Eleri seized her hand and squeezed it so hard Pattern’s fingers cramped. There was fear in the girl’s face, but also a feverish excitement that Pattern was almost more unsettled by. She paused a moment, waiting until her pulse had calmed, before she took the candle and proceeded down the left turn of the tunnel.
It was not long before she saw the rusting grate. Just beyond, the passage ended in a narrow ledge. The drop was very steep. Pattern would have thought it would be cold down here, so far beneath the ground, but in fact the air was close and warm, with a thickly sulphurous smell. Eleri’s rapid breathing in the passageway behind was curiously amplified, or else it was her own breath that was suddenly echoing all around.
She moved a step closer to the grate. A shaft of bluish moonlight slanted down from some fissure far above. It revealed a cavern as lofty as a cathedral. The ground below appeared to be made up of undulating hillocks, and spiky shards of rock. It was black as tar, with an oily rainbow sheen.
There was a great echoing sigh, and the ground heaved and twitched. With a jolt of horror, Pattern realized it was not rock that twitched, nor earth that moved – the black tar was in fact the shining, sliding scales of a vast, coiled creature: something spiky yet serpentine. A tarry black lid rolled back and she stared into the hot yellow slit of an eye. It was filmy, unfocused. The next instant the lid drooped closed, and the creature let out another vast, bubbling snore.
Pattern stood very still, gripping hold of the candlestick, as all the hairs lifted on the back of her neck. She scarcely dared breathe, let alone move. The urge to scream was swelling inside her, bulging in her throat, until it threatened to burst through all defences. It felt as if even her bones began to shake. So she clenched her jaw, hard enough to make her teeth ache, and took one step back. Then another. And another, until the horror was out of sight, and she and Eleri were once more enclosed in the empty dark.
‘What is that?’ Pattern had waited until her voice was almost steady again, but in truth she already knew the answer.
‘Elffin’s Bane.’ Eleri’s face flickered in the candlelight. ‘Even the thought of it is enough to strike terror into the heart of any man. But is there not something wondrous, too, about such a sight?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
Eleri gave an odd little half-smile. ‘All that ancient strength and heat and fury, lying quietly beneath the rock . . . Yes, I think it is as much a marvel as a monster. I come to watch it sleep, you see, and wonder what it dreams. Of the death of princesses, perhaps, and the long-lost hills of Wales; of rising up to beat its wings against the sky, and raking its claws through our green earth. Perhaps it even dreams of me.’
Instead of returning the way they came, Eleri took the right-hand fork in the passageway. It ended in another flight of twisting stairs. They led up to a grotto in the castle grounds. ‘This door only gets you out; it does not open the other way,’ Eleri explained. ‘Our passages are too small for the beast to squeeze through, but there is a tunnel that leads from its lair all the way up to the mountains, which is how the dragon has come and gone in times past.’
She put her eye to a spy-hole cut in the wall at the top of the stairs, before pressing a hidden catch. A spring clicked and a panel of stone swung open. In moments, they were standing in an artificial cave, decorated all over with shells, flints and coloured glass.
They sat on the steps of the grotto and looked out over the gardens. Dawn was just breaking; the avenues were shrouded in autumn mist, the lawns pearly with dew. Everything seemed made of shadows.
‘Are you sorry I showed you?’ Eleri asked presently. ‘Sometimes I fancy it is all a feverish dream. I imagine I will awake to find my papa is still alive, and there is no dragon, and I have not a care in the world.’
Pattern did not know how to reply. Rationally, she should have been a shivering, gibbering wreck. Her sensible and tidy mind should have shut down in shock. Yet she felt more clear-eyed and alert than she ever had in her life. She began to understand the unwholesome excitement of such a secret.
‘How . . . how did you discover the thing?’
‘I grew up with the story of Elffin’s Bane. Everyone here does. I never guessed about the secret passage, though, and what is waiting at the end of it. Papa only told me when he was sick, and knew he was not going to get better. All down the generations, the reigning Grand Duke or Duchess has entrusted the truth of the passage to their heir, swearing them to secrecy.’ Her mouth quirked. ‘I must be the first in line to have broken that promise.’
‘And your uncle? What does he know?’
‘Only the tale of a monster who came out from the mountains to ravage the land, but has not been seen or heard of in over a hundred years. You see, the dragon is very old, perhaps sick, and spends its time sleeping. Most people presume it has died, or else they think as you did: that it was only ever a tale or superstition. Certainly, if my uncle has his way, it will make no difference to anyone whether there is a real live dragon or not. The result is just the same. The children will still be taken, the crops and flocks still destroyed, and I will still be sacrificed so that Prince Leopold can take the throne.’
‘I can scarcely believe it myself,’ said Pattern, ‘even though I have looked on the creature with my own eyes.’ She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap in case they should start trembling. ‘Can you tell me how the dragon came to be?’
Eleri sighed. ‘I will give you the same account my papa told me. For he said that in ancient times there may have been a number of such creatures about the earth. However, Wales was their last known dwelling place, and ours is the last of its kind. Prince Elffin found it one day when he was wandering the mountainside. It was newly hatched, and very small. A mere wyrmling. So the Prince took it with him into exile, and used it to frighten away rival claimants for this land. That was when he took the name Pendraig – it means ‘Chief Dragon’, you know. It was said he had a magical incantation to command the beast. Perhaps you saw the picture in the chapel frescoes – some business with bells and bones and other talismans.
‘Well, however it was supposed to work, his magic did not hold. Dragons grow very fast, and this one soon became too strong and dangerous, and escaped its captor.
After creating all sorts of mischief, it flew away into the mountains. There it burrowed deep within the rock, till it found or made a nest for itself below the fortress where Elffin had once imprisoned it.
‘But it did not stay hidden for long. It came out, and laid the country to waste. There was terrible suffering. Children were always the prime victims; they are the right size for carrying off, I suppose, and their flesh is more tender. Yet only one thing would satisfy the beast’s hunger: the death of a Princess. For the blood of Royal Maidens is like an opiate to dragon-kind – a powerful drug, and irresistible delight. And so Elffin’s granddaughter was its first sacrifice. She was fifteen years old when she offered herself up, willingly, to save the people. The dragon slaked its thirst on her blood, and slept for nearly twenty years. The people rejoiced. But then it woke, and was thirsty again . . .’
Pattern shivered. In the cold dawn light, the gardens seemed ashen and desolate as any underworld.
Eleri gave a small, bleak smile. ‘Ours is a small country. We keep ourselves to ourselves. Yet there have always been rumours that Elffinberg is in possession of a secret, most unholy weapon. It is why no enemy has ever crossed our borders to try and steal our riches or our lands. It is why we have been untroubled by war. It is why the crown has passed quietly from one generation to the next. It is the price of our peace.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Another requisite of attention is an observant eye.
J. Bulcock, The Duties of a Lady’s Maid
The Grand Duchess told Pattern that she was going to bed, and did not intend to rise before tea-time. She suggested that Pattern do the same. By the time they had parted ways back at the castle, it was close to five, and the youngest and lowliest of the lower servants were already astir. There were chamber-pots to empty, floors to mop and shoes to clean; fires needed to be laid in bedroom grates and water set to boil on kitchen ranges.
‘There you are!’
It was Dilys, clattering up the backstairs with a box of blacking bottles and brushes. ‘Well, you’re the mouse that roared, and no mistake! I don’t know how you dared be so saucy with the Prince, but I owe you a deal of thanks.’
‘And I wanted to thank you, too, for speaking to Her Highness—’
‘Oh, never mind that. I’ve a sharp tongue, and I’m sorry if you’ve felt the sting of it. But have no fear: from here on, if there’s folk who want to make mischief for you, they’ll have me to answer to.’ She rattled her blacking box for emphasis. ‘Franz as well. He’s a coachman, and my particular friend. I’m sure you’ll have seen him in the stable yard – he’s by far the handsomest person there, so you can’t miss him. I’ve told him to look out for you too.’
Pattern was glad to know she had some allies in the castle, but even Dilys was no match for the troubles massing ahead. She wanted only to rest her aching head, to gather her thoughts somewhere quiet . . .
‘I am surprised to find you up at this hour, Miss Pattern.’
‘I could say the same of you, Mr Madoc.’
‘Well, you know what they say about early birds.’ The man was an aniseed-scented smile in the shadows. ‘And this castle is certainly full of worms.’
Pattern made to move past, but found the way blocked.
‘My master the Prince is disappointed. He was expecting to hear from you, as regards the well-being of his niece.’
‘There has been nothing to report, since I am happy to say she is in excellent health.’
‘Indeed! Perhaps this accounts for her newfound passion for vengeance.’
‘I – I’m afraid I don’t follow.’
‘Your play, Miss Pattern. The Butler’s Revenge? I was hoping that you might also favour me with a recitation. I am sure I would find it highly informative.’
Pattern pursed her lips, and once again tried to move past. Once again, he moved to block her. This time his way of speaking was as politely earnest as when they had first met. ‘Do not mistake me, Miss Pattern. I must follow my orders, the same as you, but be assured I am my own man. In turbulent times, you’ll find downstairs collaboration is every bit as rewarding as upstairs diplomacy. I can be a both good and useful friend.’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Mr Madoc, but I am starting to learn that friendship in this castle always comes at a price.’ Pattern drew a slightly shaky breath. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting on.’
She was sure that if she was detained a moment longer she would blurt out all manner of fears and furies. This sprawling stone pile, in which so many people lived and worked, might as well have been built from straw. A nightmare lurked beneath, with a furnace in its belly, and jaws rusted with ancient blood. It seemed as if the beast had only to turn in its sleep, for the whole castle to quake. She fancied she could smell the sulphurous whiff of its breath seeping up through the gutters.
At least she now understood why her parents had fled the country. They must have been afraid of the dragon and fearful for the safety of their newborn child. It was some comfort to know their motivation at last, and she felt a glow of warmth for their resolve, as well as admiration for the risk they had taken. Yet little good the enterprise had done them! For here she was, back in the dragon’s den . . .
Now she came to think of it, signs of the beast were everywhere. Its likeness fluttered on flags, was baked into the decorative crusts of pies, enamelled on brooches, carved into wood and etched on glass. These representations were mostly handsome and heraldic in style, with no hint of the bloodthirsty reality. Perhaps the Elffish thought if they flattered the beast it would treat them more gently. It was possible they took a peculiar kind of pride in their secret.
As she closed the door of her room behind her, she was sure rest would be impossible. Perhaps it even dreams of me, the Grand Duchess had said. A most unwelcome thought struck her: could the beast be communing with the Grand Duchess in her sleep? Was this the reason for her strange voices and even stranger declamations, her trance-like state? Pattern remembered how Eleri had turned her uncannily blank gaze upon her in the night, and those hissed words of mysterious threat:
Little girl. Stranger from a strange land. I see you too. You are watching and waiting, and so am I. You are not afraid yet, but you will be.
Did this mean the dragon had spoken to her, too?
Despite everything, Pattern managed to sleep for a couple of hours, rising just after eleven, when she made her way downstairs in the hope of finding something to eat. The kitchens should have been all a-hubbub with preparations for luncheon. Yet the place was curiously subdued. A knot of people were crowding around one of the under-cooks, who was weeping into her apron.
‘It’s her nephew,’ one hall-boy told another, in hushed tones. ‘He was helping his older brother harvest fruit at Caer Grunwald. But he grew bored and wandered off to explore. There was a great thundering and rumbling. When he didn’t come back, the brother went to look for him. All he found was a burnt patch in the grass, and a couple of buttons from the lad’s jacket.’
Pattern felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Many questions came to mind, though none of them were fitting at such at time. Moreover, it occurred to her that, as the Grand Duchess’s maid, it would not do for her to appear too interested in such events. So she moved quietly away, pocketing a stray meat pie as she did so, as well as a well-thumbed copy of the Elffish Enquirer that somebody had left on a chair.
For all Eleri’s constant speculation about her uncle and his schemes, she showed little interest in the world outside the castle gates. Perhaps she was afraid of it. She preferred the fashion periodicals to newspapers, which she avowed were full of lies. However, it occurred to Pattern that even if the Enquirer merely repeated the tattle of the marketplace, it would still be a valuable informant.
And so it proved. Reading the paper, Pattern learned that in addition to the under-cook’s nephew, a total of twenty children had disappeared over the last two months. The victims were aged between seven and ten, and had been alone
in the countryside at the time of their disappearance. In each case, all that remained of the poor souls was a patch of smoking ground and a few sad relics – a shoe, a buckle, a hank of singed hair. There were no witnesses to what had befallen them, but the charred and torn carcasses of sheep and cattle had been recovered nearby, and great claw marks found gouged in the earth. Farmers reported the burning of crops, and rumours abounded of strange flashes in the sky, billowing ‘winged clouds’ and rumbles like thunder.
The newspaper’s editors seemed, for the moment, reluctant to name the suspicion that must lurk in their readers’ minds. Veiled references to ‘old troubles’ and the return of ‘dark times’ were as far as they went. Even so, Pattern was shocked that things had already come to such a pass. No wonder people whispered in corners. No wonder people were afraid.
And now that she knew there was, in fact, a real live dragon, she could not blame them. Pattern wondered if Eleri was right to think the beast was too old and weary to leave its lair. Yet the fact there were no eye-witnesses to any of the attacks struck her as strange.
Since the Grand Duchess was still in bed, Pattern resolved to make some enquiries of her own. To this end, she changed her lady’s-maid finery for an old work-smock she had worn in Mrs Minchin’s Academy, and set off to find a way of getting to Caer Grunwald. She wished to examine the scene of the crime for herself.
Pattern was in luck – the man who had brought the news of the under-cook’s nephew had not yet left the castle. She found him eating bread and cheese in the stable yard, having delivered his bad news along with a consignment of apples for the kitchen. Putting on her best approximation of an Elffish accent, she asked if he was returning to Caer Grunwald, and if so, could she journey with him on the cart? ‘It is my afternoon off,’ she explained. ‘And I promised to visit my aunt, who is working in the orchards.’