by Farr, Cathy;
‘That can’t be all,’ said Gisella looking appalled. ‘Where do they sleep? What do they eat?’
‘Oh, yer. Er, well, they sleep in the tower and, y’know, Cook makes them porridge and …’ He swallowed; his wary eyes did not stray from Mortimer’s face. ‘And... er… they take the bodies to a field on the edge of the city…’
‘Go on,’ said Mortimer.
Reluctantly, The Jackal picked up where he had left off.
‘There’s a man, y’know, up there. He, er, carves their name on a stone – with the words ‘Taxes paid’ underneath. They put the stones, y’know, on the, er… graves…’ He tailed off, leaving a shocked silence hanging in the air.
After a long time, it was Seth who spoke.
‘How does he know their names?’
‘They tattoo each man’s name on his arm when he’s brought in – just the last name, y’know… to save ink.’
Wil lifted his head. He could have sworn he saw a flash of something bordering on humour cross the boy’s face again, but this time he was far too shocked to react.
Wil was eleven years old when Rexmoore’s men had taken his father. As he crouched there on the frozen ground, Wil could almost hear his mother. She had wept and begged them not to take him but they pushed her away and she had fallen into the mud. Wil’s father had struggled to get to her, to help her up, but they wouldn’t let him; one of the men had hit his father with the hilt of his sword before another had dragged him, semi-conscious, and thrown him onto the back of the wagon. Wil had desperately wanted to help but he was too scared – there had been blood on the man’s sword before it had struck his father’s cheek.
That day, they took Wil’s father and two other men from the village; afterwards, Wil’s mother told him time and again that if they earned enough to pay the tax then Lord Rexmoore would let Wil’s father come home. She always maintained that Rexmoore was a fair man. But no matter how much they handed over every time Rexmoore’s men came calling, Wil’s father was never with them. Wil’s only really vivid memory of the man was his frightened, blood-streaked face as the wagon rattled and squeaked its way out of Mistlegard – out of Wil’s life forever.
It was Wil’s father who had taught Wil how to handle a knife. They used to practice after Wil had done his chores – much to his mother’s horror. From that day, Wil was allowed to practice his throwing to his heart’s content – now, he was very good.
As The Jackal’s words sank in, it occurred to Wil that he had never really thought about what happened to the gold that his family had paid. Something inside Wil went very cold. Wil and his mother had done everything they could to raise enough to pay Rexmoore’s tax and eke out a living; from growing beetroot and turnips in their tiny field, to sweeping floors in the local inn, to raising chickens to sell at the local markets – well, the ones that the foxes didn’t eat anyway. All that and Wil’s father had died working on a tower that was being built with that same gold – and hoards more, collected from people like Wil and his mother all over Thesk. Surely there was someone who could stop this, he thought. Out loud, he asked, ‘What about the people who live in Armelia.’ He struggled to keep his voice level. ‘Do they know what happens to their gold?’
Wil’s face was ash-white. His eyes were red. Phinn stood panting, poised as if he was taking in every word.
The Jackal shrugged.
‘Dunno. Some work for Rexmoore anyway. I guess most people just ignore what’s happening or they’re too scared to do anything about it.’
‘And which one are you then, hey?’ asked Wil, but he was on his feet before the boy could open his mouth. ‘Don’t bother,’ he added walking away. ‘Just get us into Armelia.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Plan B
‘Blimey, Cecil, you seen these!’ called a voice from high above their heads. It was now very late in the afternoon; they were tired and hungry and the gate into Armelia looked depressingly solid close up. Wil’s feet were numb from hours walking over snow-coated rocks; and Gisella, normally nimble over even the most challenging terrain, had slipped down a treacherous section of scree and was now sporting a badly grazed elbow and a cut lip.
A few seconds later another voice replied from the other side of the gate.
‘Seen wha’?’
‘Tell you what, boys,’ the first voice called down, ‘You should stick a saddle on them an’ ride ‘em over the Fells!’ The voice exploded into a roar of laughter and a face appeared over the top of the gate.
‘By the moons, Alg, now that’s what I call a dog!’
Mortimer stepped forward with a patient expression on his face and nodded up at the two moons rising from behind Mort Craggs.
‘Good evening, gentlemen. Would it be possible for you to open the gate and let us in?’
‘You ‘ere for the Alcama Fest?’ called a voice from lower down behind the gate.
‘Er, yes,’ said Mortimer throwing The Jackal a quizzical look. But The Jackal didn’t respond. The face peered down at them.
‘You got gold?’
‘Er, no,’ answered Mortimer. He turned to the others – they all shook their heads. Wil felt his pulse quicken at the question – gold now held an entirely new meaning for him.
‘Well, unless you got gold we can’t let you in – orders see.’
The Jackal had not spoken since Wil’s outburst. Now Gisella gave him a gentle nudge. He stepped forward and doffed his hat.
‘Hi Algernon. It’s me, The Ja-, Colin,’ he called. ‘Look, this lot are my friends. They’ve come for the Fest. Just met up over at Thesker Pyke – I forgot about the gold thing. Can you just let us in anyway?’ He flapped his arms at his side and bounced on his toes.
‘Colin? Colin Miller? They been looking for you all day, you little–. Said you nicked Lady Imelda’s quail’s eggs. Mhaddphat’s gonna string you up when she finds you! If I were you I’d stay out there with yer mates!’
‘Quail’s eggs?’ said Gisella in an enquiring whisper.
‘Long story,’ returned The Jackal out of the corner of his mouth.
‘And who’s Mhaddphat?’ whispered Seth.
‘The cook – she’s a bit weird,’ hissed The Jackal.
A second face appeared at the parapet above them.
‘You discussin’ how you’re gonna get those eggs back to her ladyship?’
‘Er, well, yes actually,’ answered The Jackal with a bold voice. ‘I’ve got them here in my pocket – all twelve of them.’ He cupped his pocket for effect. ‘Just let us in and I’ll go straight up to the castle to return them.’
The two faces ducked back behind the wall.
‘Weird, how?’ asked Mortimer in a low voice, his own face still turned up towards the gap where the gate-keepers’ faces had just been.
‘Weird. In a, y’know, dangerous kind of way,’ answered The Jackal, also looking up.
The face of Algernon re-appeared.
‘I ‘eard you’re gonna need a lot more than twelve. You sure you got no gold? What about on those dogs? Those collars – they gold?’
‘Oh, no,’ Seth piped up cheerfully. Wil was nearest but he had no way of shutting Seth up without attracting attention. Seth carried on. ‘It’s wrought iron. Gold’s not nearly strong enough to hold a Fellhound!’
He shook his head proudly and patted Farrow hard on the shoulder. Mortimer looked skywards.
‘Seth!’ hissed Gisella.
‘What?’
But it was the man on the gate who spoke next.
‘Sorry, no gold, no entry. Shame actually – I reckon those dogs would stand a good chance in the Unexpected Pets contest, ‘ey, Royston.’
‘Wha’,’ called Royston, from lower down, clearly no longer next to Algernon.
‘These dogs – Unexpected Pets – would have given that dragon a run for its money.’
‘Dragon?’ called the muffled voice.
‘You know – that noisy little thing we let in earlier. A Lesser Crested Ridge Creeper, if I’m not very much mi
staken – it’s the call you know – very distinctive.’ Algernon let out three shrill squawks and nodded in an “I know my dragons” kind of way.
‘So can we come in then?’ asked Seth brightly. ‘You know, for the contest?’
‘If it was up to me boys, I’d open the gate now, but its orders, see – more ‘un my job’s worth to go against orders.’ And with another shake of his head he disappeared. This time neither face re-appeared.
From behind the gate Wil heard a disembodied voice. ‘Bloody big dogs, mind! Bet they take some feedin!’
Mortimer stood looking up at the solid oak gate as if willing it to open. But as the voices of the two men faded into the distance, it was obvious that an alternative route into Armelia had to be found. After several more minutes, Mortimer turned to The Jackal.
‘Well, the deal was that you would get us into the city – not just outside the gate! So I’m hoping that you have a Plan B here?’
‘Plan B?’ The Jackal looked genuinely confused.
‘Yer, you know, Plan A didn’t work, so now we go to Plan B – and the moons help you if we have to go to Plan C!’
Realization dawned.
‘Oh, you mean like another way in!’ For some reason The Jackal’s sudden smile did not fill Wil with any confidence. ‘Round the back, y’know, er, by the market – that’s were I usually get in and out.’
‘So why didn’t you take us that way in the first place?’ asked Wil. Unable to shake the feeling that they were being watched, Wil was very keen to get off the Fell – they might have been at the end of the valley but Tel Harion was still far too close for comfort.
‘You didn’t ask,’ said The Jackal. ‘You all just headed for the gate, so I thought you, y’know, had gold with you. I mean, everyone around here knows about the toll to get into the city!’
‘Well we aren’t from around here, in case you hadn’t realised by now,’ replied Mortimer pithily.
‘Oh, well, n..no… course. Should have guessed after that thing, y’know, about the tower.. and the..er, gold… er,’ stammered The Jackal. The look on Mortimer’s face suggested that he was seriously contemplating shooting The Jackal where he stood; and Wil was sorely tempted to let him. But the rising moons were marking the beginning of the third night since Tally was taken and they were no nearer finding her. For the moment at least, Wil was forced to admit they needed help… and The Jackal was the only one offering.
‘Look, we need to get into Armelia tonight. We don’t have any gold but we, the horses and the hounds really need to be on the other side of this wall. Can you help us?’
The Jackal pursed his lips, walked a few paces forward and studied the lack of gap between the two huge gates. He turned back to face them.
‘You know Plan B?’
‘Yeess,’ replied Mortimer, clearly running short of patience.
‘Well, er, there’s good news and bad news.’
‘I think we’d better have the bad news first,’ said Mortimer with a quick glance towards Wil.
The Jackal increased the distance between them with another step and said simply, ‘Plan B won’t work.’ He attempted a further retreat and pressed his back hard against the gate, ‘It’s the animals. They’d never, y’know, climb the wall.’
‘Climb what wall?’ asked Seth from behind Mortimer. He was standing with Rhoani and Shadow. All three Fellhounds had long since got bored and were lying on their haunches waiting for orders. The Jackal looked at them as if they had only appeared that minute.
‘Well, you never said anything about the animals! Get us into Armelia, you said. Get us in and we won’t shoot you, you said!’ The Jackal waved his arms up at the gate as he spoke. ‘Now you tell me you don’t have any gold to get through the gate but you want to get two horses and three of the biggest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life into the city.’
The Jackal closed his eyes tightly.
‘And what’s the good news,’ asked Gisella. ‘You did say there was good news.’
The Jackal didn’t open his eyes.
‘I was really hoping that you’d just shoot me after the bad news,’ he said, bracing himself flat against the gate, eyes still pressed shut.
‘Why?’ asked Gisella sounding horrified.
‘Because there is no… hang on,’ The Jackal opened his eyes wide and beamed, ‘Can you swim?’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Troubled Waters
Seth peered down into the canal.
‘Oh, great!’
A few feet below, the dark water flowed with treacly slowness under the city wall through a low culvert.
‘The last time I came out with you lot I nearly drowned!’
Mortimer frowned down into the murky blackness.
‘Mmm, but luckily for you Wil was there!’ He turned to The Jackal.
‘And the plan is?’
‘Well, the river goes under the wall here so we can swim into the city,’ said The Jackal. ‘It flows right round the city – well, y’know, under it actually. There are loads of wells, y’know, where it’s deep. It leads to the foundry – the mill wheels, y’know, there’s two – we can get out just before the first one.’
‘And what happens if we don’t, you know, get out?’ asked Wil, with a suspicion that he wasn’t going to like the answer.
‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll get out. It gets really shallow – I fell in there once – only went up to my bu- ackside.’ He threw Gisella a furtive glance.
‘Yes, but what happens if you don’t get out?’ said Gisella.
‘Weell, y’know, the wheel…chguh,’ The Jackal coughed and said no more.
‘Great!’ muttered Mortimer.
‘Are you sure this is the only way in?’ asked Wil. He cast a hopeful glance at the huge slabs of masonry that towered over them. The city wall butted right up against Mort Craggs; reaching skywards, the sheer rock glistened wet where the peaks way above were finally giving up the last remnants of winter.
‘Well, like I said y’know, I normally climb – over there,’ answered the boy and he waved his fingers towards the tops of a clump of trees that look like they were peeping over the wall. ‘But there’s quite a big drop on the other side into the kitchen garden. I twisted my ankle once, y’know. And at least this way, y’know, you can take your dogs!’
Wil studied the gap between the water and the roof of the culvert. Pretty sure he would be able to keep his own head above the water he wasn’t at all convinced about Phinn. True, the hound liked paddling, but back home Wil couldn’t persuade Phinn to go over his knees into East Lake. In fact, it had proved so difficult that he had wondered if this might be normal for Fellhounds. He was just about to ask when Mortimer plonked down on the grass and eased off his boots.
‘Right, Wil. You and I’ll go with The Jackal,’ he said, folding his cloak. ‘We’ll take Mia and Phinn. Seth, Gisella; take Farrow and the horses and go back around to the gate. Once we get out at the mill we’ll try to find a way to get you in without having to get our hands on any gold. At least with dragons around I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the Fellhounds attracting too much attention!’
Wil sat on the bank in just his shirt and breeches – the evening cold was already creeping into his bones and he was not looking forward to his imminent swim. Almost as an afterthought Mortimer had agreed to Gisella’s suggestion that their cloaks and boots could be thrown over the wall in order that they had something dry on the other side. Although he was concerned that searching for clothes would delay them even further.
‘Yes, but getting pneumonia isn’t going to make you any quicker either!’ was Gisella’s rather testy response.
Taking the bundles that Mortimer and Wil had rolled and bound with their belts, she peered along the bank.
‘So where’s the bridge?’
‘Oh, there isn’t one,’ replied The Jackal. Once again Wil had visions of Seth getting very wet. Fortunately Mortimer already had a solution.
‘Gisella, take Shadow �
�� you’ll be fine. Just point him in the right direction and he’ll do the rest.’
Gisella beamed. Mortimer turned to The Jackal who had insisted on keeping every stitch on, including his hat.
‘Right, before we get in – where’s the best place for Gisella to chuck our stuff over?’
The Jackal waved his hand vaguely again.
‘Oh, it’s only a little way. You’ll see the top of a big tree just up there – y’know, a plum. There’s a bit of a hump on this side. If you stand on that you should, y’know, be able to get the stuff over. Er, you can throw, can’t you?’
‘What?’ said Gisella, her voice suddenly rather high.
‘Er, nothing, y’know, it’s just that you’re a…, y’know, girl.’ He wrinkled his nose and looked suddenly awkward. Gisella froze.
‘Look, I really think we should be going now,’ interrupted Wil – he’d seen that expression on Gisella’s face before and it never ended well. Mortimer came to The Jackal’s rescue.
‘Right, are we sorted? In you go… Jackal,’ he said with a glimmer of a grin.
The Jackal lowered himself carefully into the water. Wil could hear the sound of teeth chattering before the boy was up to his knees.
‘Right, Wil, go on, you next. Just get in and call Phinn. He’ll come in after you. If not, start swimming away – he’ll definitely get in then.’
Unconvinced, Wil slid down the bank and… immediately regretted it. The water was beyond freezing. It was so cold he was astonished that it was actually flowing. Within seconds he couldn’t feel his hands or feet; his heart beat as if it was about to pump itself out of his body.
Gisella called from the bank, ‘What’s it like, Wil?’
He took a deep breath, ‘F-Fine,’ he said, only just managing to control his shivering limbs. ‘B-but I’m not sure I want to stay in l-long! Ph-Phinn, come on.’
Phinn stood on the bank above and peered down at him – as Wil’s body temperature plummeted there was no way he could focus on the hound’s mind but he was pretty sure Phinn’s expression was not one of admiration.
‘Phinn, c-come on!’ Wil called again. But Phinn simply sprang over the canal on to the other bank, barking loudly. Mortimer frowned.