by Farr, Cathy;
And with that he turned, caught the edge of Wil’s cloak and pulled Wil around with him.
‘No, Wait! Yes, I mean – please,’ begged the man.
‘Keep walking,’ whispered Mortimer.
The tiny man burst into tears. ‘Please, s…stop. I beg you.’
Both Mortimer and Wil turned back towards the clucking, quacking and squawking shop. Without waiting to be asked, the little man grabbed the handle of a large wicker basket and scampered after them. Still sobbing, he handed the hamper to Wil and threw his arms around Mortimer’s waist. Looking slightly embarrassed, Mortimer patted him on the shoulder. Then without another word, the man darted into the crowd weeping loudly as he disappeared.
Mortimer threw Wil a triumphant grin.
‘Right, let’s go deliver some eggs!’
The creaking gate that led into the castle’s kitchen garden was wide open, hanging silent on its hinges. Gingerly stepping into the garden, Wil could see the dark shapes of bee skeps piled high against the wall; the heady aroma of rotting straw mixed with mature cow dung suggested that their honey-producing days were long gone. All around him, though, Wil could hear the soft hum of bees going about their business in the pink glow of the waking day.
‘Watch you don’t get stung, Wil,’ said Mortimer, ducking under low-hanging branches of apple, plum, damson and cherry.
But Wil was confident that the bees meant no harm. He could feel their contentment so strongly that his mouth filled with the taste of Martha’s delicious honey cake.
‘Just be careful where you put your feet,’ he replied in a whisper. ‘They’re a very close family and don’t take kindly to having their relatives squashed!’
‘Oh, right-oh!’ laughed Mortimer. ‘And what do you think they’d do then?’
‘You really don’t want to know, Mort. Just watch your feet!’
Picking their way up the garden, Wil spied a door in the old stone part of the castle; again wide open, the dingy entrance was a stark contrast to the glowing golden tower behind it. And the gravelly voice that bellowed from somewhere beyond the doorway was far from welcoming.
‘I told you already, Galorian, I’m busy. I go’ things to do, I ‘aven’t got time now!’
‘But Faerydae took my barey sugar. She won’t gi’e it to me,’ replied a boy’s familiar infantile, very whiney voice.
‘No I didn’t!’ objected another voice – a girl – still young but older than Galorian. ‘He said I could ‘ave it!’
‘I didn’t gi’ you my barey sugar! I never said nothin’!’
‘Did too, you liar! Mmm, its reeeeally yummy! Baaaarley sugar, my favourite,’ said the girl, exaggerating her own correct pronunciation of the word barley as if to taunt her brother all the more – it worked.
‘Yaaarghhuhuh,’ sobbed the boy. ‘I want it. I want my barey sugar. Yhaaarghhuhh!’
‘Right, that’s it, ger out the two of you! Ger out and don’t bother me ‘til breakfast time! I said I’m BUSY!’ Mhaddphat’s voice echoed out over the garden. Wil felt a ripple of disquiet among the bees. He offered the hamper of eggs to Mortimer.
‘Do you want to do this?’
‘She’ll be fine, Wil. You watch…and don’t forget, we’ve got the solution to one of her problems – she’s bound to be pleased!’
‘Yes, but if you remember we’ve only got part of the solution!’
Another bee skep lay up-turned on the doorstep together with an old sheep’s skull. The black tip of the cold candle was just visible through one of the eye sockets. Next to the skep was a water trough, brimming with thick, green water – above which hung a bell. Mortimer’s fingers had just closed around the ringer when two tiny figures pelted out through the open door. With no sign of them stopping, Mortimer jumped out of the way – the skep and the skull went flying. One of the figures was waving a twist of barley sugar high in the air and the other was sobbing – very loudly. As they disappeared among the fruit trees, another, now familiar voice came after them.
‘Oh my gaawwd! If I get my hands on you two – just SHUT UP, WILL YOU!’
Mhaddphat appeared in the doorway brandishing a rolling pin. Wil nearly dropped the hamper.
‘Whoa, a hobgoblin!’ he said before he could stop himself.
Mortimer didn’t say anything – his expression, however, said plenty.
The tiny woman’s chubby face folded into a grimace. Her top lip disappeared under her bulbous nose and her beady black eyes disappeared under bushy, equally black, eyebrows.
‘Yer, and what of it!’
She raised the rolling pin higher above her head – waist-high to Wil and Mortimer. Wil lowered the basket for protection and Mortimer closed his hands across his breeches. The hobgoblin glanced at the basket, ‘What you want?’
‘Eighty! Oh my gaawwd! What I am supposed to do with eighty?’
Mhaddphat, now brandishing a carving knife, stomped around the great pine table in the middle of the vast kitchen – her huge bottom swinging from side to side with each heavy step. She had not stopped shouting. The kitchen, that moments ago had been full of bustling staff, was suddenly empty – with the exception of one very elderly-looking hobgoblin who seemed engrossed in the contents of a saucepan boiling over the fire.
‘I said a hundred and twenty. Eighty – I can’t believe it!’ She stopped and pointed the knife at Wil and Mortimer. ‘You sure there’s eighty? You counted ‘em?’ She peered over the edge of the table suspiciously and then stuck her face into the hamper and started to count. The elderly hobgoblin muttered something about checking pickled onions and tottered out of the kitchen through a door at the far end of the room.
‘I thought you were going to tell her I dropped some,’ whispered Wil. ‘She’s going to kill that egg seller next time she sees him.’
‘That did occur to me,’ Mortimer whispered back, his lips barely moving. ‘But which would you rather? She’s armed with a knife. And that rolling pin’s only over there.’ He nodded to the end of the table. ‘There are a lot of parts of me I’d rather stayed attached – it was an easy choice!’
‘Seventy-six, seventy-seven, seventy-eight, sev-’ Mhaddphat stopped counting. Her head popped up from behind the wicker lid of the hamper, ‘Eighty! There’s only eighty! Oh my gaawwd! What do you expect me to do with eighty?’
‘I think its going to be a long night!’ said Mortimer, but as he spoke there was a crash and a high-pitched squeal from the garden.
‘Was that one of you?’ demanded Mhaddphat with a glare brimful of accusation. With the quail eggs seemingly forgotten, she cocked her oval head to one side. Her pointed ears turned, seeking out the source of the disturbance.
‘Wow,’ breathed Wil. Of course, he had heard of hobgoblins before – every wealthy household in Thesk had at least one – but he had never actually seen one. They certainly didn’t have any in Mistlegard, being such a poor village; but his mother had told him about an estate just the other side of Grizzledale that had three. Apparently hobgoblins were exceptional cooks, owing to their own voracious appetites; this also made them quite expensive to keep – and looking at Mhaddphat bent over the basket of quail eggs, Wil could certainly believe that! Male hobgoblins were also very useful during harvest; having long arms and being so low to the ground, they could pick whole estates of vegetables in just a few days without the backache that Wil had come to know so well during their own harvests.
The squealing outside was getting nearer to the inside – and much louder. There was another crash and then uproar.
‘Ger them off, Faerydae. They’s ‘urtin me. Argh, i’ urts! Mama, Argh! Mama!’
The cries were so high-pitched that Wil and Mortimer had to put their hands over their ears. On a shelf next to the fire a bottle of oily, yellow liquid exploded – its sticky contents splattered up the wall.
‘Mama!’
Mhaddphat slammed the hamper lid down and waddled towards the kitchen door, her knuckles swinging only a hair’s breadth from the floor.
At the same moment, two terrified hobgoblets charged into the room – followed by a dark buzzing cloud.
‘Run!’ bellowed Mortimer. But Mhaddphat was in the way.
With her mouth wide open – easily the size of Wil’s head – she was running back and forth scooping bees out of the air. Wil stood transfixed. She crunched down on a mouthful of buzzing bees – and Wil’s world went mad. Buzzing filled his ears and closed around his brain like a veil – the noise made his teeth vibrate and his fingers tingle. Bees were dying – and not just in the kitchen.
Wil grabbed Faerydae by both arms, ‘What did you do?’ he yelled. She didn’t answer.
‘What did you do to the bees?’ he repeated, forcing the words through his clenched teeth. Suddenly aware that he was shaking the speechless child, he stopped, but didn’t let go. Her little face crumpled.
‘It was Galorian. He started it. He lit the fire!’ she howled.
Wil released the hobgoblet as if she had stung him, took a deep breath and charged straight through the angry swarm. Oblivious, Mhaddphat continued to swoop and chomp. Wil was vaguely aware that Mortimer was shouting something but he didn’t hear the words – his only thought was of what he knew he would find out in the garden.
Sure enough, there in the middle of the little courtyard was a smouldering skep. The hum was deafening. Bees were streaming out of the tiny opening at the base of the basket. Next to it were two more skeps, not yet alight but clearly next in line. Wil swept up the smoking hive in both arms and ran to the trough but it was far too narrow to dunk the skep straight in and anyway, he didn’t want to save the bees from burning only to drown them in the process! Frantic now, he looked around but there wasn’t a bucket or even a cup in sight – nothing. Then he spotted the bell. With one hard tug he yanked it from the wall and dipped it into the water. At the first bell-full smoke and steam billowed up into Wil’s face. He coughed and gagged but he kept going. The steam was scalding his hand but within a couple more scoops the skep stopped smoking, and within a couple more it stopped hissing. Only then did the buzzing in Wil’s ears start to subside. Retrieving the two unmolested skeps, Wil then headed for the biggest apple tree he could see and set down all three under the drooping branches, alongside two others that were already there.
As he put the last skep into place a bee settled on Wil’s hand – the badly scalded skin was starting to blister and peel. He felt absolutely no desire to brush the bee away. Another came, and then another. For a reason he could not explain he reached into one of the unharmed skeps and sank his hand into the waxy honey within. The relief from the pain was instant.
Behind him, what was left of the swarm in the kitchen billowed out into the courtyard like a puff of thick black smoke – followed by a very confused Mortimer. From inside the kitchen Wil could hear the two hobgoblets wailing loudly, and Mhaddphat shouting again. Mortimer strode down the garden brushing bees out of his hair and talking as he went.
‘Right Wil, I’m not really sure what happened just now but, er, any time you want to join me?’
‘Oh, yer, …er, right,’ said Wil. The sound in his head had gone. With great reluctance he carefully withdrew his hand from the soothing honey. The bees had gone back to their business and Wil could feel them – once more, calm and safe.
‘Uh, Wil, don’t want to rush you here, but…’ said Mortimer, nodding his head back towards the tower. ‘I reckon we can still get in if we go back now.’
‘EIGHTY!’ The voice exploded from the door of the castle kitchen. ‘HE’S ONLY GIVEN ME EIGHTY! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH EIGHTY QUAIL EGGS? OH MY GAAWDD!’
Mortimer shrugged, ‘Or perhaps not.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Unexpected Pets
Seth’s face fell when Wil and Mortimer neared the city gate.
‘No Tally, then’ he said needlessly.
Mortimer cast a brief and rather disparaging glance towards Wil.
‘No. Let’s just say it didn’t quite go to plan and leave it at that shall we. Please tell me you had more success, Seth. How’s Gisella?’
Wil looked around – Gisella was nowhere in sight.
‘Seth, you haven’t let her wander off back to that Jev idiot, have you?’ His hand felt much better after the honey and he was quite confident he was up to punching someone, if needed.
‘No!’ said Seth, with a smug look. ‘No, I went off to find Tanith, which I did, and Gisella stayed here to watch our stuff. And while she was waiting, guess what?’
His eager expression suggested that he really did expect them to guess.
‘She found Tally,’ said Mortimer dryly. Seth beamed.
‘Yes!’
‘Where?’ chorused Wil and Mortimer.
‘Up there. Where you’ve just been!’
Seth pointed towards the golden tower.
‘You see that balcony thing above those trees? She’s in there. I really did think you’d find her.’
Wil squinted back towards the high wall of the castle garden with its blossom-coated fruit trees. The twin moons had given way to a bright morning and the tower shone like a beacon in the sunlight; Wil’s stomach tightened – the likelihood of getting Tally back to Saran before the moon crossing that coming night was fast disappearing.
‘How do you know she’s there, Seth?’ asked Mortimer.
‘Because Gisella heard that egg seller talking to some woman when he got back to his stall– after you’d taken the eggs, we guessed. She – the woman – told the man that Tally was being a complete nightmare and she’d be glad when the Alcama came because at least she’d get some peace.’
Wil went cold.
‘What did she mean by peace, Seth?’
‘I don’t know. Gisella said that another lady arrived and they started talking about something else – but not before the other woman told the egg man that she was surprised he couldn’t hear Tally’s language from here because her room overlooks the whole city. And as you can see,’ Seth paused to survey the castle and then continued, ‘that balcony is the only one that looks out over this part of the city. I don’t know how big Armelia is though, so I couldn’t say if it looks out over all of it – but I think it’s a fair bet that’s where she is.’
Wil thought back to the first time he had met Lady Élanor’s feisty young sister – she had been covered in flour at the time and, yes, he would certainly agree she had a colourful turn of phrase when she was cross!
‘Well, at least we know she’s still alive then,’ said Mortimer. Seth nodded, looking extremely pleased with himself. Mortimer shot another disparaging look in Wil’s direction. ‘It’s just a shame that we were so close and didn’t know it! So where’s Gisella now?’
‘Well, I found Tanith – I said I found him, didn’t I? I told Gisella that they’re keeping him with the other animals for the Unexpected Pets contest, on the other side of the main square – you should see it – its massive and they’ve got this huge–’.
‘Seth!’ snapped Mortimer. ‘I’m not interested in sight-seeing – where are Gisella and Tanith?’
Unperturbed, Seth’s eyes shone with excitement.
‘Well, she said that we’d be less conspicuous if she took Phinn, Mia and Farrow there, too. So I stayed here with Rhoani and Shadow, to wait for you, and she’s gone down to keep an eye on Tanith and to blend in. I can’t wait to get back down there. Some of those creatures are awesome!’
‘Well, I just hope Gisella has recovered from her earlier revelling and hasn’t acquired a taste for rat beer!’ said Mortimer.
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ grinned Seth. ‘Before she went I offered her a drink of elder wine and she was sick behind those bales again!’
Hardly able to contain his excitement, Seth led the way into yet another packed street. Ahead Wil could hear the sound of cooing birds and suddenly a cloud of doves exploded into the air. A shot of pure joy filled Wil’s heart as, with slapping wings, the liberated birds flapped skywards. Everyone ducked for cover except fo
r a small boy who very carefully lowered the lid of a huge and now completely empty basket and stole away into the crowd.
Behind the basket a shop window was stacked with cages of chickens, Fell hens, turkeys, pheasants, and Rockmoor quail – Wil realised that they were back on Bell Street.
Right in the middle of the square, standing above the crowd, Wil could see a huge stage. Thick metal bars like sentries marked its perimeter, broken only by a high gate in the middle of the side nearest to them. The square itself was edged by stalls selling anything from rat beer to boiled eggs; while others housed animals. The smell was bad enough, but the noise!... deep booming barks, yaps, caws, cries, mews, yowls and baying; all competing with music coming from every direction. There was also shouting – lots of shouting.
‘What is that?’ asked Wil. Just in front of them, a willowy woman dressed entirely in white was cradling something in her arms. Except for its childlike face, the creature was covered all over in silky, jet-black fur. A pair of huge green eyes turned on Wil. The woman followed the creature’s gaze. Both she and her little companion had long, cat-like ears – one set, tipped white on black fur; the other, tipped black on pale skin – they looked as if they had been painted. The woman was wearing a delicate silver band on her slender wrist; from it swung a fine silver chain that was attached at the other end to an identical band around the animal’s neck. She stroked the animal’s head with fingers as white as snow and fingernails like daggers.
‘We are Fayarie,’ she said blinking slowly. She had the same startling green eyes as her pet. ‘We can swap form but can never be the same.’
‘What’s its name?’ asked Wil. He reached out to the little animal but pulled back when, with a spitting hiss, it lashed out with a needle claw. The woman laughed – the sound reminded Wil of a babbling brook.
‘Take care, those claws can rip a man apart in the blink of an eye,’ she answered and made to move on. ‘Her name is Olan. I am Olath – we are sisters.’