by Farr, Cathy;
‘Can I borrow your bow, Mort?’ said Wil quietly. He was feeling faint now and it was taking all his strength to stay conscious.
Without a word Mortimer threw the loaded bow to Wil and in a blink the wolf lay dead. The pain raking through Wil’s body lifted immediately.
Under the door Colin lay motionless. Mortimer put a hand to his neck. ‘Still alive,’ he said abruptly. It sounded to Wil like a question. He shook his head.
‘No, leave him.’ Wil glanced back at the mutilated wolf. ‘Although I’m not sure why,’ he added bitterly.
Then the wailing began.
‘Nooo. Snuffy-woo, my Snuffy-woos. No prize for mommy. Nooooooo.’
Wil yelled over the din.
‘We need to get back to the square, Mort.’
He grabbed the Wraithe Wolf’s back legs and hauled it onto the flattened door. A groan came from underneath.
‘With any luck we’ve just bought ourselves some time,’ he said, running to the table.
Pricilla kept still while, with shaking hands, Wil eased the bolt out of the wood as carefully as he could.
‘We’ll have to leave the bolt in her wing until I can get to my bag,’ he said and tucked the raven under his arm. ‘Right, let’s go!’
Pricilla gave a forlorn ‘Prruk’.
Mortimer grabbed Wil’s bow from the edge of the balcony.
‘You might find this useful then,’ he grinned. ‘Can I have mine back now?’
Colin’s mother was lying across the door with her arms wrapped around the wolf. She was wailing again. Another low groan came from underneath the door.
‘Ooooh, why isn’t Snuffy-woo playing with mommy?’ She kissed Snuffy-woo’s head, ‘Snuffy-woo loves mommy.’ She kissed the animal again and Wil caught a closer glimpse of her beret – the pink strips weren’t felt at all, they were little furry ears. A thought struck him: Colin had said they were going to use the Wraithe Wolf’s teeth – razor sharp needles. Easy to nick yourself, thought Wil, recalling Giles Savidge’s fate on Tel Harion Fell. He looked at Mortimer.
‘Right, this time we really are going to get Tally!’
And stepping over Colin’s mother and the wolf, Wil stamped very heavily across the door before he and Mortimer broke into a run.
‘Snuffy-woo’s not playing with mommy…what’s mommy going to do now?’ wailed the woman.
‘Make a new hat!’ called Wil over his shoulder.
They charged down the golden steps two at a time. At the bottom a long stone corridor led them back through the now bustling kitchen. Being considerably taller than the half-dozen hobgoblins that were stirring, kneeding and rolling, Wil doubted that their appearance would go unnoticed, but he didn’t care. He and Mortimer hit fresh air and took off towards the square. Behind them a voice boomed out of the kitchen doorway.
‘WHERE’S MY QUAIL EGGS? I ORDERED A ‘UNDRED AND TWENTY AND YOU GI’ ME EIGHTY. I DON’ ‘AVE TIME FOR THIS. OH MY GAAAWDD!’
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lord Rexmoore
Mortimer gathered up Shadow’s reins.
‘I’ll go on, Wil. Seth’ll be waiting by now so I’d better get there before he does anything foolish – there’s no way we can release that bonacuss until we’ve got Tally. Keep Mia with you and just for a change can you try to keep your crossbow with you!’
‘Okay, okay!’ said Wil, hitching the bow over his shoulder. ‘But how are we going to get Tally and Tanith out now? We’re going to be right in the middle of the competition!’
As if to endorse Wil’s statement, a cheer erupted from the square. Mortimer jumped into Shadow’s saddle in one clean spring.
‘Dunno yet. But I’ll think of something. See you back at Tanith’s stall,’ he said and kicked Shadow into a gallop from a standing start.
Then a thought struck Wil.
‘But what if Tanith’s in the competition?’ he called.
But Mortimer was too far off and didn’t hear him.
It was difficult to know if the competition was, in fact, under way as Wil headed back towards the square. There were still an awful lot of people milling around and the market stalls on Bell Street were now doing brisk business despite the crush; carrying a raven with a bolt through her wing certainly proved challenging with everyone competing for what little space there was.
But what to do?
Wil stood brooding for a moment. He had no doubt that his first aid bag would have something to help Pricilla but there was still the problem of how to keep her safe while he went to help the others rescue Tally.
‘Hi again,’ said a cheery voice.
Dragged from his thoughts, Wil didn’t recognise the smiling girl sitting behind one of the stalls, but then the ruby in her earring caught the sunlight and the tale about the dragon’s tooth and the bull came flooding back.
‘Have you come back for the dagger? I knew you would! Hey, what’ve you got there?’
Before he could stop her, the girl reached over and drew back the edge of Wil’s cloak.
‘Oh, wow, a raven,’ she whispered. ‘They are so intelligent. I had one once – Caroline. Is this your pet? Have you just bought it?’
‘Er, no,’ said Wil. Pricilla was so still he wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t dead. ‘She’s mine, er, from before. She followed me here and then got injured.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible!’ said the girl, looking appalled. ‘Did someone hurt her? Some people! They can be so cruel. Here, let me see.’
She held out her hands.
‘Prruk!’ said Pricilla, but she made no effort to escape the girl’s fingers. Wil’s mind raced. The raven trusted this girl, he could feel it … and anyway he really didn’t know what else to do … maybe if she could just mind Pricilla for a while…
‘Does he... she have a name?’ asked the girl, carefully unfolding Pricilla’s injured wing. A small boy pushed in beside Wil and reached out to touch the bird. The girl rounded on him, ‘There’s nothing for you to see here so go away!’
With a pout, the boy ducked under Wil’s arm and scuttled into the crowd. Pricilla winked.
‘Her name’s Pricilla,’ said Wil. ‘So, er, so you know a bit about ravens then?’
He crossed his fingers.
‘Well, I didn’t have Caroline for very long – the Red Back… you know,’ said the girl. She wrinkled her nose. ‘But she was a great bird. When I first found her she had a broken leg. I fixed that… hmm, this bolt though, wouldn’t know where to start.’
Wil took a deep breath.
‘Look, I’ve got to find my friends in there,’ he jabbed his thumb towards the square. ‘And… well, I just can’t take Pricilla with me – it wouldn’t be fair, she’d get crushed in no time. I don’t suppose you could, er...’
The girl’s mouth broke into a resigned grin.
‘So you don’t want to buy the dagger then?’
‘If I had the money…’ said Wil truthfully – it really was a handsome knife.
The girl stroked Pricilla’s head gently while she thought. After a moment she nodded.
‘Okay. I’ll watch her for you. But I do want to see the moons cross so make sure you’re back here in plenty of time!’
‘Oh, believe me, I’ll be back long before then,’ said Wil, thinking of his promise to Lady Élanor. Not being back in plenty of time wasn’t an option!
Another roar rolled around the ramshackle buildings that lined Bell Street – followed by rapturous applause. The square was now jam-packed. Everyone was wearing some sort of orange and purple costume: capes, dresses, robes, trousers with one orange leg and one purple leg; one man towered above the crowd on orange and purple stilts; and almost everyone wore some sort of orange and purple hat. Almost as soon as Wil walked into the knot of colourful revellers pushing and shoving, his sense of direction completely deserted him.
Phinn and Mia stayed close while Wil searched for something familiar. The whole area was littered with people, stalls, wagons and campfires; even the weird and wonde
rful – although sometimes appalling – smells that had caught his attention previously, this time made no impression. Wil couldn’t get the smell of the putrefying Wraithe Wolf out of his nostrils.
Beside him, Phinn’s hot breath warmed his arm through his cloak.
‘Hey, Phinn,’ he thought, fondling the hound’s ear as he tried to concentrate. ‘Can you sniff out Gisella? I haven’t got a clue where we are.’
Phinn raised his head and sniffed the air – whether this was more to do with the wild boar spit roast to their left or because he had heard his master’s words, Wil wasn’t entirely sure but he decided to give the hound the benefit of the doubt. Wil needed to get the idea of Gisella into Phinn’s mind. But what to think of? Almost immediately the vision of Gisella washing in the river came to him and he tried to push the image towards Phinn. And it really was a very pleasant image – Gisella’s long, athletic legs; her gentle laugh; she looked pretty, even when she was cross…
A gruff voice jolted Wil out of his memory.
‘You gonna stand there all day?’ growled the man behind the spit roast. Phinn’s interest had turned to the wild boar.
‘Oh, no… sorry,’ said Wil. He moved Phinn and Mia on a few stalls and tried again but Phinn didn’t respond.
Somewhere in the middle of the arena a band struck up with a very lively rendition of something Wil’s father used to play on the flute. Nearby, a young girl’s eyes flicked from Phinn to Wil but, ignoring her wide-eyed interest, Wil fixed his gaze on the plainest, least distracting thing he could see – the brown woollen cloak of the man in front of him.
‘Find Gisella, Phinn. Find Gisella.’
Wil made the image in his mind so big that he felt he could reach out and touch it. But Phinn didn’t budge – in fact this time he didn’t even do Wil the courtesy of looking interested. It occurred to Wil that perhaps a more recent image might be more helpful. He thought again and after one more very enjoyable moment, he abandoned the splendid memory of Gisella in the river and thought instead of Gisella with Tanith, here in Armelia. He tried to make both Gisella and the winged horse as clear as he could. He pictured Tanith’s mane of fine golden strands, his kind brown eyes and his inquisitive velvety muzzle; then Wil thought again about Gisella; her tanned face, her soft hand resting in his. Almost immediately Phinn raised his head, sniffed the air and set off around the edge of the crowd. Wil moved to follow – so, too, did the curious girl. Wil’s concentration broke. He stopped abruptly, surveyed the row of stalls with a frown and then looked down at the girl as if noticing her for the first time.
‘Er, someone told me there was a dragon around here. Can you point me in the right direction?’ he said, not having to try very hard to look lost.
The girl’s eyebrows rose almost into her hairline.
‘Oh, you mean the Ridge Creeper? Oh, it’s so cute. But you’re going in completely the wrong direction – it’s over there, next to the pork pie wagon,’ she said, pointing back past the end of Bell Street to the other side of the square. ‘I’ll show you if you like. Are these your dogs?’
‘Er, yer. Er, it’s OK. I’m sure I’ll find it,’ said Wil, thrown by the girl’s suggested change of direction. Waiting, Phinn turned his head just enough to keep one eye on Wil.
‘Phinn, come, this way,’ said Wil. But Phinn stubbornly held his ground and took one step forward. Mia was now alongside him. A man behind them tutted and a woman shook her head.
‘You’d think ‘e could take ‘em round the back. I can’t see anything with them in the way!’
Another woman pursed her lips and nodded in silent agreement. Wil turned back to the girl.
‘Think I’ll give the dragon a miss. Don’t want to cause any trouble,’ he said with an apologetic grin and ducked into the crowd, thinking very hard, ‘Go! Phinn, Mia. Find Gisella!’
Despite the very large number of unusual animals in the square, two determined Fellhounds weaving through the sea of purple and orange at shoulder height to most people had the effect of making even the burliest drunk step to one side. The trouble was, no one linked Wil to the hounds and as soon as they passed by the sea closed in again. Everywhere people were talking, eating, playing music or drinking; others were fighting or dancing – although in some cases it was actually very difficult to tell the difference.
The noises and the smells were overwhelming and, struggling to keep up, it was only then that Wil started to wonder whether Phinn and Mia really would be able to find Gisella: after all Phinn hardly knew Gisella, and Wil had no idea how long she had been working with Mia before the misunderstanding with Mortimer. With every step, Wil was becoming more convinced that they were going the wrong way. A snarling, gnashing dog fight broke out in the pen he had just elbowed his way past.
‘Right, that’s it. Give me that bone, Torris!’
With surprising agility, the owner of the Drangfell Pinscher vaulted over the rail into the animal’s pen. More shouting followed, ‘And this time you ain’t ‘avin’ it back!’ Then the man vaulted back out of the pen gripping a huge bone in his thick fist. ‘Bloody dogs!’
Despite a rather tatty green rosette hanging limp from the corner of the stall that certainly hadn’t been there earlier, Wil recognised Torris’s owner… and the enormous bone. They were on the right path.
He was just feeling guilty for doubting Phinn when a bell chimed. The entire square seemed to take a sharp breath in.
Another voice Wil had heard before boomed out over the square, now tightly packed with upturned faces.
‘Oyez, Oyez, Oyez.
Hear ye all.
You’ve heard the bands and laughed at the jokes,
But before the witch goes up in smoke,
There’s gold to be won and animals galore,
So without further ado let’s close our hands
And welcome fair Imelda and Lord Rexmoore.’
The town crier’s announcement was met with very little applause but on cue owners and animals erupted from every stall. There was a loud crash and a shout and a wagon was upturned. Lifted off his feet in the surge, Wil was swept forward by the flow of people converging on the arena. Tall as he was, the crush of bodies made breathing extremely difficult and he thanked the moons that Pricilla wasn’t still tucked in his jacket.
With what felt like the weight of the entire crowd behind him, Wil’s crossbow dug painfully into his back.
‘Mind what you’re doing with that thing!’ growled a man’s voice behind him.
‘I wish I could!’ wheezed Wil.
Whatever the man said next was completely lost. Somewhere overhead a canon exploded. Everyone stopped dead as the deafening boom bounced between the castle walls and the golden tower, and before the echo stopped another voice called out over the hundreds of heads.
‘Riiiight, now I’ve got your attention, I think we could do with a bit of order round here, don’t you think?’
The pressure on Wil’s chest eased very slightly.
Standing on the stage, high above the crowd, a spindly man was beaming.
‘Riiight,’ he repeated in a harsh, nasally tone, rubbing his hands together as he spoke. ‘First of all, all those without animals take three steps back.’ He flicked his long fingers as if ushering away children. A few people around Wil shuffled; some took a few tiny steps back but most only managed one. The man raised his eyebrows and cocked his head to one side, ‘Now come along, I’m sure we can do better than that! One more step, Thaaat’s it. Good!’
He clapped twice then pressed his hands together again.
‘Now, all those people with green rosettes move back, too.’
He wagged his finger at someone near the front.
‘Yeees, madam. That includes you. Naughty, naughty! Everybody else knows that runners-up are not allowed into the main competition.’
There was an almost universal groan. The man on the stage held up his palms.
‘Sorry, but those are the rules.’ His smile almost cut his sharp face in
half.
A few people retreated another inch; several people around Wil swore and a lady to his right burst into tears.
‘We were counting on that prize. There’s tax due. How am I going to feed the children now?’ she sobbed. The speaker on the stage seemed oblivious to the building tension and continued to beam.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ he said, raising his voice slightly. ‘For those who haven’t met me before, I’m Lord Rexmoore.’
No one cheered. Wil ducked down behind the very short person in front of him – suddenly, not wearing anything purple and orange felt like a distinct disadvantage. To his right, a man put his arm around the sobbing woman, muttered something too quiet for Wil to hear, and then gently guided her away. Wil made an attempt to follow. Perched on the woman’s shoulder was a bright green bird with one orange eye and one purple eye – as it shifted its weight Wil could see it had two sets of wings.
Above him, Rexmoore surveyed the scene with an open-mouthed beam.
‘Well, I’m not sure if you heard me there but,’ he called with a slow nod; wiry arms wide, palms upturned, ‘I’m Lord Rexmoore.’
Half-hearted applause rippled through the crowd. One lone soul clapped. Rexmoore turned to a sour-faced woman behind him.
‘Well, well, dear. We’ve got a deaf old bunch here today, haven’t we?’
Without waiting for an answer he turned back, his smile fixed. Behind him, the woman’s malevolent eyes bore into his back.
‘We’ll give it another go, shall we? I mean, there’s always room on the pyre for one more up here,’ Rexmoore gestured extravagantly towards the stacked bonfire – Wil wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not, but there was no sign of Tally. The woman – Imelda, Wil guessed – allowed a glimmer of a cruel smile to cross her face. Rexmoore opened his arms once more.
‘I’m Lord Rexmoooooore.’
The crowd gave in. An exaggerated cheer rang out around the square – although Wil, now carefully edging backwards, was sure he could hear people booing, too.