Tamlyn

by James Moloney

  I hurried out of the house and managed to catch sight of a figure before it turned out of our lane. It was Tamlyn, all right. I followed him through streets abandoned to cats and drunkards on their way home, none of them interested in us.

  After the empty market, Tamlyn turned to the right, away from his old home. Where was he going? To my surprise, it seemed that he wasn’t sure himself because he stopped several times and looked up, as though examining the houses and taller landmarks to gain his bearings. Was there a particular address he had to find — for a secret meeting, perhaps? Once, he doubled back on himself and would have caught me if I hadn’t ducked quickly behind a wagon. Very strange, and when it went on for many minutes, I couldn’t prevent suspicion springing up in my mind. Tamlyn had opened his heart to me a little about his mother, but what else had he told me about growing up in the city? There had been no mention of friends, of the places he liked to go. There was so much I didn’t know about him, and after the way he had been acting in recent weeks how sure could I be that he wasn’t doing what all other Wyrdborn seemed to enjoy — lying, cheating, and working for his ends alone without a care for Lucien’s rescue?

  These fears were weighing heavily on me when finally Tamlyn’s searching stopped. He entered a small square surrounded by houses and shops, all of them darkened while their inhabitants slept, and went straight to a well in its middle. Surely he hadn’t come all this way for a bucket of water. He stared over the circular stone wall, then startled me by climbing inside.

  Five minutes passed; ten. No sign of his return.

  Not another soul had ventured into the square in that time, so I took a risk and went to the well myself. The hole was dark and I could barely see much further down it than I could reach with my hands. I jumped back as something brushed my shoulder and almost immediately something else swooped close to my head. Urgh, bats. Not my favourite animal. I was waving my arms about to ward away any others that might flitter up from below when a sound came from deep in the well. It had to be Tamlyn climbing back out.

  I ran to my hiding place and turned just in time to see him emerge. As best as I could tell, his clothing wasn’t wet, which seemed odd. He paused to scan the shopfronts and I pulled my head back to be sure his Wyrdborn eyes didn’t pick me out. When I dared peek once more, I saw him placing boards over the top of the well. Once this job was done, he stood back and checked the moonless sky again as though the stars held some message that no one else could see. Then he was off again and in more of a hurry, and it was that sudden haste that got the better of me. I lost him.

  Where had he gone? What was he up to? I had no answers, only the uncomfortable seeds of distrust. There was nothing for me to do but head back to Miston Dessar’s house. I had only just returned to my bed of straw in the cellar when I heard Tamlyn arrive back in the house as well. What could have been so important that he’d spent an hour searching for it, then left only a few minutes after finding it?

  When the dawn light made its tentative way down to the cellar soon after my return, I had to rise quickly and take over from Miston, who had watched Coyle’s home through the early hours. He’d had no more luck than Ryall or me, and I wondered if Coyle would ever appear. At the same time, I was sure we were right that his Wyrdborn nature wouldn’t let him stay away from Lucien for more than a day or two. He must come out through that gate soon.

  There weren’t many people in the square, which made me stand out more, especially in my yellow dress. Birdie had said it would make me feel less like a peasant girl, and it did do that, I suppose. I was soon to learn what else it would do for me that morning.

  The magician appeared and immediately began to attract passers-by into a small crowd. I joined them, as much out of fascination as for refuge. What a trickster he was. Pigeons appeared from empty boxes; a rope stood on end, rigid enough for him to climb, and once he was on the ground again the same rope let itself be tied into a dozen knots. Amazing!

  There were other things I began to notice, too. The magician always faced towards Coyle’s mansion, as though performing for those inside. Yet surely the servants would be too busy to look down from the windows for more than a moment at a time? Even when he rested between shows, he never strayed far from the gate. He’s hoping the residents send down a generous reward for the entertainment, I decided. Obviously, he didn’t know who lived there, since the Wyrdborn were takers, not givers.

  To my surprise, when the magician began his next performance, he bounded across the circle around him to where I stood. ‘Shall I make this pretty girl disappear?’ he called to the crowd.

  People began to laugh and heckle him. ‘Go on then, bet you can’t.’

  He bowed, leaned close to me and under the noise of the crowd whispered, ‘You’ve been spotted from the house.’

  As quickly as he had bent forward, he backed away into the centre of the ring and produced a pigeon between his hands, which he tossed up above his head so that it could take wing. His act seemed to be going on as before, as though he hadn’t said a word to me. Had I misheard?

  With the trick done, he looked towards me and frowned. Then he was in front of me again, almost before I’d seen him move. He threw a handful of coloured dust into the air above our heads and, before my eyes, they became butterflies, a dozen of them, as brightly coloured as the dust they had sprung from.

  ‘Follow them. Go now, while you still have time,’ he said to me, not a whisper but an urgent demand.

  It was all too bewildering — the pigeon that had appeared from nowhere, the whispers for me alone, the butterflies that, even as I tried to make sense of what was happening, were fluttering away. Then the crowd around me parted and a tall, dark-bearded man lunged for my arm. I pulled away, backing into the ring alongside the magician.

  ‘Come here, girl,’ said the bearded man. ‘Lord Coyle will want to know why you are watching his house.’

  He came at me again, and would have grabbed me if the magician’s rope hadn’t become tangled around his ankles. The crowd opened for me and I was through, heading for the nearest street that led out of the square.

  When I reached it, I turned and saw that a second man had charged through the spiked gates. I took off down the street, cursing my yellow dress that stood out among the dull browns and greys. Yet there were other colours, I noticed — above my head. The butterflies! They’d somehow reached this street ahead of me and now fluttered up, down, left, right, yet all in the same direction. Follow them, the magician had told me.

  A glance over my shoulder showed one of the men gaining on me, so when the butterflies veered sharply to the right I went after them into a narrow lane. Bad plan! When I was halfway along the lane, the bearded man still behind me, I saw his companion racing towards me from the other end. What use were the butterflies now, especially as they kept flying ahead as though there was no man waiting to grab them? Then I realised there wasn’t; it was me he was after.

  The butterflies vanished, as though they didn’t want to take the risk in any case. Then I saw where they had escaped to — through a door that opened directly off the lane. I raced after them and found myself running through a kitchen where a cook stood open-mouthed, ladle in hand. A scullery maid screamed as I shot past her into a pantry lined with brass saucepans and shelves groaning with vegetables, then out the other side into a different lane.

  A second scream told me the men were close behind. I was off again, after the butterflies and into another house, which brought me back to the lane where I’d started, but this time it was empty. Clearly, the men were still trying to guess where I’d gone.

  Not the butterflies, though — orange, turquoise, blue — I chased the rainbow of colours to the end of the lane and then left into a wider, more crowded street. On we went, through lane after lane, left and right, with no pattern to their flight. It was no surprise that before long I was utterly lost, and happy to be so because the men had lost me, as well.

  ‘Where to now?’ I asked the butterfli
es as they hovered in a shadowed spot.

  They didn’t move, which wasn’t such a bad idea. The men would still be looking for me, and my yellow dress, much as I loved it, would instantly give me away if they spotted it. The important thing was to warn Ryall not to take up the vigil after lunch, but our changeover time was more than an hour away yet, so I took my lead from the butterflies and stayed put.

  When I did finally emerge from the shadows, I used the high tower of King Chatiny’s palace to get my bearings and guide myself back to Miston’s house. This time, the cloud of colour trailed me, instead of showing the way ahead.

  ‘Silvermay!’ said Ryall in surprise when he opened the door. ‘It’s not midday yet. Why have you left the square? Has something happened?’

  The fear in his voice brought Tamlyn from the cellar and Miston from his bed where he was catching up on lost sleep. I looked over my shoulder for the butterflies, but they had gone. The men would never believe me, so I told them of the magician’s warning and my wild escape, but not of the strange magic that had saved me.

  ‘Coyle will have his guardians on the lookout now. We’ll have to find some other way to watch the house,’ said Miston when we settled around his table to talk things through. ‘As for you, Silvermay, leave that yellow dress in the cupboard. In fact, you will have to stay here with Tamlyn now, in case Coyle’s men keep looking for you.’

  But what other way was there to watch the house? We still hadn’t come up with a plan when a knock at the door interrupted our discussion. Had I been followed, after all? Terrified, I wondered if I had led Coyle to our hideaway and, in one swoop, he would snatch us all up.

  ‘Into the cellar,’ Miston ordered.

  He got no arguments from us, not even from Tamlyn, whose hand had gone instantly to his sword, I noticed. If I’d had a weapon, it would have been ready in my hand, too.

  We heard Miston open the door. ‘Good afternoon, young man. What can I do for you?’ he asked.

  ‘You can bring out the girl I’ve come to meet,’ said a voice I recognised.

  ‘It’s the magician,’ I whispered to Tamlyn and Ryall and, before they could stop me, I climbed the stairs to join Miston at his door.

  ‘Ah, this is the house, then,’ said the magician as soon as he saw me.

  ‘How did you find me?’ I asked.

  ‘Can’t you guess?’ he answered, as though disappointed I’d had to ask, then grinned in an infuriating way.

  ‘Who are you?’ I demanded.

  ‘My name is Geran,’ he said with a little bow. ‘And since I have told you mine, it would be courteous to give me yours in exchange.’

  If he was one of Coyle’s spies, why would he have warned me that his companions were coming? No, whoever he was, he wasn’t working for Coyle.

  ‘Silvermay,’ I said, uncertainly. ‘Why did you —’

  But he cut me off with a question of his own. ‘Why have you been watching Lord Coyle’s house, Silvermay? There is a boy who’s been watching, too — tall, with something odd about his arm. Is he a friend of yours?’

  Movement behind me drew his eye over my shoulder, and before I could turn around I heard Ryall say, ‘Yes, we’re friends.’ He came to stand beside me and I saw that his sleeve was rolled up and the mechanical arm was visible.

  ‘A fine pair of spies you two make,’ said the magician. ‘One wears a dress that only a blind man could miss and the other has a hand made of steel.’

  When he put it like that, I had to admit we’d been careless. But I wasn’t going to let him get the better of us.

  ‘How could you find me?’ I snapped. ‘And those tricks, back in the square, the rope, the pigeon, the butterflies that helped me escape — those were more than a street conjurer’s tricks. There was real magic in them. You’re some kind of Wyrdborn, aren’t you?’

  It had only really occurred to me as the words left my mouth. He might not be working for Coyle, but he could well be in the pay of another — or worse still, King Chatiny.

  ‘Wyrdborn!’ He spat the word out as though his mouth was filled with rotting apple. ‘I’m not one of that breed, you can be sure of it.’

  Then where had the magic come from? I was still convinced his tricks were more than sleight of hand.

  Miston and Ryall had looked at me as if I were mad when I mentioned the butterflies that had helped me escape, but now a look of wonder came to Miston’s face. ‘You are one of the Felan,’ he said.

  Until now, Geran had paid little attention to Miston, as though he were the helpless father of mischievous children. That changed instantly. Rather than deny what Miston had said, he gave a little bow and introduced himself all over again.

  ‘You are a scholar, sir,’ he said to Miston. ‘But before we talk any more about me, I want an answer to my question. Why have these two been watching Coyle’s house?’

  ‘For the same reason you have, most likely,’ I said. ‘Coyle has something we want, something that’s better off in our hands.’

  Again, Geran didn’t seem surprised. ‘Something, or someone?’

  His answer made me even more certain that we were on the same mission.

  ‘All right, someone,’ I said. ‘And if you are looking for the same person, you will be able to tell us more.’

  ‘A baby,’ he said. ‘A male child.’

  ‘You know a lot for one who has come from so far away,’ said Miston.

  ‘We keep watch on Athlane. Always have done, for centuries.’

  ‘You are a spy?’ asked Ryall.

  Geran shook his head. ‘Spies are sent by an enemy with thoughts of war. That’s not why Erebis Felan keeps watch on Athlane. We have no quarrel with you, and no need to interfere unless we feel threatened. But lately, there have been rumours. The city my people left in the mountains has been uncovered, and there is talk of a child, the one predicted by our mystics long ago.’

  ‘The prophecy is the story shown in the mosaics?’ asked Miston.

  Geran nodded. ‘Every Felan grows up hearing the tale that is displayed there in ghastly detail — it has been passed down for hundreds of years. The pictures were created from the terrible visions that tormented the strongest of our seers. Some died from the horror of what they foresaw. If that child has been born, after all, then the elders in Erebis Felan must know.’

  ‘How did you know to watch Lord Coyle’s house?’

  ‘I didn’t, not until he murdered his wife. That brought him to my attention, and when I asked quietly around town about him and followed his servants to the tavern where they let slip a word here and a word there, I became more interested. Call me a spy if you like,’ he said to Ryall, ‘but so are you and it seems we are looking for the same young boy. And we must find him before he turns into a monster no force can resist, not even the Felan.’

  We were still standing in Miston’s narrow entrance hall. Now Miston gestured to Geran. ‘You’d better come in, then. We have a lot more to discuss, I’m sure.’

  Geran followed us to the table, but refused the chair Miston pulled out for him, instead choosing one that let him see both the door that led onto the street and the opening in the floor that led to the cellar.

  ‘Please excuse me, but caution makes me keep doorways in sight,’ he said. ‘And there’s something in this house that unsettles me.’

  ‘You have nothing to fear from us,’ Miston said. ‘If we are to be allies in this business, we must trust one another.’

  Geran agreed, but still watched the top of the stairs with suspicion.

  Miston had called Geran our ally and I certainly saw him that way. We both wanted to free Lucien, but I was quickly becoming excited about something just as wonderful. Once Lucien was in my arms again, we would set out for Erebis Felan, and who would make a better travelling companion than a man who came from that faraway land. I could hardly believe our luck.

  ‘My escape from Coyle’s men, those butterflies — it was magic, wasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘The bearded man w
as Coyle’s chamberlain,’ said Geran. ‘I’ve seen him checking supplies as they arrive at the house. As for your escape, yes, I have powers, if you want to call them that. That’s how I found you here. The butterflies not only led you to safety, they came back to the square to show me where you lived. I must be honest with you, though, my powers might make it easy to entertain a crowd, but I have no magic to help me get inside Coyle’s fortress. How about you?’ he asked, searching the other faces around the table. ‘Why are you so sure about Coyle? Has one of his servants told you of a baby held somewhere in the house?’

  We three shared a look and left it to Miston to explain.

  ‘We don’t think Coyle has the baby in his home,’ he said.

  ‘Lucien,’ I reminded him. ‘He’s not “the baby”, he has a name.’

  ‘You give the baby a name, Silvermay, as though you know him well,’ said Geran.

  ‘As well as a mother knows her son,’ I replied, and, taking a breath, I launched into the story of how Nerigold’s little boy had become mine.

  ‘Wherever Lucien is being held, Coyle will want to check on him — or, at least, that’s what we hoped. We’ve been keeping watch, ready to follow him. Unless we’ve missed him, he hasn’t left the house and it’s been three days now. We’re beginning to think —’

  ‘No, you haven’t missed him,’ said Geran. ‘I’ve been watching longer than you, day and night, and Coyle hasn’t left his house, not even in disguise. Be sure of it.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to leave the house,’ said a new voice.

  We all turned to see Tamlyn’s head emerge from the cellar, where he’d been listening to every word. Beside me, I was aware of Geran tensing his entire body. The vague suspicion that had made him glance so often towards the stairs had suddenly hardened into something violent and dangerous. For a moment, I was worried he would launch himself at Tamlyn as he finished climbing the stairs to join us.