‘If I knew a girl like that, I’d keep her for myself, wouldn’t I,’ said one of the men, ‘not help a sly dog like you find out where she lives.’
More laughter.
Chamberlain bit his lip and told himself to stay calm. Then he recalled Coyle’s words. ‘She wears a yellow dress sometimes.’
‘A yellow dress. Oh, I know the girl you mean,’ said the woman who had laughed at him so freely. ‘I saw her come down this street early one morning,’ and she pointed out the direction.
‘Thank you, ma’am. Much obliged.’
He moved on, pleased with himself. At the next corner, he asked again.
‘A yellow dress. Can’t say I notice such things,’ said an old man. ‘But the strange contraption, yes, I saw that marvel not so long ago. It’s not something you forget easily, even when you’ve seen as many odd sights as I have.’
He pointed Chamberlain in the same general direction the woman had indicated. Sooner or later, he would need more than a vague wave along the busy main streets, but for now he was content to be getting closer.
He turned to scan the crowd that milled behind him, out of habit or because he had glimpsed something unnatural, he wasn’t sure. Often, these things came down to instinct. No one seemed to be watching him with any particular interest. At this time of day, there were mostly women around, some with young children clinging to their aprons, crying, demanding attention. None were a threat to him and he didn’t look closely at their faces. Instead, he turned his eyes on the few men he could see, whether they looked his way or not. He took note of what each was wearing — a red vest on one, a feathered hat on another — and if the same man stayed close for too long, he would know he was being followed. That was an easy problem to solve: he carried a dagger in his belt, and thanks to Lord Coyle, had had plenty of practice in using it.
He went on with his searching: more blank stares, more shrugged shoulders. He was growing impatient; he could not afford to fail. Since there were no more reports of his quarry along the main thoroughfares, he drifted into the lanes, asking at doorways, quizzing the children in the street. At last, his diligence paid off.
‘Yes, I remember the yellow dress. Had one like it myself as a young thing,’ said a woman who was too wrinkled and bent to have ever been young. ‘Saw the girl a few times, in fact. Pretty, as you say, and a very determined type if I’m any judge of the look on her face.’
‘Which direction was she coming from?’
‘Oh, that’s easy. From along this street. She lives in one of those houses, five doors down, or maybe six.’
He had found them! Careful not to give away his excitement, he thanked the old woman and sauntered down the street as though out for a stroll while at the same time carefully counting the doors. It was a well-kept part of the city and pleasantly quiet, which meant he couldn’t dally for long without being noticed from a window. His luck stayed strong, however, because a door opened across the street and a maid came out to sweep the stoop.
‘Excuse me, miss. Who lives in those houses opposite?’
The girl spun round, surprised, ‘The white door is for the Whippets, sir. A very respectable family. I know their maid and she has nothing but good things to say about them.’
‘And the blue door a little further along?’ asked Chamberlain.
‘That’s one of the king’s scholars, sir. Master Dessar, I think his name is.’
‘Dessar,’ Chamberlain repeated as his face broke into a triumphant grin. ‘You have been a great help,’ he muttered and, to the girl’s astonishment, he dropped five royals into her hand.
If she thanked him, he didn’t hear it. Dessar — he’d heard that name before, when the news of strange events in Nan Tocha had first reached Coyle’s house. He hadn’t been able to find out why his master was so interested in these mysterious tales, but the name could not be a coincidence. This was the place.
No faces had come to the window of Dessar’s house, no curtains had been tugged aside even an inch. They had no idea they had been discovered. To be sure things stayed that way, he turned back the way he had come. And there, in the middle of the road, watching him, was a startling sight.
‘You! What are you doing here?’ he asked, and took a step closer, but he must have moved too suddenly and frightened the boy because he ran off into the shadows of a narrow lane between two houses.
Chamberlain stopped his advance and thought for a moment. To return to Coyle with news of where the troublemakers were hiding was his duty, but to return carrying a precious prize as well might bring a fabulous reward.
‘You’re lost, aren’t you?’ he called. ‘The silly girl I sent to watch you has let you wander off and now you have no idea how to get back. It’s a good job I’ve found you and not some vagabond who would do you harm.’ He held out his hand towards the darkened lane. ‘Won’t you come out and join me? We can go back together.’
No movement in the lane. Chamberlain went closer. This wouldn’t be hard; he would be on his way again soon enough. He had taken three steps into the lane when a tightness took hold of his throat. He thought nothing of it at first — a spasm in the muscles of his neck, most likely. This last hour of searching had been very tense. Another two paces, though, and he couldn’t dismiss what was happening. His hands flew to his throat. With a shock, he found it had closed entirely. Air struggled to reach his lungs. He tried to cry out, but that needed air to flow outwards as much as breathing needed air to go in. He must get help. The girl sweeping her master’s front step — she would still be there. If he could stagger out into the street, she would see him and send for a doctor. If he could only breathe …
He felt the heat in his face, the blood swelling in his temples. He grew dizzy. Move, move, he demanded of his feet, but they seemed bound together. He collapsed onto the stony ground, clutching at his throat as though he could claw it open from the outside. Air, air … he would give all he owned for a single breath.
His dizziness worsened, the darkness around him was dotted with red and gold circles that throbbed in time with his agony. He rolled onto his back and, through the haze of panic and pain, saw the face that had drawn him into this lane. A child’s face that showed no emotion at all as it watched him die.
21
Blood on the Straw
Miston’s cellar was built to keep things cool — his wine, his turnips and onions, sacks of flour and a ham that hung on a hook from the rafters. It was dry, and the floor was scattered with fresh straw, but it seemed especially cold that morning.
We had been so close to a daring triumph — I had even held Lucien in my arms as I’d dreamed of doing. We should be on our way to Erebis Felan by now. Instead, I was as far from taking Lucien there as I had ever been. Our failure had sent us scuttling back here with our tails between our legs.
Ryall sat beside me, our backs against the stone wall, knees folded up. My chest sagged forward almost onto my thighs, but he sat with his head resting against the wall, his eyes closed. Geran had remained upstairs to speak with Miston. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at the table, for she hadn’t come down to join us on the straw. On the other side of the cellar, Tamlyn nursed his own sour thoughts. He was seated on the only chair — the only stick of furniture, in fact, that had been brought down from above.
I watched Tamlyn with a steady stare. If he knew I was inspecting him, he didn’t show it. Was he thinking of the same things that played again and again in my own head? He had broken his pledge to me. When the moment had come, when we’d almost achieved our aim, he had thrown it away to confront his father. Then, when I had lain stranded, my foot caught and boulders smashing to the ground around me, he’d deserted me for the foul pleasure of revenge. I wasn’t sure that I could ever trust him again. I wasn’t even sure he would stay a part of my life.
Footsteps from above made us look up. Miston’s legs appeared on the stairs, followed by Geran’s lighter tread. The others hadn’t yet discovered that Geran was a woman.
At the bottom step, the two of them hesitated, uncertain where to go next, it seemed. It was a fair sign of what we had come to. What could any of us say? What new plan could we devise, when it would surely fail for the same reason that this first attempt had? It wasn’t Coyle’s strength that had beaten us, it was Lucien himself. He had chosen his father over me. This was the body blow I felt in every aching muscle and, worst of all, in my mind. The fighting, the blood, the suffering of others that Coyle had instilled in him — it was the Wyrdborn magic inside Lucien that welcomed such horrors. It seemed that all the love I had showered on him since his mother’s death hadn’t been enough. He’d spurned me, and although I found many ways to forgive him, I could not dismiss the hurt or the truth of his rejection.
Into the solemn silence came the voice of Miston’s servant. ‘Master, there is a caller at the door.’
‘Send him away, whoever it is. Tell him I am ill.’
‘But, master, it is … I don’t think I can.’
‘What is he talking about?’ asked Miston, becoming annoyed. He moved back to the base of the stairs, then paused to survey us. ‘If it’s Coyle’s men …’
‘Coyle’s men wouldn’t knock politely at the door,’ said Tamlyn. Although his sword lay in the straw beside him, he didn’t reach for it and I wondered why.
Before Miston could start up the stairs, I saw movement at the top: the visitor was coming down. His progress was slow, as though he felt unsteady on the steps — an elderly man, perhaps. I expected the visitor to be one of Miston’s scholarly friends and looked for a walking stick and dusty shoes. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The feet that appeared were small, too small even for a woman’s. They descended one step at a time, both feet firmly together before moving to the next. It was the way a child would come downstairs. It was a child!
I jumped to my feet and hurried to the bottom step. There was only one child I could think of, only one I wanted to see. And there he was — my Lucien, here in Miston’s house.
Despite my delight, I held back. When I had last gone to him, arms outstretched, he had kept his distance. Had anything changed?
‘Lucien,’ I called instead, and he broke off his careful descent to search out my face. His own face broke into a smile and then I knew. This wasn’t the callous grin of the monster I had glimpsed while Coyle and Tamlyn slashed at each other. There was joy in his features, a real delight in finding me waiting for him.
‘Maymay,’ he said. Not Silvermay, but the childish shortening of my name that he had first uttered in the harbour at Greystone. ‘I want to be with Maymay,’ he said more definitely.
He was within reach now and, brushing past Miston, I lunged for him and took him into my arms. This time, he welcomed my embrace and wriggled his little body to fit himself more easily against me.
‘You’ve come to me, you’ve chosen me, after all,’ I whispered into his ear.
The others crowded around us. There was a smile for Tamlyn and also for Ryall, but wary glances at Miston and Geran.
‘He’ll get used to you after a while,’ I assured them, warning them with my eyes to stay back for the moment.
‘How did you get here?’ Tamlyn asked him.
Lucien turned to face him and said simply, ‘I walked.’
Stunned silence followed, then, as though we had all been trained to respond on cue, a peal of laughter filled the cellar, so loud it must have raced up the stairwell to be heard out in the street.
‘You walked. Of course you did,’ said Ryall.
The answer had told us nothing and yet it had told us everything. There was no need for heroic rescues if the hostage could slip away from his captors like this.
Since simple words seemed popular with his audience, Lucien tried some more. ‘I’m hungry.’
More easy laughter.
Miston spoke quietly to his servant and the man climbed the stairs to the kitchen, but instead of moving about above our heads, as I’d expected, I heard him open and then close the front door. He’s gone to the market to replenish the larder, I decided and thought no more about it.
I cuddled Lucien and squeezed another smile from him. ‘You want my hugs, don’t you, not your father’s miserable ways?’ I cooed. ‘Comfort is better than cruelty.’
Love is a strange creature. It lives inside us and we feel it radiating out towards those that mean most to us, but its joy only warms us right through when someone we love shows how much they need us in return. That was the feeling that came over me in the cellar. All the disappointment of our failure beneath the city was turned on its head — everything I thought I had lost had now been granted me. The swing of emotion was enough to throw me off balance. I felt like falling onto the straw with a burst of girlish giggles and inviting Lucien to crawl all over me. Instead, I spoke to the others.
‘There’s a lot that still has to happen, but at least there is hope now. We have to get Lucien out of Vonne, first of all, and fast. Coyle might not even know he is missing yet.’
I looked at Tamlyn as I said this and saw the hope I spoke of in his face, too. It was as if the betrayal of just a couple of hours before hadn’t happened.
‘We’ll find a way,’ he replied, and looked at Ryall. I could tell that within minutes they would have their heads together, working out a plan.
‘Once we’re free of the city, it’s up to you, Geran,’ I went on.
She had moved away across the cellar after the first excitement of Lucien’s arrival. When I spoke to her, she started suddenly, as though my words were the last thing she had expected.
‘You will take us to your homeland, won’t you?’ I said. ‘To Erebis Felan?’
She held my gaze for a few moments but didn’t answer. Then she nodded, and looked towards Miston Dessar. Both of them were wearing faces more serious than the occasion called for. What had they discussed upstairs that stopped them joining the celebration?
Lucien was becoming tired of my hugs by now, as any boy would. I knew it, but I wasn’t ready to put him down just yet. It felt like our valiant little band of weeks before was back together again. It struck me then that there was a blood relationship in this group that shouldn’t be ignored.
‘Here, you take him,’ I said, and passed Lucien into Tamlyn’s arms. ‘He’s your brother. Play some games with him.’
‘Games?’
‘Bounce him up and down, make him laugh.’
Tamlyn stared at me, perplexed, but obeyed my words as though they were solemn instructions. He tossed Lucien up and down, bringing squeals of delight from my little Smiler. I watched them, these two Wyrdborn who were bound together by something apart from blood. I loved them both, even though I shouldn’t. Somehow, admitting this to myself made the hurt both had caused me fade away, like a ghost content to leave the living in peace.
The guilt hadn’t left Tamlyn, however. He stopped the game suddenly and gave Lucien back to me. ‘Silvermay, down in the mines, when you …’ He didn’t finish, he couldn’t; and until he could, we were as far apart as ever.
Upstairs, the front door opened, announcing the return of Miston’s servant. Soon we would have something to eat. Defeat had killed my appetite, but with the change in our fortunes I was suddenly famished. I set Lucien down so that he could run about and while he explored the cellar, footsteps once again began to descend the staircase. I was eager to see what the servant had brought for us on his tray.
There was no tray, I quickly discovered, and the first face I saw wasn’t the servant’s, but a man of Miston’s age with the unmistakable air of a scholar about him. Behind him followed two more men I had never seen before, both older than Tamlyn but not as old as the two scholars. Miston’s friend greeted him with a shake of the hand, but the other two barely glanced his way. Instead, their eyes rested on Geran, who, like Miston, didn’t seem surprised to see them, either. The first touch of unease tightened the muscles of my stomach.
‘This is Lathen, a colleague of mine from the council of scholars,�
� said Miston, nodding towards the oldest of the three. ‘Although you don’t know him, he has been part of our plans from the beginning. In fact, he was one of those who kept the vigil outside Coyle’s house through the night-time hours.’
I nodded to him to show our appreciation, even if that tactic had proved fruitless.
‘And these others?’ asked Tamlyn, looking them over as cautiously as I had done.
‘Who they are will become clear soon enough,’ said Geran. ‘Do you mind if I hold the boy for a moment?’
I had no reason to distrust her; quite the opposite, in fact. At my nod, she moved a few paces to where Lucien was watching a moth settled on a bag of flour and scooped him into her arms. ‘There you are, my little one,’ she said with the tenderness of a young mother, and, as Tamlyn had done, she jigged him up and down in her arms a few times, earning herself a toothy smile. ‘Come and meet my friends,’ she cooed.
I had wondered how these two strangers had came to be among us, since Geran hadn’t mentioned any connections she had among the commonfolk. The answer was clear now. She was a Felan, sent to keep watch on Athlane. Only now did it occur to me that she might not be the only one. This meant there would be three Felan to help us on our journey to their mystical land and surely that was a good thing? But if so, why did the muscles all over my body begin to knot and my arms itch to have Lucien safely in their grasp once more?
‘This is the child,’ said Geran, still bouncing Lucien playfully as she showed him to the strangers. Then she sat him in the chair that Tamlyn had vacated earlier. The little figure looked out of place on a seat meant for a grown-up, but remained there happily at first, watching the faces around the cellar focused on him alone. What baby doesn’t like to be the centre of attention? I thought. He was a baby, though, and soon became bored with sitting still. He shuffled forward, ready to slip onto the straw and run back to me, except Geran’s hand pressed him back into place. He tried to force his way forward, but Geran continued to restrain him.
Tamlyn Page 21