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Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1)

Page 15

by Kaptanoglu, Marjory


  He reached up and touched the hair on his shoulders, realizing what had happened. It was true, what she said… he’d always felt weak without Lance at his side. Her action brought him back to himself, Ash Kemp, the quiet reader, the soulful star-gazer. Lance was the fighter, and no matter how hard he tried, he could never be as skilled and determined as his brother. As his self-confidence slipped away, he began a frantic defense. Ratcher attacked with renewed energy. He didn’t hear the door opening, didn’t know the boarman had entered until he grabbed his arms from each side and pinned them around his back. Ash looked up to see Scarface looming behind him, the boarman he loathed most in the world.

  Ratcher said, “I see it all now. Lance was the strong one. You were only pretending to be him.”

  It was what he himself had known for years, but to hear it from his enemy’s lips cut nearly as painfully as the sword she thrust into him.

  TESSA

  I flew back through the open window into my bedchamber as soon as I saw Ash had made it safely into the castle from the dungeon. The noise was bound to attract attention, and I would be the first person Ratcher would think of, especially since Lord Fellstone had given me free reign of the place up till now. I landed on the floor, changed back into myself, leapt into my bed, and pulled the covers to my chin.

  A moment later, I heard my door being pushed inward. I pretended to be asleep, but half-opened my eyes to see who might enter.

  No one did. Something scraped across the floor, and then the door was closed again. I waited a moment before jumping up to see what was there. I nearly cried out when I realized what had been dragged into my room.

  It was the head of the roast pig from dinner. At first it baffled me, and then I had an idea who might bring me such a gift. I cracked my door open and peered out. Across the hall in the shadows, Malcolm and his brother Edmund huddled, snickering among themselves. Of course. I stuck my tongue out at them. They moved on, clearly disappointed that their prank had not evoked more of a reaction. They must have hoped I would run screaming from my room.

  I shut my door and leaned against it, waiting to give them time to clear out. I checked Calder’s map for the nearest stairway to the upper floor. He’d advised me to cross the south wing along that corridor. I took a cloth from the table, wrapped the pig head inside it, and carried it with me out of my chamber. The hallway was empty, and I hurried toward the southwest tower. The staircase was tucked behind an alcove, probably to discourage its use by general visitors to the castle. I hurried toward it, but before I could start up the steps, a hand grasped my arm from behind.

  “Did you like my gift?” Malcolm whispered into my ear. He spun me around and held me close to the wall.

  “Let go of me,” I said, keeping my voice low so as not to attract the attention of anyone else.

  He sniffed the air and looked down at the round shape I was carrying inside the cloth. “Why, here it is! You did like it. But where are you taking it?” He glanced up the stairs. “Do you have a starving friend among the servants who might like a bit of tongue? I confess I’m wounded you’re not keeping it for yourself.”

  “I’m getting rid of it. Now leave me alone.”

  “Tell me what your errand is. I can be trusted.”

  “There is no errand.”

  “Then leave that and allow me to entertain you in my chamber,” he said.

  “I would not wish to make Lady Nora unhappy,” I said.

  “She need never find out.”

  “Remove your hand or I’ll scream for help.”

  He looked amused. “Will you? Go ahead then,” he said, calling my bluff.

  I tried to pull away from him, but he pressed me against the wall. “As I thought,” he said. “You do have some hidden purpose. Well, if you’re going to sneak about the castle, do be careful to avoid the monsters.”

  He stepped back, releasing me from his hold.

  I hesitated. “Monsters?”

  “Have a nice evening.” He moved away.

  “Wait,” I said. “Tell me about them.”

  He paused and turned back. “If I do… and you survive… will you remember this favor?”

  I nodded. With luck, my friends and I would be leaving soon, and I would not see Malcolm again.

  He drew closer and lowered his voice. “They live in the passageways under the castle. I’ve never seen them; I can’t tell you what they look like. But I knew a boy who went down there and never came back.”

  “How does… how does one find these passageways?”

  “They were designed as a secret means of escape in case the castle fell to invading forces. There’s an entrance from most rooms. Mine is behind a tapestry, with the door raised above floor level so it can’t be seen.”

  I should’ve been glad of this information. What better way for my friends and me to escape? Certainly one of the passages must lead outside the castle walls; otherwise, it would only be a matter of time before the invaders would find those who were hiding, and slaughter them.

  But a cold dread spread inside me as I recalled my vision. I lay bound on a table in a cave beneath the ground. Lord Fellstone had told me I had powers. Could I see my own future? Was this the fate that awaited me in a grim tunnel carved into the rock below?

  Malcolm smiled at me. “I can see I’ve frightened you. Good. Because otherwise… it would be a shame if you were to die so soon after your rebirth as a Fellstone.”

  I turned away, shutting his words out and forcing the horrid vision from my mind. I hurried up the stone steps. It was much darker in the garret, and the hall felt claustrophobic with its low ceiling and close walls. The floor creaked as I scurried past the shabby wooden doors of the servants’ bedchambers. Moments later I reached the staircase that would lead back down to the conjuring room. Calder was there, waiting so still in the corner, I almost didn’t notice him. He looked at my bundle curiously and bent over it, closing his eyes as he breathed in the scent of pork.

  “Sorry, I didn’t bring it for you,” I said. “Where’s Ash?”

  “He’ll meet us later,” he whispered. He gestured for me to keep quiet and moved ahead of me, leading me down the twisty stairs. I wondered about Ash and if he had gone to confront Ratcher. I would’ve liked to find him and help him, though I sensed he would insist on carrying out his revenge entirely on his own.

  We reached the conjuring room without incident. The door was locked, and I had a moment of panic when my skeleton failed to open it. The key was not as perfect a fit as the one I’d given Ash, but with some manipulation, I managed to turn the lock. I looked back at Calder, who touched the handle of his dagger.

  “I hope we won’t have to hurt the poor dog,” I said.

  “Croco-dog,” he corrected. “Maybe he won’t be here.” He stepped in front of me, insisting on entering first, and I followed carrying my bundle.

  “Good croco-dog, good Fiend—”

  Fiend sprang at us, coming out of nowhere, his jaw snapping.

  I leapt behind the table, knocking everything off it. Calder dropped his bag and jumped the other way. Fiend slid into the door, slamming it shut.

  Calder picked up a wooden chair and held it out. “Down, boy!” he shouted. Fiend came after him and bit the chair, chomping it into bits.

  “Use this!” I cried, tossing him my bundle.

  Calder held it out to Fiend. The croco-dog spread open his giant jaw and Calder rolled the roast pig head into it. He jerked his arm away a fraction of a second before Fiend snapped his mouth shut. “You’re welcome,” Calder said.

  Fiend chomped once, crunching on bone, before swallowing the head whole. Done. He stared down Calder, who drew out his dagger. Fiend pounced and Calder flew backwards, banging his head on a cauldron, and instantly passing out. Fiend approached him, snorting and salivating, looming over Calder's unconscious form.

  What now? My gaze swept the room and fixed on a ritual knife left out on the counter. I sprang for it, gripped the weapon, then hurtled towa
rd Fiend from behind. I stabbed the creature’s back, but the knife broke on his tough scales. He whipped his tail sideways, knocking me into the corner, where I cowered as he advanced on me, his gait menacing, his open mouth exposing a deep, dark pit of razor-sharp teeth. I pressed back against the wall, perspiration spouting from my forehead as Fiend’s massive snout drew close. I said my last prayers, certain he would dispose of my head exactly as he had done with the pig. Only then did I notice the small cannonballs—five or six of them—stored in an open box near where I stood. If I could grab one of them and drop it on Fiend’s head… I inched toward the box and lifted one out, but it slipped out of my hand and rolled along the floor.

  Fiend’s eyes shifted to the ball. Suddenly, he whirled around and ran after it. He stopped it with his snout, then rolled it back toward me the same way. He directed it to my feet, paused, and looked up at me expectantly.

  He’s a dog after all. I rolled the ball along an empty path which had probably been cleared for just this purpose. Fiend followed it with his eyes before scrambling after it.

  Calder groaned and pulled himself up. He started at the sight of Fiend returning with the ball.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Are you all right?”

  Fiend dropped the ball next to Calder and wagged his tail.

  “Why, you’re nothing but a great big, mouthy puppy,” he said, rolling the ball away. He turned back to me. “The only permanent damage is to my self-esteem.” Calder hurried to the door and bolted it to hold back any sentries who might have heard the noise. “Quick as you can,” he said. He lit a lamp with his flint and continued rolling the ball for Fiend whenever he returned with it.

  “Why isn't Ash here yet?” I said.

  “I don’t know. Revenge is a tricky business.” Calder took my hand and led me to a cabinet. “This is it. Can you open it?”

  After checking the lock, I took out my ring of master keys. Outside the room, footsteps thumped along the corridor.

  “Hurry!” said Calder. “Time's running out.”

  I tried keys as fast as I could. If we did not get the dreadmarrow now, we would not get another chance and Papa would remain dead forever. I focused my concentration on the tasks before us: open the cabinet, take the dreadmarrow, escape the castle.

  I went through all my keys with none of them coming even close to fitting. I would have to try my tools now, but that would take time, and my hands were already shaking. Perhaps I needed to go through my keys again. Frozen by indecision, I stared at the golden oval plate surrounding the keyhole, which had an intricate geometric pattern carved into it. Where have I seen that before?

  “Can I help?” Calder said.

  “I’m thinking,” I said. “It was all so easy till now.”

  “Well there was Fiend,” Calder said, frowning.

  I kept staring at the lock.

  “Are you sure you’ve tried every key?” Calder said.

  It hit me then. The familiar pattern. I had seen it before, on the handle of the golden key Papa gave me. How could I have forgotten? I drew it out from the chain under my shift and placed it in the lock.

  A perfect fit.

  “You’re right,” Calder said, sounding distracted. “It has been too easy. It’s almost as if someone planned for us to…”

  I glanced back at him and saw his face transform with a jolt of realization. As I began to turn the key, he vaulted toward me and knocked my hand from it. His own hand touched the compartment as the door came open.

  There was a flash and Calder disappeared.

  “Calder!” I shouted. I looked around, then down at the floor. There was a cockroach in the spot where he’d been standing.

  “No!” I cried. “No, no, no…” Not this. Not Calder.

  Loud banging began on the door. Fiend, like the good guard croco-dog he was, positioned himself next to it and let out a low, threatening growl.

  I reached down to pick up Calder, but he streaked away and disappeared into a crack between the floorboards. “Come back!” I cried.

  The pounding on the door continued, and I didn’t know how much longer it would hold out. I dropped to my knees to peer into the crack. “How can I save you if you won't come to me?” I said. I could no longer see him and I didn’t think he would be coming back. He wasn’t himself anymore; he had the brain of a cockroach now. “Don't leave me alone,” I said into the hole in the floor.

  “Tessa? Ratcher here,” she shouted from the other side of the door. “I imagine you’re surprised to hear me. I did study under his lordship’s fencing master, one of the most accomplished swordsmen in the world. But how can my skills compare to those of the self-taught son of a gravedigger? By all rights your ashy friend should’ve been the victor, but somehow, while paying very little attention, I managed to kill him.”

  I flung myself at the door. “You’re lying!”

  “He went on and on about his brother being a wraith. I’d say I did him a favor. They can both be wraiths now. Problem solved.”

  She could not have known about Lance unless Ash had spoken to her. If he spoke to her, he would’ve challenged her. And since she was still alive… it must be true. Ash is dead.

  I slumped down against the door, grief overwhelming me. I saw Ash in my mind, as he’d looked inside his cell, his face inches above mine after he tackled me. I’d wanted him to kiss me. That it would never happen now… that I would never see him again… filled me with the suffocating sensation of drowning.

  Tears streamed down my cheeks. It was my fault. Why had I agreed that he should come? Why had any of us set out for this cursed place? I slammed my fist against the door. Ash. I’d barely given him credit when he was alive, and now, for the first time, I saw him clearly. His strength and bravery, his loyalty to his brother and to us…

  Loyalty. That thought drew me out of myself. I had to continue without them, I owed it to them to complete the quest. I could not, under any means, allow their loss to be in vain. I looked up, pushed myself back onto my feet, and then… blackness.

  I was inside the dreaded cave again. Everything as it was the first two times. The sensation of being utterly and terribly alone. The stench of death. The restraints from which I had no hope of escape. As before, I saw a candle flicker, followed by the awful sound that came from deep down inside the monster who must’ve imprisoned me here. The heavy footsteps approached. I wanted to scream, but nothing came out, not even the smallest sound. A moment later, a hooded form loomed over me, its face shrouded in blackness. An enormous, gloved hand was raised up. A knife glistened in its grip.

  A mighty thump at the door took me out of the nightmare. The wood splintered and nearly gave way. I caught my breath, leapt forward, and grabbed the dreadmarrow from the compartment. As I did so, I noticed the book beside it: its title, in beautiful script, was "THE CONJURER'S BOOK OF INCANTATIONS.” Part of me wanted to steal it, but no, I would only take that which would be used for good. I dashed to the window and struggled for a moment with the latch before swinging it open. At the last moment I remembered Calder’s bag and turned back. I scooped it up, thrust the dreadmarrow inside it, and blew on my windrider three times.

  I lifted off and flew out just as the study door crashed open. A moment later, as I set my direction toward the forest, I saw Ratcher at the window staring up at me. She clutched the tome of magical incantations to her chest.

  TESSA

  Upon my return, I found the house reeking of tobacco. Mr. Oliver sat awake with his smoldering pipe, shivering in Papa’s armchair, huddled inside several layers of wool, and a fur hat and mittens. He’d been afraid Papa would decompose faster if he lit a fire. In fact, Papa looked rather better than Mr. Oliver did.

  There was no time to waste. Ratcher had no doubt informed her master of the theft, and forces had likely been dispatched to retrieve it. I needed to move Papa from our house without delay.

  Together with Mr. Oliver, we managed to set Papa in the wheelbarrow. It was undignified but restoring h
is life trumped all other considerations. Fortunately, the hour was late and we saw no others on the street except for one stumbling sot, who thought Papa was another like himself, passed out from too much drink. I carried Calder’s bag over my shoulder while we wheeled Papa to Mr. Oliver’s lodgings, a one-room apartment behind the small cobbler’s shop where he worked. There we transferred Papa to Mr. Oliver’s bed. After starting a fire from logs and kindling that were stacked outside, Mr. Oliver—the best friend a man could ever hope to have—left us alone, saying he would stay with his sister’s family for as long as we required the use of his home.

  I piled blankets on Papa to keep him warm until the fire could fully heat the place. It would not help to bring him back to life, only to have him freeze to death. I lit a lamp and placed it beside him.

  Soon after, the first rays of light from the rising sun entered the house. It’s time. I took the dreadmarrow out of its case, and lifted Papa’s shirt to expose where the sword had cut through him. I raised the dreadmarrow and held it as I’d seen Ratcher do. At first there was nothing. But after several moments, the wand caught a beam of light from the window and spread it in a wide circle over Papa’s wound.

  As I watched in wonder, the wound began to heal. I continued to hold the dreadmarrow over him until the scar was entirely gone.

  I lowered the wand. “Papa?”

  He looked no closer to life than he did before. His skin felt slightly warmer to the touch, but that might only be due to the higher temperature in the room. His color had not come back; more heat must be needed. I hurried to the fireplace and added a log to the flame.

  I sat beside him and whispered into his ear. “Wake up, Papa. I need you to wake up.” I waited a moment, while he lay there as still as ever. “I should've listened to you. We could've been safely in Blackgrove.” I took his hand and rubbed it. “I beg you to wake up. If not for you, then for me. If not for me, then for Mama… and Calder… and Ash.”

  My gaze shifted to the dreadmarrow. I picked it up and tried again, this time spreading the healing light over him entirely, from head to toe.

 

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