The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle

by Janet Fox

  The Lady shudders, an icy fear traveling through her mechanical body. This child is different. A portent? The magister’s words return: Take them oh so slowly, or the magic will weaken.

  When Eleanor finds and takes that other magic, there will be no weakness in her ever again. She pushes aside her fears as Amelie’s soul enters her thirteenth charm, the ninth soul of the twelve that will make her collection.

  And then the Lady sets in place the spells to frighten the remaining children. She will wear them out now, one by one.

  49

  Wolves

  KAT SHOOK ALL over as if she stood in a freezing wind. She couldn’t keep the tremor out of her voice. “I know Gumble and MacLarren said we shouldn’t leave our rooms. But still.”

  “I’ve got my sword,” Rob said. He and Peter had also fallen asleep, and their clock had stopped, too. Rob looked ready to burst, his cheeks were so flushed.

  “We’ll get her back,” Kat said, making fists of both hands. “Don’t you worry. We’ll get all of them back.” She wished she believed her own words.

  Kat clutched her great-aunt’s chatelaine. Peter carried a sword of his own. Wrapped in their warmest clothes, they set out after the girls.

  Once outside, they ran. It had snowed only an inch, but it was a wet snow and Kat’s feet were numb within minutes. They saw no sign now of the girls, and they could find no tracks.

  The chill wind cut right through their clothes. Gray clouds spat freezing mist, and even as she ran toward the sea Kat could see the whitecaps kicked up by the early winter wind. If she was this cold, those girls were in danger of freezing. She sped up, and the boys followed.

  They reached the cliff edge, but still there was no sign, so they turned north along the cliffs, running toward the cave.

  They stopped, panting, at the high promontory above the cave. Waves crashed below and the gulls keened above. Then Robbie pointed down to the stream that cut from the moors above to the sea.

  “Look! There they are!”

  Below them, all the way at the bottom of the cliffs, Kat could see the three girls entering dark Dunraven Wood.

  “Well done, Rob. Let’s go!” she called, and scrambled down the path toward the woods.

  How the three small girls managed to be so far ahead and to get down without incident, Kat couldn’t imagine. By the time she, Rob, and Peter reached the bottom, where Fairnie Burn flowed over rocks and gravel on its way into the sea, Kat was covered in scrapes and bruises. Her hair was disheveled and her shirt untucked, and her right stocking sported a large hole where she’d caught it on a thorn. If the skirt and blazer hadn’t been woven of strong Scottish wool, they, too, would have been in shreds. All the way down she could hear Peter’s and Rob’s swords as they battered the cliff face.

  They crossed the burn, splashing carelessly through the icy water, and made for the woods. At the edge, Rob stopped.

  “I don’t know, Kat,” he said.

  The wood was already shadowed, and small things skittered among the brush and dead leaves, crackling and snapping dried branches.

  Kat steeled herself, then turned and plunged into the wood.

  It was dreary, dank, and dark within. The trees, bare, stretched above her like so many bony fingers. The wind whispered at the tops, and cold dripped through the bare spots so that she was even more chilled than before. She stopped, wondering which way to go.

  Rob brushed past her. “Well, if Stodgy Kat is going for it, so am I. Even if it seems we’re chasing shadows.” Then Rob shouted, “Look!” and began to run.

  They pressed through the woods, the branches tugging at Kat’s hair and jacket, snapping and popping as they broke through, and all of a sudden they came out of the wood and onto the highland waste.

  The sun sat watery and low in the west, gray folds of clouds wreathing the late yellow glow. The moors, where they were not snow-covered, were shadowed with purple, rocks rounding skyward, and here and there an orange or yellow patch of late autumn color glowed in the lee. The rolling hills stretched to the ends of the earth.

  Nothing moved on the landscape save the gorse and bracken that were stirred by the chill wind and three rooks that circled silently overhead.

  Rob flanked Kat on one side, Peter on the other. After a moment Kat spoke, her voice broken. “They’re gone. They’ve flat-out disappeared.”

  Rob let out a deep sigh.

  Peter said, low, “If they were ever here.”

  “That’s the problem,” Rob said. “Even though we saw them, there were no footprints in the snow. I kept having the feeling we were being led on.”

  The three of them exchanged a glance.

  “But where are they? Ame!” Kat called, desperate. “Isabelle!”

  The first howl drifted on the bone-chilling wind.

  The sun set so fast, Kat thought it was being pulled down to the horizon. A second howl, and a third, came with the lengthening shadows.

  “Wolves are extinct here,” Rob said, his voice a coarse whisper. “They haven’t been here for decades. Killed off. I mean, there might be one or two, but . . .” Another, distinctly different, howl.

  “I would bet,” said Peter, “that these are no ordinary wolves. Just like those were not Amelie and Isabelle.”

  The hair on the back of Kat’s neck prickled. More howls.

  “We’ve got nothing but your swords,” Kat said. “No matches, nothing.”

  One howl from the left, and then one from the right, quite close, and then a third from behind. Kat squinted. She saw movement in the long shadows made by the rocky outcrops. The boys pressed close.

  “We need to be back to back,” said Peter. “We might need to stand all night.”

  “Why don’t we run?” said Kat.

  “Because, Kat, if they are real, or even if they are magical wolves with real teeth,” said Rob, patient but also quivering, “then they’ll figure we’re food and chase us down and kill us and eat us.”

  “And if they aren’t real,” said Peter, “nothing we do will matter.”

  Another pair of howls, terribly close.

  “All right then,” Kat said, “let’s at least try to get back to the castle before it’s really dark. Without running.”

  They had already formed a rough triangle facing outward. “That’s not a bad idea,” said Peter, who began to edge back the way they had come.

  “Unless you like being in the woods when they attack,” said Rob. “I’d rather take my chances out in the open, where I can swing my sword, thank you.”

  Several howls, too close. The boys stopped moving and braced and raised their swords. Shadows, shifting back and forth, closed on them.

  Her fingers were stiff with cold, so Kat jammed her hands into her pockets. And there she found her great-aunt’s chatelaine.

  A rook wheeled. Out, out, out.

  She lifted her right hand, the chatelaine glowing a faint blue in her fist. She let it dangle from her fingers, and at once blue light shot from it as if from a brilliant lantern.

  “Whoa!” shouted Rob. “What is that?”

  “Is that the chatelaine thing?” yelled Peter.

  Gumble had used spells and Great-Aunt Margaret had given out quotes, so without thinking why, Kat cried out, “How could they see anything but the shadows if they were never allowed to move their heads?”

  Silence. The chatelaine pulsed with blue light. A thin band of yellow sat on the western horizon. The rooks wheeled away inland. The sea pounded and the gulls keened, but there were no more wolf calls.

  “Plato,” whispered Peter. “Good old Plato.”

  “That was Plato? From that cave story? The one Gumble had us writing about? I’m going to study harder from now on,” said Rob. “Nicely done, Kat. You’ve got to tell me how you knew.”

  “Come on,” said Kat, breathing hard. �
�We’ve got to get back before it’s really dark and we can’t find our way.”

  By the time they reached the castle it was dark. Their only guiding light was the chatelaine, which glowed stronger with the deepening shadows. Kat held it before them as a lantern. They heard no more wolves.

  They went to the dining hall, but no dinner had been laid; the fires had never been lit and the luncheon had not been cleared. The three of them snatched up bits of food—dried-out bread, fruit, chunks of cheese—eating as they moved. They tried the kitchen: also dark. There was no sign of any adult—not Cook, nor Hugo, nor the teachers. And, thankfully, no sign of the Lady or Storm.

  They made their way up to their rooms, and, after changing into dry clothes, gathered in Peter and Rob’s room.

  “I wish I knew where she was,” Kat said, and winked away tears.

  They sat in a half circle after building a fire in the fireplace, warming their hands and feet. The chatelaine sat on the floor in the middle.

  “It wasn’t Ame,” Rob said. “It was a figment. A shadow.” He paused. “Like in Plato’s Cave. It wasn’t her, but I just know she’s all right. She’s all right, and real, and warm. And with all the others.”

  “That’s good, Rob,” Kat said. Somehow hearing him say it made her feel better.

  “If you don’t mind staying here tonight,” Peter said, “I think we should stick together.”

  Kat said, “I wouldn’t be in my room alone tonight for anything.”

  The chatelaine now glowed faintly.

  “So, Aunt Margaret gave it to you,” said Rob. “And she told you it was magic. But you didn’t believe her.”

  “Not at first. But I do now,” Kat said. “It’s all different now.” She thought, but didn’t say, I’ve found my way out of Plato’s Cave.

  50

  Talisman

  THE LADY FEELS irritated. She paces, gears grinding.

  The wolves hadn’t worked, so her rooks have told her. She had wanted to lure the three children out to the moors, make them fearful, separate them, make this last bit go easy. But the girl carries a talisman, something that sheds a brilliant light, though it’s so bright the rooks cannot make out what it is.

  She knows now that this is the magic she’s been sensing. She can feel it, back in the castle, with the girl. It’s powerful enough magic that Eleanor must proceed with caution, take the girl Katherine last and alone.

  Eleanor smiles. That will be a pleasure.

  51

  Gregor, Lord Craig

  THEY SLEPT fITFULLY, but there were no nightmares, no nighttime visitors, and the fire never died, since one of them was up at all hours to make certain it was fed.

  When they woke it was already light. Marie was nowhere to be found. Kat changed into her own clothes—no need for uniforms—and splashed water on her face, and then the three ventured down through the dark, silent castle.

  The dining room was just as it had been the night before, and there was still no sign of Cook, or anyone else. They picked at whatever remained of the food, cold and stale as it was.

  “MacLarren and Gumble might be trapped again, caught by some spell,” Kat said. “They wouldn’t just leave us.”

  Peter and Rob still had their swords. The two boys with their weapons and grim faces looked more and more like they belonged in this old place. Rob got his wish, Kat thought. They are knights in training. She couldn’t help noticing how much older both Rob and Peter looked.

  “You do realize that it’s All Hallows’ Eve?” Rob asked.

  “Perfect,” murmured Peter. “Just the day for a haunting.”

  Kat shivered. She wished she still didn’t believe in ghosts and dark magic; it would be easier to be brave.

  They started their search in the attics. They weren’t the kind of attics Kat remembered from Great-Aunt Margaret’s house, with decaying storage and rotten furniture and trunks of old linens and papers; here were a series of little attic apartments with tiny windows. Kat assumed they’d served as servants’ quarters back when the castle could afford such a thing. The rooms were all unlocked.

  Their own floor was next, and they entered all the rooms they could; Jorry’s room was locked. In Isabelle’s room, the last they searched, they looked for a hidden passage. After all, whatever or whoever had stolen Isabelle had likely stolen Amelie, too, and now they all knew something about hidden passages.

  They pushed and pulled on every corner. Peter even crawled under the bed. It wasn’t until Kat lifted a tapestry and shoved her shoulder against the wall that they found it: a very well-hidden door.

  “Do we go down?” Peter said, his voice low.

  The wall opened into a chilly, dark passage. Stairs wound down, tight against the wall. They couldn’t see beyond a few feet.

  “I have my chatelaine,” Kat said. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, holding the glowing blue chatelaine high.

  But once again, Rob stopped her. “You hold the chatelaine so I can see,” he said. “I’ve got the sword. I’ll go first.”

  “Or I could,” said Peter, holding up his own blade. Kat had to smile. Rob let Peter go first this time.

  It was a small passage, and curving. Kat had to turn sideways once or twice to get by. Again she counted the steps. Rob wisely wedged the door so it couldn’t close behind them.

  “I think we’ve reached the next floor,” Kat whispered.

  They knew what to do now—each of them pressed against the nearest wall.

  Peter found the door. He pushed it open an inch and then signaled the all clear, and they found themselves looking into the second floor hallway, by the main stairwell. In the dim light they could see that the hall was empty.

  They exchanged uncomfortable glances. This was where the Lady had her rooms. Kat didn’t fancy running into her.

  “We have to search, or we’ll never know,” said Peter.

  “Who would build such a place, with all these secret passageways and hidden doors?” asked Kat.

  “They weren’t uncommon in medieval castles,” Rob whispered. “I wasn’t surprised to see them in the keep. They were good hiding places during a siege. But someone must have really liked having them to build them in the new castle, too.”

  “Yeah, and this castle is . . . well, it’s almost like it’s alive or something,” said Peter.

  Kat shivered.

  They tiptoed to the far end of the winding corridor, stopping at the last door. Kat put her ear against it, but all she could hear was the pelting rain against the window, barely drowning out the thumping of her heart.

  She shrugged to let the boys know she couldn’t tell anything. She tried the latch. It gave.

  The room was large—twice as large as any of the other bedrooms they’d seen so far—but the air was close and musty, and the light was low, gray from the gray weather outside. The windows, slick with rain and sleet, looked out toward the sea, just as Kat’s did. To their left was an enormous bed with four great corner posts and a canopy hung at the head with red velvet drapes. The bed was rumpled. They froze, fearing someone was about.

  But it was silent as a tomb, and after a minute or so Kat decided that it was merely an unmade bed. After all, there was only Marie to do all the housework. And she wasn’t anywhere to be found today.

  They moved farther into the room, Peter going left and Rob to the right. Kat made for the bed itself.

  Just as she reached it, the coverlet moved, and her hand flew to her mouth. She’d learned not to shriek, but she couldn’t help saying it aloud, gasping.

  “It’s . . . the ghost!”

  Lying against the pillows was the pale and wan face they’d seen in the keep.

  The blood roared in Kat’s ears as her heart pounded, but she could still hear the man when he spoke. In weak tones but with a thick Scottish brogue, he said, “Ghost, is it? Well, l
assie, I’m not m’self, that’s sure, but I’m no’ dead yet.”

  “I’m Gregor Duncaster, Earl of Craig,” he said. He was thin, and Kat couldn’t tell how old, and his face had a deathly pallor, but he was able to pull himself up against the pillows and assume a lordly manner, even as his voice quavered. “And you are?”

  “I’m Katherine Bateson, my lord, and this is my brother Rob and our friend Peter Williams.” Kat made as grand a curtsey as she could manage, since it seemed only fitting, especially after she’d called him a ghost. And since this was his castle, and he was a lord, after all.

  “Well, Katherine Bateson, I don’t know what you three are doing in my bedchamber nor in my home, nor do I understand why the two young masters with you are bearing swords that look uncanny like my own arms.” He stopped and took a breath. “But you all are right welcome nonetheless.”

  No doubt about it, the Earl might be ill and wobbly and short of breath, but his mind was sharp. Both Peter and Rob held their swords down and shuffled in embarrassment.

  “Now what are you lads and lass about?” he asked. “And why are you in my chamber?”

  “We’re looking for the others,” Rob piped up.

  “The other whats?” Lord Craig asked.

  “The other children, and the teachers,” Kat answered. She saw his puzzled expression. “You do know, don’t you?” She wondered if perhaps he’d been too ill to be informed, so she said, “We’re here taking refuge from the Blitz. From London. The Lady, um, her Ladyship, she’s running an academy for us refugees.” She paused. “An academy of sorts.”

  “Is she now?” And his eyebrows shot up. “Blitz? Don’t know that word. From London? Teachers? Refugees?” He shook his head. “The Lady Eleanor, is it? Not the type to look after those in need.”

  Kat wondered whether she should tell him that the Lady Eleanor was harboring a German spy.

  “We were told you were terribly ill,” Peter said.

  “Were you now?” He shifted. “Well, that’s true enough. Until quite recently, I was a bit under the weather. Things are looking up, with Deirdre on the case,” he added, pronouncing the name Deer-dree and leaning back into his pillows. “She’s been wondrous good.”