Unexpected Magic

by Diana Wynne Jones

  “Lower the bridge, there,” called Lord Darron. “I have business with the steward.”

  “What business?” asked the man, and spat what he was chewing into the moat.

  Lord Darron was so much put out at this that he stammered. “Poor man,” thought Susannah. “He is as nervous as he looks. Not a very good St. George at all.” Then she had an inspiration. “Lord Darron,” she whispered, “say you want to lock us in the dungeon with Alex.”

  Lord Darron looked at Harry. “But I—”

  “Say it, sir. It will get us in.”

  So Lord Darron cleared his throat and called out what his business was in a clear and threatening way, which made Susannah very nervous. She was afraid she had put ideas into his head. The man above growled and went away inside. After a good five minutes, they heard men talking inside the window and the drawbridge at last came clanking down. An old, ribby oak door beyond was pushed creaking open. Susannah shivered at the sight of the dark way in.

  Lord Darron, as he moved toward the drawbridge, spoke to Harry—rather cleverly, Susannah thought—disguising what he said by singing it to a strange flat tune. “Have ready your strange weapon, my lord. We may need it, although I mistrust it much. There is a prophecy—tra-la-la—which has it that our realm shall be ended by outlandish weapons. Tra-dah-liddle-diddle-da.” The last part of the tune came echoing back at them, mixed with the ringing of hoofs as Lord Darron went in under the archway.

  Susannah’s pony, which distrusted the drawbridge as much as she did, scuttled over after him. Harry cocked his pistol again and came last on the creaking, clanking boards of the bridge. Inside, in the tiny courtyard, he found Lord Darron already talking to the steward.

  The steward was a thick sulky man and, like the guard at the gate, he was chewing something, with his arms rudely folded.

  “The drawbridge is down. You can ride out again, my lord,” he said.

  “Not until we have seen the Prince,” said Lord Darron.

  “You cannot see him.”

  “I demand to.”

  The steward sighed, not a polite sigh. It was meant to show that Lord Darron was a fool who was boring him stiff. “I cannot think what the Count was at, telling you of all people that the Prince is here. What do you think you are at, too, entering this manor on false pretences? You may not see the Prince. He is mad. Straw in his hair, see.” As he said that, the steward put both hands to his head, pointing upward and waggling his fingers. Susannah had never seen anything so rude.

  “You abominable man!” she said.

  “You are a low knave,” said Lord Darron. “Show me the Prince before I show you my sword with your blood on it.”

  The steward grinned. “Show me what you like.” Then he looked up with a whistle and a nod. Soldiers and serving-men came running from doorways where they must have been waiting, carrying swords, carving knives, pokers, and axes. They stood round the three riders panting, looking up at them and grinning, for all the world, Susannah thought, like a pack of mongrel dogs who had treed three cats.

  “Harry!” she said.

  “Now,” said the steward, “my fine lord, you can ride back over yon drawbridge or there will be murder and maiming done.”

  Lord Darron was looking completely helpless. Susannah was terrified. Harry knew that he would have to use his pistol. But he had only six bullets and he could not bear to kill, or even wound anyone.

  “We are not going away,” he said, and he had to shout in order to make himself talk at all. “We do not leave until we see the Prince. Show us the Prince or I will shoot you all with this pistol.”

  “Shoot!” said the steward sneeringly. “Pistol! Is that a sawn-off spade you have there, my lord?”

  Harry was so angry with him that he raised the pistol and pulled the trigger. Susannah screamed—to encourage him, she said afterward. The bang was deafening in the tiny courtyard. Half the men dropped their weapons and backed away. The steward roared with pain and clapped his hand to his left ear. Harry was so angry that he hoped he had shot it off. In fact, he had only grazed it, but the sight of blood running between the steward’s fingers was enough for most of the men.

  “Sorcery!” they yelled, and ran clattering away through the archway and over the drawbridge.

  A few of the soldiers stayed where they were. One or two pretended to smile, but when Harry swung the pistol around to point at them they turned and ran like rabbits.

  Lord Darron reached down and caught the steward by the hair as he tried to run away too. Susannah admired him more than ever for that, because his horse was trampling this way and that in terror at the noise. “Not you,” he shouted. “You come with us. You have the keys.” He called out to Harry: “Shoot him again if he shows any sign of treachery.”

  “I will,” said Harry. He dismounted and handed his reins to Susannah. Then he walked slowly and fiercely up to the steward with his pistol pointing at the man’s terrified face. “Where is this dungeon? You go first, and if you dare attempt any treachery—”

  Lord Darron landed beside him with a crash of plate armor. “Give the keys here, man.”

  The steward unhooked a great bunch of keys and handed them to Lord Darron. Harry thought he had never ever seen a man so frightened as that steward. His face was yellow, like a candle, among the streaks of blood. And he agreed afterward with Susannah that Lord Darron showed not the slightest sign of fear.

  They went down to the dungeon, and among their ringing footsteps Harry could hear the steward’s teeth chattering. They let him unlock the first door. Susannah, who was expecting to find the dungeon beyond, was frightened and disappointed to find only more stairs.

  “I will stay by this door,” said Lord Darron. “We do not want it treacherously bolted on us.” He stood leaning on the door, and Harry thought, from the way he could see the white of the steward’s eyes, that this was just what the man had hoped to do. He dug him in the neck with the pistol.

  “Go on.”

  Susannah was horrified by the second door. It was so low and narrow and thickly barred. “Oh, poor Alex!” It was she who had to undo the chains and bolts, for Harry was guarding the steward. But there was a padlock she could not unlock, and Harry had to help her. The moment he moved, the steward ran away upstairs. Harry fired at him, wildly and dangerously, for the bullet hit the stone ceiling and bounced back almost in his own face. The steward screamed, and was suddenly quiet as he met Lord Darron’s sword.

  Inside the dungeon, they heard Harry fire. From there it was muffled and horrible.

  “Alex,” said Everard, “if this is our last hour, I am sorry I said I disliked you. I do not think it was true.”

  “We were just furious with one another,” said Alex. “How do they put people to death here?”

  “Various ways. Nobility are beheaded. I shall insist they behead you too. You must not be hanged.”

  Then the door opened and Alex saw the last people he would ever have expected to see: Harry Courcy leaning anxiously in with the pistol smoking in his hand, and Susannah picking up her skirts and jumping down into the dungeon. She ran up to Alex and flung her arms around him. Alex was so astonished that he looked at Everard and roared with laughter.

  “Oh, Alex, dear! Have they hurt you?” Susannah said. “Are you all right? Why! You have a great bump on your forehead!” She let Alex go and marched up to Everard. “Did you hit him, you wicked, vicious boy?”

  “Yes, my lady,” Everard said.

  “Then you are a great cowardly bully! You are twice his size!” Susannah was shaking her fist. Alex was afraid she would hit Everard.

  “Be quiet, Susannah,” he said. “You can say things like that to me if you like, but you have no business to say them to Everard. He is not a coward or a bully, and besides he must be related to you far back. He has an ancestor called Eleanor de Courcy.”

  Harry jumped down into the dungeon too. “Really?” he said. “Five hundred years ago? The one who was said to be drowned in the quic
ksands? Are you Prince Everard? Then I am very pleased to meet you, Your Highness. We have a message from a lady—she must be your mother I think. She has gone to the nuns at Uldrim.”

  “Praised be!” said Everard. “Then she cannot be married to Towerwood. Alex, I am so relieved.”

  They all four milled about in the straw for a minute or so longer, Alex introducing the Courcys and the Courcys explaining why they came. And Alex found, in spite of his relief at being rescued, that he was not as glad as he might have been. “Now,” he thought, “the Courcys and Everard will get on together splendidly. They are the same kind of people. I shall be nowhere.”

  Then he found Susannah looking up at him, in tears. “Alex,” she said, “I am so sorry. Please forgive me for all the horrid things I said to you. I did not mean them, truly. Ask your friend the Prince to forgive me too. I dare not.” Then she smudged at her face with her sleeve. “Have you a handkerchief, please?”

  Alex gave her his own grubby handkerchief and Susannah sniffed miserably into it. He could hardly believe she had had a change of heart, but he tried to be kind to her. He was so unused to being nice to Susannah that he did not know where to begin. He settled for saying: “It does not matter, Susannah. I am sure Everard does not mind.”

  Then the lordly Harry thumped him on the back. “Alex, we have been worried sick about you. I—I am so sorry for—that time. And we have not found Cecilia. Do you know where she is?”

  “Alex,” said Everard, “let us climb out of this dungeon. We must find your sister—she could be still at Falleyfell—and I must see Robert, if he is to be found.”

  Alex was astonished and pleased and ashamed of himself. Here had the Courcys come all this way to rescue him and he was not being grateful enough. Here they were both apologizing, and he was being gruff; and here he was expecting Everard to take to the Courcys when in fact they were all three of them deferring to him, as if he were a cross between their leader and their interpreter.

  Lord Darron was standing in the doorway. “My lord,” he said to Everard, “will you climb out? This is a noisesome place for a Prince, whether he be mad or sane.”

  “He is not mad,” Alex said. “That is Towerwood put that about. Nor do I claim the coronet. Everard understands that now. It was a mistake.”

  Lord Darron smiled, blinked, and held down a hand each to Alex and Everard. “Come up, both of you. I never thought you claimed the coronet, sir. Your face is too honest.”

  Alex and the Prince scrambled out of the dungeon past Lord Darron and stood smiling delightedly at one another. As Lord Darron was helping Susannah out, they both began talking at once.

  “Darron, where is Robert, my cousin Howeforce? I want to—”

  “Please, sir, have you any news of my sister?”

  Lord Darron put Susannah gently down between them. “There, young lady. You have done famously for one so young. As to your questions, both of them have the same answer. Howeforce is defeated and flying for his life, I fear, together with the young lady. Towerwood is close after them. Indeed, he might have caught them by now.”

  Part IV

  CECILIA’S LAST RIDE

  Chapter 1

  Hunt

  Now we come to Cecilia and how she was probably very foolish. The first thing she did when the outlaws appeared at the top of the cliff was to hang onto Lord Tremath’s foot again, as if by doing that she could somehow stop his whole army. The outlaws were all standing where they were with no triumph left in them. Most of them suddenly looked tired out, particularly Robert. He rode slowly toward Lord Tremath and his squire, who were both smiling. Cecilia felt like giving Lord Tremath’s foot a hearty tug, she thought it so mean of him to smile.

  “I know the Perland caves like the back of my hand, Robert,” said the squire.

  “So I see,” said Robert. “My lord, I must beg you to let no harm come to Cecilia. May I implore you not to hand her over to Conrad of Towerwood, whatever you do to the rest of us?”

  Cecilia was so touched by this that she must indeed have tugged Lord Tremath’s foot. He looked down at her in surprise. “Where is the Prince, Robert?” he said. “I must know that before I make another move in this affair.”

  “I do not know, my lord. He is not with us, nor with Towerwood, and Towerwood came upon us before my spies returned from Gairne.”

  “You sent to Gairne!” exclaimed the squire. “Then has Towerwood—?” Cecilia, looking up at him, decided that he must be Lord Tremath’s son. He had the same gray eyes.

  “I will trust you, Robert,” Lord Tremath interrupted. “I will take no part in this battle. And, since time is short, tell me what you wish me to do.”

  Cecilia saw that Robert was amazed. “Thank you, my lord,” he said. Lord Tremath smiled at him. The squire laughed and, as soon as he really believed them, Robert laughed as well. Rupert Lord Strass came up beside him, laughing too, and they began to talk together hurriedly, not needing to say much, as if they knew one another very well.

  “I think,” Cecilia thought, “they must all have been great friends before the Prince was killed.” She stood low down in the midst of them, still in danger of being trampled on, and was just able to see the other outlaws coming clustering around, listening and smiling. Soldiers in Lord Tremath’s army were waving to them and calling out jokes. Cecilia could have cried with delight.

  The squire leaned forward to Lord Strass. “Rupert,” he said anxiously, “is James dead?”

  “No, but he needs care at once. Ralph, could you ask your father—?”

  Lord Tremath looked at James of March hanging over Rupert’s horse. “We must take James then. You too, Rupert, I think. We shall call you hostage. We will take all those on foot and the wounded. Ralph must see them safely to Tremath. The rest must fend for themselves. Do you agree, Robert? I shall not let Towerwood near them, and I will suspend justice until the Prince is found. I myself will go to Gairne and enquire for him.”

  “Cecilia,” said Robert, “you must go to Tremath with Ralph.” He was bending down, smiling at her, and Cecilia looked up regretfully, afraid he would be killed. His eyes were black. She had never seen eyes so dark and likeable, and she could not bear never to see them again.

  Then Tom came bursting through the outlaws beside her with blood on his beard and his orange livery hacked with sword cuts. “My lords, I don’t know what ye decide among ye, but Towerwood found the secret passages. Half on his men be coming up them. The rest on ’em be a-riding around the valley to come up here.”

  “Then quick, Robert,” said Lord Tremath. “I can do nothing for you until I know the Prince’s will. You must ride away.”

  The outlaws ran and rode backward here and there to give Robert a path. His great blue horse turned around, willing but weary, and horse and rider seemed to Cecilia to be lost already, surrounded in foggy breath—their own and that of the people crowding away from them.

  It was then that Cecilia was foolish. She ran after Robert screaming: “Take me too. Please, Robert, do not leave me behind!” Robert stopped and looked down at her as if he simply did not know what to say. Cecilia knew she was embarrassing him again, but she did not care. “Please!” she said. She knew he would have to say no. She knew the Tremaths, the outlaws, and all the army were staring, but she was too far gone in foolishness to care.

  “I will take you if you wish,” Robert said, “but you will be safer with Ralph.”

  Cecilia was so astonished at what he said that she had not the presence of mind to refuse. She knew she should have pretended to change her mind so that he could hurry away, but she was foolish still. “I do not want to be safe,” she said. “Let me ride behind you.”

  Robert held down one hand to help her mount. He did not seem in the least angry, or worried that his horse would have so much more work to do.

  “Wait,” said Ralph of Tremath. Cecilia turned and saw him coming off his own great eager horse. “My horse is fresh,” he said. “He can more easily take two than yours
.” He stood smiling and offering Cecilia his reins and Cecilia remembered him like that gratefully for the rest of her life. He had one of the brightest, sweetest smiles she had ever seen, and his hair was bright red-brown. He was a year younger than she was then, but he lived to a great old age and was the great-grandfather of Edward the Unlucky.

  In a few seconds, Robert and Cecilia were away. For a moment, Ralph of Tremath was beside them on Robert’s horse, saying: “We will delay him as long as we can. Trust my father, Robert.” Then he had turned aside and the great horse was rushing downhill alone, making an icy wind and smashing the hard crust of the snow with its huge feet. Behind them, the outlaws and the army gave a cheer. Cecilia, with her fingers twisted in Robert’s orange cloak, looked back and saw them all watching, but as she looked, they turned away and went crowding up to the cliff edge. She saw men in Towerwood’s livery climbing up beside them. Looking farther around, she saw a line of black riders galloping up the hill from the open end of the valley.

  Robert looked over his shoulder too. “Have they seen us?”

  “No,” shouted Cecilia. The men were all hurrying to the top of the cliff, obviously sure that Tremath had caught the outlaws. None of them looked their way. She turned to look forward and hoped that Lord Tremath and his son would be able to keep the Hornets safe from Towerwood, when Towerwood discovered they had let Robert go. Maybe there would be another battle—between Towerwood and Tremath this time.

  The horse turned slightly to the right. Robert had moved into the wide trampled track which the Tremath army had made marching from the direction of the coast. They followed this for a long way, with their own hoof marks almost hidden in it, until they reached a road. The army had come along the road, from the left, and again they followed the mass of deep blue prints.

  “I hope,” Robert called over to Cecilia, “I hope they will think we have gone to Tremath. We will turn off soon.”