Marcel wandered miserably towards the stone fence. It was the limit of his world and a reminder of what Lord Alwyn’s powerful magic had done to him. On the far side of the wall lay a stretch of tall grass and blackberry bushes that separated the orphanage from the dense green and black of the forest. Even the colours recalled the wizard and his robe, and as Marcel stood staring into the trees, fighting a deep despair, once more he turned the golden ring on his little finger with the tip of his thumb.
He sighed and began to pick apples. He soon had one of the sacks bulging with the fruit he could reach from the ground, then, putting this aside, he climbed into one of the trees. He was still only a short distance from the ground when an odd whooshing noise caught his ear, not loud and lasting less than a second. It stopped suddenly when an arrow thudded into the ground only inches from the sack he had just filled with apples.
The shock made him lose his grip. He fell out of the tree, landing painfully on his bottom, which had only just lost the bruises after his fall from Gadfly. His first instinct was to lie still. His second was to flee. He was about to do the latter when he realised there was something wrapped around the shaft of the arrow. It looked like the page from a book, lashed tightly into place with coil after coil of black twine.
With a desperate lunge, he darted out into the open and snatched the arrow from the ground before retreating like a lizard to the meagre protection of the apple trees. There, he used his teeth to snap the twine, and instantly, the paper spiralled open in his hand. It wasn’t a page from a book but a letter.
Marcel,
Yes, I know that is your name and that you do not belong in this orphanage. I have horses waiting in the forest. Join me now. Tell no one and be sure you are not seen.
From a friend of your father’s.
My father’s! Marcel gasped. It was true, then. Everything he had discussed with Bea, everything he had guessed at and hoped for was real. He had a father and most likely a mother too, both living. He rushed to the boundary wall and readied himself to leap over.
Be sure you are not seen, the letter had warned. He turned back towards the house and to his relief found that none of the other children was in sight. But at the last moment, he caught a glimpse of the grey stones that formed the very top of the tower. Termagant. The enchanted ring. He fell back into the orchard, shoulders slouching helplessly as his eyes scoured the forest with a longing that almost burst his heart.
What could he do? How could he signal whomever had sent that message? All he could manage was to spread his hands wide in futility and wave the letter pathetically.
Minutes passed, and he was ready to turn away, aching with disappointment, when he saw a sudden movement. Someone dressed in black broke from behind a tree. Moments later a second figure emerged. They were in the open for only seconds before they disappeared again behind some sprawling blackberry canes.
“Marcel,” came the call soon afterwards. It was a furtive whisper, pitched to reach his ears and no further. “Marcel, don’t be afraid. Come with us into the forest.”
In the same carefully gauged whisper he replied, “I can’t. If I jump the wall, Lord Alwyn will know straightaway.”
“The great wizard!” came the deep voice again, clearly alarmed now. “He is here…?”
With a glance over his shoulder, Marcel confirmed it. “He lives in the tower above the house.”
This news brought silence, a silence so long that Marcel feared the men had backed away into the forest, leaving him to his fate.
“Please, tell me who I am!” he called, as loudly as he dared. “If you are a friend of my father, then you can at least tell me who he is! Where is he, and where do I come from? Please tell me something!”
The men had not retreated – or at least one of them had not, for after a further pause that seemed to Marcel to stretch out for a lifetime, a tall figure all in black stepped out from his hiding place so that Marcel could see him. That is, he let his body be seen, neatly dressed in a stylish woollen cape and splendid leather boots that came almost to his knees. His face, however, was hidden beneath a fine wide-brimmed hat topped by a large and jaunty feather.
The man kept low, but even so, the dozen strides he took to reach the stone wall were measured and confident. A sword slapped against his thigh but the object that caught Marcel’s eye was the dagger tucked into his belt, the rich red of rubies glinting on its handle. He halted and asked softly, “Are you saying that you don’t know who you are?”
“Only my name. Lord Alwyn worked his magic on me, on the night I arrived. I can’t remember a thing from before then.”
“No memory,” the stranger repeated to himself. Still he hesitated, weighing this startling news in his own mind, as though it were a heavy stone he did not want to pick up. Slowly, he tilted his head back until the face, unseen until now, was finally revealed.
An attractive face it was too, with a handsome nose and chiselled cheeks diminished only by the first shadow of stubble on its pointed chin. Standing to his full height at last, he was taller than any man Marcel could remember seeing. And there was no mistaking the proud bearing. This was a man whose orders were obeyed.
His sharp blue eyes demanded Marcel’s attention the very moment they fell on him. He seemed to be looking for something in Marcel’s eyes too, and after a moment the boy guessed what it was. Recognition – yes, this man expected him to know who he was.
“Who… who are you?” Marcel asked tentatively.
The question finally settled the man’s doubts and he answered then without hesitation. “My name is Sir Thomas Starkey, but it was a true queen who knighted me, Madeleine herself. Now that a usurper sits on her throne I refuse to use the title she gave me. People call me Starkey, and nothing more. I prefer it that way, until the false king is overthrown. I have dedicated my life to that end.”
His compelling eyes bored into Marcel as he paused. “Are you sure you haven’t heard of this king? His name is…” Again he halted, watching Marcel’s face while he pronounced the word. “His name is Pelham.”
“No, I have never heard the name before,” Marcel assured him immediately.
“What of Princess Eleanor, then? Does that name mean nothing to you? Or Prince Damon?”
He was supposed to know them, or why else would the man ask? Marcel’s misery narrowed his throat, so that he could answer only with a shake of his head.
“This is an amazing thing,” said Starkey, stroking his chin.
A movement behind Marcel made him spin around, afraid that one of the orphans had strayed into the orchard after all.
“Hector,” Starkey whispered urgently, “join me here and don’t say a word.”
To Marcel’s surprise, a man appeared from among the apple trees behind him. This was the second dark figure he had seen scamper from the forest, a much shorter man but strongly built like a fighting dog and, it must be said, with a face to match. Heavy brows hooded his eyes, which were little more than slits, and half of his left ear was missing. A longbow protruded from behind his shoulder, and hanging from his waistband, beside his sword, was a quiver full of arrows, each fletched in the same colours as the one that had so nearly pierced the sack of apples. The man lingered and Marcel heard him take a sharp breath, as though he intended to speak in defiance of his master. But he changed his mind and climbed silently over the wall to stand behind Starkey, scanning all directions at once.
Starkey’s hand continued to work at his stubbled chin.
“This is a terrible crime Lord Alwyn has committed against you. I can barely believe it, even of him. Such an evil spell could only have been ordered by Pelham himself, I’m sure of it.”
“But why has he done this to me – and how did you know where to find me?” Marcel pleaded.
“The second part is easy to explain. Rumours of missing children have been whispered for weeks now. Then a traveller sympathetic to my cause heard your name, here in the nearby village. He spoke of a wild horse race, though I
hardly listened once he had described you. But enough of this. I will tell you the rest once we are on the road.”
“But I’ve told you, I can’t leave. If I try, Lord Alwyn will track me down.”
“We have horses. With a good start, we can outrun Alwyn’s magic.”
“Can you outrun a huge cat, black as coal and more dangerous than a lion?” Marcel demanded.
Starkey’s eyes widened in alarm. The bowman, Hector, had listened to the rest stony-faced, as though the wrath of God himself would not frighten him, yet now even his rugged features creased uncomfortably.
“Lord Alwyn calls her Termagant,” Marcel went on. “See this ring?” he said, holding up his right hand. Once more he pushed and tugged at it with all his might. “It won’t come off, and if I cross this wall, Lord Alwyn will know and send Termagant after me. She would cut you two to ribbons before you could even draw your swords.”
“I don’t like the sound of this, Starkey,” said Hector, speaking for the first time. His voice was a low rumble from deep inside his powerful chest.
Starkey seemed thwarted and went back to stroking his chin. “I’ll confess to you, boy, I’d hoped to steal you away from here without any bother. I need you if I am to right the great injustice that has been done. That’s why I have come all this way.”
“But what can I do to help you? I don’t even remember who I am,” Marcel reminded him.
“It’s who you are that matters, not whether you remember it,” snapped Starkey. Suddenly, his eyes brightened and his confidence returned. “In fact, it might be…” he murmured to himself, trailing off. “Yes,” he said, looking across the wall at Marcel. “You can still play a role, a vital role indeed, and one that only you can perform. If I can just get you away from Lord Alwyn…”
These words made Marcel’s frustration unbearable. He wrenched uselessly at the ring around his finger and felt its curse like never before. What could he do that was so important? he wondered. Only he could do it, according to this man, even though Lord Alwyn had tried to erase all trace of his former…
“Wait!” cried Marcel.
At this, the two men ducked quickly behind the wall. “Quiet, boy! You’ll have everyone in the place here beside you.”
“I’m sorry,” he went on, in a whisper now. “There’s a girl here, named Nicola.”
“What of her?” said Starkey in an offhand manner as he dared to stand up, though there was no doubting the interest he was already showing.
Marcel hurried to explain. “Lord Alwyn did the same thing to her as he did to me. I’m sure of it. She doesn’t know who she really is either.”
Starkey and Hector exchanged an astounded glance. In fact, Hector was about to put their surprise into words when Starkey held up his hand to stop him. “This girl. Is she older than you?”
“I think so. Maybe a year older.”
His answer brought rising excitement. “Describe her,” Starkey demanded quickly.
Marcel did so, and with each feature he named, her hair, the pale skin dotted with freckles, even her haughty demeanour, he saw Starkey’s face brighten with glee.
“Yes, it must be her,” he declared at last.
“Can she help you too?” Marcel asked.
“Help us! Why, she can do everything that you were to do.” Then the light in his face died as quickly as it had come to life. “Does she have a ring like yours?”
“No,” Marcel assured him.
“A stroke of luck at last. We can take her instead of you!”
Marcel’s heart immediately sank into his shoes. In a matter of moments he had been cast aside like an unwanted puppy. It wasn’t fair. It was his name that had brought them here. He was the one – with Bea’s help, it was true – who had discovered Nicola’s connection to the Book of Lies in the first place. They had to take him.
Then things became even worse.
“The third child,” Hector whispered to Starkey. “Could he be here as well?”
Starkey turned eagerly to Marcel. “Hector is right. Three children disappeared in all. Perhaps all three were sent here, to be watched over together by Alwyn himself.”
“Another girl?” asked Marcel.
“No, a strapping boy, your age but taller, and I daresay somewhat stronger. Thick brown hair, a wide round face – oh yes, and a short temper, by all accounts,” he added with a grin towards Hector.
Marcel was devastated. The description could not have been more accurate. Of all the children in the orphanage, in fact, of all the children there must be throughout the entire kingdom, why did the third child have to be that boy?
Could Marcel deny it? He was tempted. These men might never know he had lied. Yes, he was sorely tempted, but he made his head nod all the same, just once.
“He’s here,” he said quietly. “We call him Fergus.”
The first person Marcel came across after he had left the orchard was Bea. He felt terrible about deceiving her, but he had already decided to tell her nothing about Starkey.
What could he have told her? That two strangers had suddenly come for him, two men who frightened him as much as they gave him hope? Starkey, especially, was an odd collection of people all bound into one. Fierce determination shone in his eyes, stronger than sunlight through broken cloud. He had set himself a quest to bring down an evil king. Was there any more dangerous task, or any more important? Yet he had shown gentleness and sympathy when Marcel told of what had been done to him.
If only he could go with them!
He pushed such vain hopes aside and went to find Nicola. She was puzzled when he asked to speak to her alone, but she agreed to follow him into the little cave beneath the blackberry bushes. There, she listened, open-mouthed, to the amazing story he had to tell.
“Ever since I found you and Bea in the kitchen with that strange book I’ve been thinking. My memories seem real but somehow I can feel myself acting like I’m expected to, instead of the way I truly am.” She could barely sit still. “And now this man Starkey comes along. It’s almost too much to believe. He wants me to go with him, tonight?” Nicola asked breathlessly.
“Yes, after Termagant has come back from hunting.”
“How will he know when to come for me?”
“It’s all been arranged. I will signal Starkey with a candle when we reach the orchard,” Marcel explained.
It had been his idea entirely. With Termagant loose for much of the night, Starkey and Hector would have been easily discovered. If she had found them lurking near the orchard… he didn’t even want to think about that. But with Marcel acting as a spy inside the house, listening near the girls’ room for Termagant’s return, they stood a good chance of escape.
“Are you coming too, Marcel?” Nicola asked.
He grimaced and held up his hand, allowing what little light there was in the tiny grotto to catch the gold of his ring. “I can’t leave the orphanage with this on my finger.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve seen how restless you are here,” she said, surprising him. Since when had Nicola bothered to do more than glare at him, and as for caring about how he felt…
Fergus was even easier to convince, not because of what Marcel told him but because of what he didn’t. He would simply have assumed it was a trick if Marcel had tried to explain the whole story. Instead, he took Fergus aside and said, “Some strangers have come to the orchard, a knight and a soldier. They want a brave boy to go with them and be part of some adventure they have planned. If they go to Mrs Timmins, she won’t let you go, but you can escape with them tonight, if you dare.”
If he dared. That was Marcel’s real trick, just the kind of challenge Fergus could not possibly turn down. “Where do I meet them?” was his instant response.
Marcel had to smother a smile. Yet no smile could survive on his face for long that day. Nicola and Fergus were about to escape, while he would be left behind.
In the early hours of the morning, Marcel lay awake listening for the sound of Termagant as sh
e moved through the tunnel. He had heard her leave the house many hours before and now waited anxiously for her return.
Then it came, the familiar sound. The beast had returned to her lair in the tower. It was time to fetch the others.
Nicola was already waiting for him outside the girls’ room when he arrived with Fergus. Marcel carried the candle he had taken from the kitchen after dinner, and when they had safely left the house and reached the last apple tree before the boundary, he lit it.
Starkey and Hector joined them three minutes later.
“Yes, I recognise you both. You are the ones we have been looking for,” Starkey whispered exultantly into the darkness, killing Marcel’s last hope that Fergus, at least, would not be invited to go with them.
The candlelight caught the fevered excitement in Starkey’s face. “All three of you. I could not have wished for such luck. What names do you two call yourselves?”
Nicola answered, then began to ask Starkey what her real name was, but he cut her off. “We must get moving. For now, you should keep the names Lord Alwyn gave you. Quickly, climb across the wall.”
Marcel heard the urgency in Starkey’s voice and realised they were about to slip away into the night without another word. “Please,” he begged, “you haven’t really told me much at all. Why were the three of us brought here? Let me know that much, at least.”
“Haven’t you guessed?” barked Starkey. “To keep Pelham on the throne, that’s why. He’s a usurper, a false king who has stolen the crown from the rightful heirs.”
“The rightful heirs. Who are they?”
“I mentioned their names this afternoon. Damon and Eleanor. With these two to assist me, there is a chance, at least.” He moved to help Nicola clamber over the wall, not an easy task with the folds of her dress catching her knees and feet.
Fergus, however, had already jumped over it in a single bound. He had little idea of what they were talking about but the mention of a quest to bring down an unworthy king was enough.
The Book of Lies Page 7