Marcel did remember, but this was the first time he had thought about it and he found himself only more confused. “What does it mean? You’re a true and rightful heir, the same as Nicola and me.” There was so much about the sorcerer’s arts that he was still to learn.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Marcel opened it to Bea, who let herself be seen clearly.
“Marcel, my grandfather and his soldiers want to be on their way. It’s time to say goodbye.” She paused. “I’d better give you this before I go,” she added, and plunging her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the pouch containing the folded page from the Book of Lies.
“Could I look at it?” Fergus asked, and Bea held it out for him to take.
Marcel barely noticed. He was too preoccupied by the thought that Bea was about to leave. He wished he had found a spell that could calm the emotions that swirled within his chest. “Nicola will want to see you off as well,” he mumbled, to mask his discomfort.
Bea rushed through the curtain to tell Nicola the news, but once the girls had joined the two boys outside the door, Fergus broke away. “I’ll come down in a minute. There’s something I need first,” he said quickly, and strode away in the opposite direction, with considerable purpose.
“Are you sure you want to go back to the mountain?” Marcel asked Bea as they headed towards the marble staircase.
“I have to spend some time with my grandfather, Marcel. He thought I was dead!”
“But you don’t have to stay with him for ever.”
Bea didn’t bother with an answer, but let out a heavy sigh instead.
Nicola heard it and turned on him. “Leave her alone, Marcel. Of course she wants to live with Long Beard and the elves. They’re the only family she has.”
Marcel didn’t feel that was quite true any more, and when Bea looked up, her face suddenly serious, he knew she was thinking the same thing. “Don’t worry. I’ll live in the human world again, you’ll see. What about you, Marcel? You have magic in your hands now and a sorcerer’s book of your own.”
“It’s not quite the Book of Lies, though,” he said, out of respect for Lord Alwyn. For all the evil that had crept into the land in his dying days, that old man had kept the Kingdom safe for more years than anyone could remember. It sent a shudder through Marcel’s body to think of one person taking on such a burden.
Termagant led them down the grand staircase, her tail held vertical and rigid like a flagpole.
“I’ve heard rumours,” Nicola said to her brother as they followed the cat. “Father wants you to be the new Master of the Royal Books.”
“He’s talked to me about it,” Marcel replied, without giving anything away. In fact, he and the King had spent much of last night talking about it, and some time after midnight, when everyone else in the palace was safely asleep, Marcel had said yes. He had agreed to take Lord Alwyn’s place, and the very thought of it twisted his stomach into a knot.
They emerged into the courtyard at the front of the palace under a low sky that had already delivered a steady, nourishing rain through much of the morning. It had stopped for now, as though the clouds were granting them a respite for their farewells. King Pelham was there with Long Beard, who called his granddaughter over to join him. Her friends went with her.
After they had stumbled awkwardly over the painful words of goodbye, Nicola leaned forward and hugged Bea tightly. Then it was Marcel’s turn. They held each other for a long time, and when they finally stepped back, Bea’s face was flushed and red.
“Glowing like a candle,” her grandfather teased her, “and that’s not such a good thing for an elf in the forest.” But he was laughing as he said it.
With handshakes, then a final lingering wave from the palace gates, Bea, her grandfather and the troop of elfish soldiers headed out into the city. Marcel stood watching, but they didn’t want to be gaped at by the crowds, and within moments they had all found the shadows where they were impossible to see.
“Where’s Fergus?” Nicola asked all of a sudden, looking about her. He hadn’t come down from the palace as he’d said he would. “He should have come to say goodbye; we might not see Bea again for a long time,” she complained in a forthright tone.
Marcel had heard her speak firmly like this a number of times in the past two days. He quietly hoped that he would not come to resent it in the years ahead.
Mind you, he was annoyed with Fergus too.
A commotion in the courtyard made him spin round and angry voices erupted from the stables away to his left. That was Old Belch’s voice, surely. Then the clatter of hooves on the paving stones signalled the appearance of a horse and rider. As they broke free of the stables, Marcel saw that it wasn’t just any horse, but Gadfly. And on her back was not some insolent soldier, but Fergus himself, with a sword hanging from his belt!
“What are you doing?” Marcel yelled as he ran towards Fergus, aghast.
Fergus ignored Marcel as he leaned forward over the restless horse’s mane. He had looped something around Gadfly’s neck and now he was tying it into a hasty knot.
Marcel knew instantly what it was. Already the magic was at work on the mare’s flanks. Before anyone could stop him, Fergus urged Gadfly forward into a canter, then a steady gallop, and when her wings were free, a wild and desperate charge. The horse launched herself into the air, Fergus afraid but grimly determined as he grasped at her mane. Up and over the palace wall they climbed, towards the grey clouds, growing smaller in the distance with every beat of those wings.
“Stop him, Marcel!” cried the King.
Perhaps Marcel’s magic could have done it. But he kept his hands by his side.
“Where’s he going?” Pelham demanded.
“After Damon,” Marcel answered immediately.
“But why? I have half an army searching for him. What can Fergus do?”
Marcel didn’t want to reply. He didn’t even want to guess, though he could hardly stop his mind from jumping ahead. “The Book of Lies,” he mouthed under his breath. It was gone, a puff of ashes scattered on the wind, but as he watched Fergus finally disappear towards the high country, Marcel couldn’t stop the whisper in his mind.
We’re not free of it yet.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my wife, Kate, other family members and friends, and particularly Margaret Connolly, all of whom have given me valuable advice and support during the long gestation of The Book of Lies. I would also like to acknowledge the hard-working team at HarperCollins, especially Emma Kelso, who has helped to guide this story for so long.
James Moloney
Copyright
First published in Australia by Angus&Robertson, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 2004 HarperCollins Children’s Books is an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd, 77–85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB
The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is www.harpercollinschildrensbooks.co.uk
Text © James Moloney 2004
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