by Lari Don
Beth said, “Of course. Well done.”
Innes frowned. “I’m not… Oh, hold on! Crying out for an answer, that’s because babies cry. So yes, it is.”
Molly stepped forward. “The answer to your riddle is: a baby.”
Caracorum bowed. “Correct. I can let your party of four through.”
“Party of five, sister.” Atacama strolled round the corner of the pyramid, his rain-speckled black fur glinting in the moonlight. “I let my friends find the answer themselves, in case you accused them of cheating if I helped, but now they’ve answered correctly, I’ll be joining them.”
“But sphinxes never go through the door!”
“Perhaps we should. Perhaps we should know what we guard. So, a party of five, going through, thank you, sentry.”
Caracorum snarled. “This is a mistake.”
“Probably,” said Atacama. “But I let them go without me last time and that was an even worse mistake.”
The golden sphinx nodded and stood aside.
They placed their hands and paws on the door and pushed it open. They walked out of the dark of the night, into the dark of the corridor. The door closed behind them.
“Do you think there are new guards?” whispered Molly.
There was a dusty silence, then a tiny click.
“Yes, there are new guards,” said a rattly voice. “Newly made guards who still ache and itch after being ripped apart the last time you vandals came through that door.”
The torches flickered into life and Molly saw lines of warriors blocking the corridor. They looked scruffier and a bit squint, like they’d stepped off a collage in a classroom rather than a mosaic in an ancient temple. Some were cross-eyed, some had one arm longer than the other, some had mismatched armour and helmets. But they all had long sharp weapons.
The tallest mosaic man, with only one eyebrow but an impressive scowl, yelled, “Attack!”
“Wait!” shouted Molly. “You can’t attack us. We have the token.”
“We do?” murmured Beth.
“We have the object Nan asked for. That’s a token, isn’t it?” Molly unzipped her pocket and tried to pull the rainbow-maker out.
“She’s bluffing,” lisped a guard with gappy teeth.
“No, it’s here, it’s just a bit big to…” She twisted the long fang and eased it out past the zip, but everything else in her pocket tumbled out too: bus tickets, five pence, pocket fluff and pocket rubbish.
“Here.” She held up the rainbow-maker.
“That’s not the token.”
“It’s the toy Nan asked us to bring for the Promise Keeper. Surely this proves we have a right to come in.”
The mosaic man shook his clinking head. “You can’t just turn up with any old object—”
“Ancient object,” corrected Theo. “It’s not just old, it’s ancient.”
“You can’t just turn up with any random object,” snarled the guard, “and claim it’s on Lady Nan’s shopping list. There’s only one acceptable token and you’ve not shown it to me. Weapons ready, men.”
“But… hold on…” Molly couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“She hasn’t shown it to you, but she does have it,” said a short guard at the end of the line. He was probably made out of leftover tiles, because his skin was spotty and his sword was stripy.
“She has the token.” He pointed at the floor. “It was in her pocket.”
Everyone looked down. At a bus ticket, a five-pence piece, an old hanky, some orange fluff and a black feather…
The black feather from Mrs Sharpe’s shop. The black feather of a curse-hatched crow.
Molly picked up the feather. “Of course. This is the token. This proves we have a right to come in.”
“You may enter, honoured guests,” said the leader of the mosaic men.
As Molly scooped the rest of her rubbish back into her pocket, the guards lined up against the wall.
Molly walked past the sharp swords and long spears, holding the black feather up like a shield. She whispered to Beth, “I had this feather last time too. Oops. We didn’t need to fight them.”
The door at the end of the corridor swung open into one of the rooms they’d sprinted through last time. It was the room filled with mirrors, vases, jewelled chains, a long table, and high windows showing a daytime sky.
Molly asked, “What is this room for?”
“This is the Chamber of Promises,” said Theo. “The heart of the Promise Keeper’s Hall, where all the promises are stored. The mirrors are curses, promises designed to do harm; those vases are enchantments, promises designed to do good; the chains up there are vows, promises which bind.”
Molly said, “Is that why I saw myself in a mirror last time? Beside a pile of dog dirt?”
Theo nodded. “When it’s placed anywhere on this table, the surface of the mirror displays the casting of the relevant curse. I’ll show you…”
“I thought you hadn’t been here before,” said Innes.
“Several previous Promise Keepers left memoirs in the library at Alexandria, so the workings of the Hall are public knowledge.”
“Only if you read the scrolls before that ancient Egyptian library burnt down a couple of thousand years ago,” said Atacama.
“Or if your family saved most of them and you have to read every single one for homework,” muttered Theo.
“So tell us how it works,” said Atacama.
“Do we need to know?” asked Innes. “Shouldn’t we just go and hand over the rainbow-maker?”
“This won’t take long. I’d like to see if the records are correct. The earliest curses are on mirrors so old, they aren’t even glass. But this,” Theo picked up an angular mirror from the nearest rack, “this is less than a hundred years old, judging by the art deco frame.”
He placed it on the table. “The casting of the curse.”
They all peered over, and saw a woman shouting faintly in French at a girl. The girl’s beaded dancing shoes started to glow with heat and the girl screamed.
The mirror misted over and the sequence started again.
Theo lifted it off the table. The image vanished and the faint yelling stopped. He carried the mirror to the head of the table, where there were two hollows in the smooth white surface.
“I think the left-hand hollow is where any attempt to lift the curse will be displayed. If the attempt is successful the mirror shatters. If the attempt is less successful, if it’s not clear whether the conditions are met, the mirror cracks. When a mirror cracks rather than breaks, the Promise Keeper studies it and decides if the curse has been lifted or not. In the last few years, that judgement has almost always been in favour of the curse-caster, not the victim. This Promise Keeper never uses her discretion to be merciful.”
“Because she’s only a baby?” suggested Molly.
Theo shrugged. “Perhaps she sees things too simply, in absolute black and white rather than subtle gradations of grey. Or perhaps she takes biased advice from people who give her rice-cakes. Who knows?”
He laid the mirror in the hollow.
They saw the same girl holding a branch covered in small flowers, waving it at the woman. She was yelling at the woman, in a slightly panicked way, and the woman was laughing. The girl yelled the same word three times and the woman started to grow feathers on her arms, but the woman flicked her hands and the feathers sprouted along the girl’s eyebrows and eyelashes instead. The girl shouted something else. The woman’s throat started to grow scales, but she flicked her hands and the scales erupted on the girl’s cheeks instead. The girl burst into tears and ran off, limping.
“A failed attempt at magical combat, which is why the mirror is still intact.” Theo lifted the mirror up. “Magical combat is extremely risky. She challenged the witch and lost, so she ended up with feathers on her eyelids and scales on her face, as well as burning shoes.
“And the right-hand hollow should show the curse happening, with images from each
time it’s triggered.” He placed the mirror in the other hollow.
They saw a different girl put different shoes on. The shoes glowed and the girl kicked them off.
“The Promise Keeper is also responsible for ensuring that every time the curse is triggered, there’s enough magical power to make it happen. So when the Keeper touches a mirror, she puts a fraction of her own elemental power into the curse.”
Molly watched a succession of girls and boys, all with similar faces but wearing increasingly modern clothes, put on a succession of party shoes. They all flinched with pain and kicked the shoes off.
Theo smiled. “It works, just like the old records describe. By watching every mirror here, you could study the history of curses through the ages, from every different culture and style of magic. Fascinating!”
“You can do your creepy homework later,” said Innes. “Let’s find the Keeper. I don’t want to spend longer here than I have to.”
He led the way to the main door and the white corridor.
Molly asked. “Can anyone remember which direction the baby’s room was in?”
Innes and Beth both pointed left.
They heard a baby wail to their right.
Molly shrugged and turned right, towards a big carved door. They pushed the door open cautiously and saw a huge room with a high ceiling held up by two rows of pillars. At the other end of the room were a large throne, a fire flickering on a high black slab, and two figures standing by the fire.
Beth whispered, “Should we go in?”
The baby wailed again, her cries echoing round the red-and-gold striped pillars.
Molly touched the crystal fang in her pocket. “We came to give the toy to the baby. And she’s here, so let’s go in.”
“Careful,” said Innes. “I think that’s Corbie near the fire. Use the pillars as cover.”
They crept up the long dim room, moving from one wide pillar to the next. When they got close enough to smell the fire’s spicy fragrance, Atacama and Innes were hiding behind one pillar, and Beth, Theo and Molly were behind another, slightly further back.
Molly peered round. She saw Corbie, in his ragged black coat, fetching logs from a pile of firewood; Nan, in her blue dress and white apron, adding wood to the fire; the baby, pale and shining, lying on a golden cushion on the floor.
Molly realised that the Keeper didn’t look like a human baby. She looked like a moving statue, a perfect child carved out of white stone, decorated with gold and jewels.
Nan picked the baby up, and the baby wailed. “Not fire, not fire. Bath time now. Not fire.”
The baby was bigger in Nan’s arms than she’d been earlier; she was already almost a toddler.
Nan held the baby up. “Shush, my poppet. Ducks in the bath soon…”
She stepped nearer the fire.
“Duckies,” said the baby. “Duckies splash.”
The Keeper’s gold curls and pearl teeth reflected the flames. The firelight created a halo of brilliance around her shining body.
The baby giggled. “Hot!”
Nan kissed her forehead. “I know, darling. It’s very hot.”
And she put the baby in the fire.
Nan stretched out her arms and put the giggling baby right into the centre of the flames.
The baby wailed.
The flames rose higher.
And the baby started to burn.
***
They all stared at the baby in the fire.
For as long as it took one flame to flicker and rise and lick at the baby’s gold curls, they all stood still and stared.
Then they all moved.
Molly took a fast step forward.
But Theo grabbed her arm and swung her round, keeping her hidden behind the pillar.
Molly jerked her arm, trying to get free, trying to rescue the baby. But Theo’s grip was strong, and he had Beth’s wrist in his other hand.
He whispered, “Don’t interfere. It’s not what it seems…”
As Molly dragged her hand downwards, trying to break his grip, she heard Innes yelling in pain.
She twisted and looked round the pillar.
Innes was standing by the fire.
Innes had both hands in the flames.
Innes was grabbing at the burning baby.
Chapter Nineteen
As Innes tried to pull the baby out of the fire, Nan and Corbie ran round the slab and crashed into him, knocking him down.
Suddenly Innes was on the floor, hands under his armpits, hissing and gritting his teeth with pain. And the baby was still in the fire.
But the baby was smiling, laughing, waving at Innes on the floor.
Theo whispered, “See. The baby’s fine.”
Molly glanced at the other pillar. Atacama was crouched low behind it, tail flicking uncertainly.
Molly wrenched her wrist out of Theo’s fingers. But as she watched the burning baby smiling and Innes rolling on the ground, she didn’t think running out from behind the pillar would help anyone.
So she stayed hidden as Corbie grabbed Innes’s collar, pulled him up and slammed him against the black slab, the kelpie’s shoulders and back close to the flames.
And Nan reached into the fire to lift the baby out.
Molly could just see the baby in Nan’s arms, gazing up at Nan’s face, making pouting shapes with her lips. The baby was tiny, half the size she’d been when she was put in the fire, and she looked like a newborn rather than a toddler. She was still shining like mother of pearl and coils of gold foil.
“The baby’s not burnt?” gasped Innes. “I thought—”
Nan interrupted. “Where are the others? Where are your friends?”
Innes scowled. “Friends! Some friends they turned out to be. They wouldn’t have anything to do with me once they realised I’d cast a curse.”
“You cast a curse? I can’t keep track of them all. Did he cast a functioning curse, Corbie?”
“He cast a splendid curse on his father, hatching out a fine strong bird. We’d like to keep him and his curse safe.”
Nan smiled. “You cursed your own father! How wonderfully classical! And you don’t know where your friends are now?”
“No idea. I came back here myself, because I was afraid of what my family would do to me. I hoped you might protect me.”
Nan nodded. “The curse-hatched are running a generous curse-caster protection scheme just now. You’ll be safe here. But first, where is the rainbow-maker?”
“I don’t know. After we collected it from a gigantic snake, that hippy dryad refused to work with me because apparently I’m tainted with dark magic. Then they were ambushed by nuckelavee, so I left them to it. I haven’t seen the snake’s toy since.”
“Just as I planned. The nuckelavee will send me the rainbow-maker and we won’t be bothered by those idealistic young curse-lifters again. But why did you interfere just now? Why did you barge into our ceremony?”
“Well… You were burning a baby. I wanted to save the baby from the fire. It’s what most people would do, isn’t it?”
Nan laughed. “How sentimental. So your friends are wrong, you’re not entirely overcome by dark magic yet. But my lovely little baby didn’t need saved. This is her nighttime routine. Supper, fire, bath, bed.”
“That’s a little… unusual.”
“The flames burn off the day. They burn off her growth and what she’s learnt during the day. And I get a sweet little newborn again. If my darling Promise Keeper never grows up, she’ll always need her Nan.” She stroked the baby’s cheek.
“We should lock this kelpie up,” said Corbie. “He destroyed my flight feathers last week.”
Nan looked at Innes. “Do we need to lock you up?”
Innes shrugged. “I don’t want to leave. Everyone back home hates me because I cast a curse. I’m safer at your feast.” He looked at Corbie. “I attacked you because of a vow that I’ve now been released from, so I’ve no reason to attack you again.”
Innes blew on his hands. “I’d be grateful for some cold water. Then I’ll leave you to your bedtime routine.” He tickled the baby’s tummy. “If you visit me at the feast tomorrow, wee one, we can play peekaboo!”
Nan turned to Corbie. “Ask your guards to escort this young kelpie to the feast and fetch him ice-water.”
Corbie snapped his fingers and three crows flew down from the shadows above the throne. Two of them changed into black-clad men, who grabbed Innes’s elbows and led him from the huge room, as the third crow flew behind.
Innes didn’t look back. He hadn’t glanced over at the pillars once while Nan had been questioning him.
Molly held her breath. Did Nan and Corbie know they were there? Had Innes covered up for them convincingly enough?
The silver-haired woman and the sharp-faced man just kept chatting.
“Curse-casters are coming to us for protection now!” laughed Nan. “That’s new.”
Corbie said, “I don’t trust him.”
“What harm can he do? One bite of the feast and he’ll become as sluggish as the other guests. Especially if he eats an actual slug. Do you think he’ll swallow a slimy slug, my sweetie?” She lifted the baby above her head. The Keeper wriggled happily. “Just as well that interfering kelpie didn’t pull you out of the fire too soon. You have to stay in long enough to burn off the whole day, don’t you little one? We have to keep you young and immature, to keep your Nan in charge.”
She settled the baby in her arms again. “This nightly fire keeps me in control, Corbie, but I’m still condemned by my curse to stand beside the throne. Never on the throne, always to the side.”
Nan gestured at the flames. The fire collapsed into a black pile of ashes. “After thousands of years wiping the noses and bottoms, and washing the sweaty socks and bloodstained shirts, of the world’s most powerful beings, I want to hold power myself.”
Corbie said, “Careful, Mother. Remember, your curse brings benefits as well as frustrations.”
“I know. And this is our best strategy. Burn her young every night, increase our influence every day. Then I’ll give you the power I can never hold, my son. I’ll give it to all my curse-hatched sons and all my curse-hatched daughters.”