Secret of the Sirens

by Julia Golding

  “A companion to sirens, you say?” Mr. Coddrington asked in a nasal voice that made everything he said sound like a sneer. Col, sitting behind him in Evelyn Lionheart’s VW, inspected the assessor’s dandruff-flecked collar with distaste, relieved that the visitor was Shirley’s mentor and not his. He hoped his would have a bit more street cred than this dull man.

  Mr. Coddrington cracked his bony knuckles. “They are exceptionally rare, almost as rare as I am myself—a companion to weather giants.” He gave a proud, thinlipped smile. “But why all this fuss? Can’t she be assessed in the normal way after an application has been submitted and references given?”

  Dr. Brock explained for a second time the situation with the sirens and the need for speed.

  “But you have no idea if this bird-girl is one and the same as the applicant?” Even the news that men were dying did not appear to ruffle Mr. Coddrington.

  “No,” Dr. Brock replied shortly. He was clearly beginning to tire of the assessor.

  “It would save you a second trip,” Evelyn cut in. She had made the measure of the man rather quicker than Dr. Brock and had realized that appealing to his self-interest would be more effective than any other tactic. “The trains are horrible from London, and you wouldn’t want to have to come down a second time so soon.”

  “Hmm,” muttered Mr. Coddrington. “True. I suppose I have come equipped.” He gestured to his strange collection of luggage, which included three cages and a black bag.

  “I’ll cook you lunch, of course,” she added. Col smiled. If Mr. Coddrington knew any better, the promise of a Lionheart lunch would be a reason to take the early train home. Evelyn was known to be an atrocious cook. But Mr. Coddrington had not been forewarned.

  “In that case, I suppose I can fit the young lady in at, let’s say, eleven o’clock tomorrow?”

  “Then it’s agreed,” she replied, risking a ghost of a wink over her shoulder at Col when Mr. Coddrington was not looking.

  The VW bumped over the broken tarmac road leading to the Mastersons’ farm. The farmhouse, an isolated building, lay at the end of a wooded valley, several miles from the nearest village. Behind the farm climbed hills leading on to Dartmoor, where the Mastersons grazed their flocks of sheep, as well as allowing less conventional activities to take place. The Mastersons had been staunch members of the Society for generations; every Masterson in living memory had had the gift. But even with this family history, today was a special day: the youngest member of the clan was to have her first encounter with a weather giant. As Mr. Coddrington told Dr. Brock pointedly as they approached the house, to have two companions to weather giants in England at the same time was like lightning striking the same spot twice. He then proceeded to laugh at his own joke, making Col groan.

  A small crowd of people was already waiting in the farmyard as Evelyn Lionheart parked her car. Col scrambled out of the back, pleased to escape Mr. Coddrington’s company. Mr. Masterson swept up the assessor and took him into the house to meet Shirley.

  “What do I do?” Col asked Dr. Brock nervously.

  “Just wait here. Your mentor will find you,” the doctor reassured him while scanning the crowd for his pupil. “Look for the lapel badge with the golden horse.” He was already pinning on his own badge with a black lizard, sign of the Company of Reptiles and Sea Creatures.

  Col searched the thinning crowd apprehensively. He recognized only a couple of the people there. There were fewer Society members these days, so many of the mentors had had to come a great distance to be there for their pupils. He saw Evelyn Lionheart lead a terrified-looking girl off toward the woods for her first encounter with the banshees; he could already hear the high-pitched wailing of the creatures raised in greeting to their new companion. Dr. Brock was heading in the direction of the moors with two young dragon companions—twins by the looks of them, dressed in slick black leather and gauntlets. Col was beginning to fear that his mentor had not shown up, when he felt a sharp rap on his arm. He swiveled around quickly to come face to face with a man wearing an old-fashioned brown leather flying-jacket, goggles, and helmet, upper lip adorned with a sandy handlebar moustache, and an ebony cane tucked under his left arm. He had a golden horse pinned to his lapel.

  “Colin Clamworthy?” he barked out.

  “Yes?”

  “Captain Graves, Companion to Pegasi. Follow me!” He strode off down the lane, vigorously swiping the air with his cane, taking the heads off an overhanging crop of nettles.

  “I have organized for you to meet a young pegasus called Skylark,” Captain Graves called briskly over his shoulder as Col hurried after him. “It will be his first encounter, too, so you must not expect much of each other. It will feel strange, perhaps a little frightening to begin with. If things go well, he may permit you to sit on his back, but remember, he has never been ridden before!”

  “I’ll remember,” Col interjected.

  “But first I want you to understand something of the magnitude of what is about to happen to you.” The captain swished his cane at his charge, and Col instinctively flinched back, not wishing to share the fate of the nettles. He felt he did not need to be told: his stomach was already knotting itself like a game of cat’s cradle. “You have been chosen to befriend and protect one of the most magical and amazing creatures in the world. It is a great privilege, and one that carries with it responsibilities.

  “Mythical creatures,” the captain continued loudly, as if addressing a whole squadron of men, rather than one boy, “are only mythical because men have made them so by driving them into hiding. They could perhaps better be described as representatives of all that is most wild, most wonderful, and most strange in nature. Their survival shadows the fortunes of other creatures, so we have a duty to protect all created things and not just our special charges: the pegasi.” He gave emphasis to his last words by prodding Col twice on the shoulder. Col nodded energetically to show he understood. Satisfied, Captain Graves resumed his march and led Col up a farm track to a large paddock set back from the road, sheltered from onlookers by a bank of dark green oak trees.

  “I remember my first encounter,” mused Captain Graves, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Me and old Flighty were scared witless. He bucked me the moment I climbed on his back. Very apologetic afterward, of course—he’d just panicked.”

  Taking a silver whistle from his jacket pocket, Captain Graves blew a shrill note on it three times. For a few moments nothing happened, but then, as if answering a call themselves, Captain Graves and Col turned toward the hills. Out of the clear blue sky, beating powerful swanlike wings in unison, came two magnificent winged horses: the pegasi. Col’s heart began to race. Seeing them for the first time, he realized that he had just found the piece that had been missing in his life until that moment. Though he had gazed at pictures of pegasi in books as a young child, wishing that the images would come to life before his eyes, nothing had prepared him for their grace and pure beauty: it was as if they were the essence of all other horses, distilled and granted wings in recognition of their fleetness. The larger one—a chestnut stallion with glossy, muscular shoulders—landed expertly by Captain Graves; the younger one—a sleek gray—hit the ground with a thump, kicking up clods of earth on impact, showering the captain’s spotless flying suit with speckles of mud. Col smiled to himself, finding the gray’s lack of experience a comfort as he fully expected to make his own clumsy mistakes any minute now.

  Unperturbed by the young creature’s entrance, Col’s mentor laid his hand on the chestnut’s mane and bent his head, eyes closed in concentration. After whispering in the horse’s ear for a few moments, Captain Graves turned back to Col.

  “This is Firewings: he is Skylark’s mentor.” Col bowed his head as a sign of respect. “Now, I suggest you take your first steps,” said Captain Graves, waving Col forward with his stick. “Do what comes naturally to you. I will only intervene if you run into difficulties. Remember, you are about to find out if you are a companion to th
e pegasi. If so, you should not have to be taught the basics: you will find that you already know them.”

  As he had done so often with his own horse, Col took a few paces forward, stretching out his hand to reach for Skylark’s nose, longing to feel the bristles beneath his fingertips and the warmth of a fellow being. At first the gray seemed to hesitate, and even took a few steps backward, then, gaining in resolve, he stood still and permitted Col to touch him.

  Col gasped. It was as though someone had set off a battery of fireworks inside him. Energy was running from the creature before him, through his fingertips, and traveling into every inch of Col’s being. His limbs felt light and powerful; he felt he could bound across the sky and leap the clouds. He arched his spine: there was a tingling in his back as if he had budding wings just waiting to break through his skin. Snorting in wonder, shaking his hair, feeling the energy zing from it like water droplets flung into the air, Col buried his head in the gray’s snowy white mane. The horse felt it too and snorted in surprise. Slowly, as if a mist was lifting, Col found he could discern thoughts amidst the current that connected them. Skylark was overjoyed but wary; afraid of making a connection with the human world but fascinated by Col. The initial intensity of energy as the two flailed about to connect with each other subsided as they found each other’s mind, like a radio tuner working its way through the static to settle on its chosen station.

  Hello, said Col silently, the words running in his mind, but not needing to pass his lips.

  Greetings, human child, came the reply.

  I’m called Col.

  Greetings, Col, Companion to Pegasi.

  Col’s heart was leaping for joy. This was the moment he had been waiting for: recognition of his gift by a mythical creature. His doubt and fear vanished: he knew through and through what his destiny was to be. Flying horses were his lifeblood; the pegasi, and no other creature, were to be his companion species.

  This is so right; this is how it should be, thought Col as he recognized in Skylark a kindred spirit.

  True, said Skylark. You and I have so much to learn from each other. You are so strange, so wonderful to me. Will you ride?

  May I?

  I’d be honored.

  Col clenched his fist around a lock of Skylark’s mane to swing himself up.

  “Not so fast, young man,” called Captain Graves, who had been deep in talk with Firewings and had not noticed the rapid progress his pupil was making. “What about a helmet—what about goggles?” But Col did not heed him, so spellbound was he by his union with Skylark.

  Let’s show the old folk what the youngsters can do! Skylark snorted, flicking his tail disdainfully.

  Col crouched low and gripped hard with his knees as the horse cantered to take off. At first, Col felt himself being bumped along the ground, but suddenly that all changed as rough grass was replaced by smooth air. Skylark’s wings wafted on either side of Col, who could now feel the strain in his mount’s neck muscles as they worked hard to raise the added load from the earth.

  Am I too heavy? Col asked anxiously.

  Panting, too proud to admit he was having to work more strenuously than ever before, Skylark replied: No, it will be smoother in a moment. Just wait. He dragged them both up with labored thrusts of his white-feathered wings.

  Finally, once Skylark had gained altitude, he rested his wings in a glide, legs lifted up beneath his body as if caught in mid-leap. Col whooped with delight as he looked down over Skylark’s flank and saw the farm spread out below, the tiny sheep and antlike people. The wind chilled his hands and cheeks with its cool touch.

  Shall we dive? asked Skylark, spirits high.

  Why not? answered Col, eager to prove to his new friend that he was ready for anything.

  Skylark folded his wings so the tips were pointed backward and plunged down toward the treetops. It was an incredible ride: like being on the most extreme roller coaster. Col found himself yelling with exhilaration, not the least bit scared. Indeed, he so trusted Skylark he would have been happy to attempt a loop-the-loop if the horse had suggested it.

  Leveling out again, Col saw that Firewings, with Captain Graves on his back, was approaching swiftly.

  “Come down, boy!” called Captain Graves, gesticulating wildly with his cane. “That’s quite enough for your first ride.”

  The mentor was far enough away for Col to pretend he had not heard him. Skylark kicked his heels to head toward the hills; he was determined to keep Col with him as long as possible, despite the harsh neigh his behavior evoked from Firewings.

  Once around the hills and then we’ll go back, Skylark promised Col.

  The hills rolled like a counterpane beneath them, glowing emerald where the sun broke through the clouds to light upon a field. The sheep, disturbed by the strange shadow cast by the pegasus onto the grass, looked like white sand running through an hourglass as they followed the leader from one field into the next.

  Weather’s turning, said Col, seeing a black cloud the shape of an anvil looming ahead. Best go back.

  No, just once around, said Skylark, heedless in his elation.

  They flew straight into the storm cloud. Col lost sight of the hills as heavy drops of rain splattered into his eyes. Perhaps goggles would have been a good idea, after all. He was beginning to feel a little frightened. Did Skylark really know what he was doing? No, Col sensed the wave of doubt wash over his friend. A flash of lightning too close for comfort brought panic to Skylark, and he began to rear and buck, neighing with fright.

  Steady, steady, cautioned Col, clinging on for dear life as his mind too vividly imagined the consequences of falling from this height.

  “Hold fast, boy!” came a shout close-by. Captain Graves and Firewings hovered into view on Col’s right, flying swiftly and strongly despite the gusting wind. Firewings swooped up to Skylark and headed him off, guiding him back out of the storm. Emerging into blue skies again, Skylark began to calm down, his alarm succeeded by deep embarrassment at his behavior.

  Sorry, Companion, I’m so sorry, the gray said again and again, as the pair flew back to the paddock.

  Landing with a thump, Col tumbled off over Skylark’s nose and sat up, rubbing his knee. Above, he saw Firewings and his rider coming in to land with the storm still raging on the hills behind them. Now that he was back on firm ground, Col had time to notice that the storm looked strangely unmoving; it was not affecting the rest of the fine day at all, and the paddock was bathed in sunshine.

  “Now we’re in for it,” muttered Col to Skylark as Captain Graves swung off Firewings and strode over to the boy and his chastened mount.

  But to Col’s surprise, Captain Graves was far from angry.

  “Very good. A very promising start. You have a natural seat, my boy,” said Captain Graves, clapping Col on the shoulder. “Such things are to be expected on your first ride. I should have told you the hills are out of bounds today as someone is encountering their first weather giant. It could have been much worse, believe me: you could have run into the giant himself amidst his clouds.”

  Col grinned with relief at Skylark, who nuzzled him affectionately in return. They had passed the first test, not with flying colors perhaps, but they had made a flying start.

  6

  Assessor

  At half past ten on Sunday morning, as Connie lay on her bed, she heard the VW spluttering down the lane. Her aunt had said she was not supposed to meet Mr. Coddrington until it was time for her examination, and Connie could think of no good reason why she should not play by her aunt’s rules today. Trying to make herself neat, she sat up and brushed her hair in the mottled mirror, seeing her mismatched eyes staring back at her, fear in their depths. Why was she doing this? She did not need to put herself through it if she did not want to, so why? Curiosity, she supposed, but then, what about curiosity and the cat? Was she wrong to let her aunt enter her for the Society’s entrance exam? Might it even be dangerous?

  The preparations had been solemn en
ough. Signor Antonelli had sung a soulful verse of Panis angelicus to her that morning on his way out, kissing her hand as if he might never see her again. Evelyn had even been spotted with a duster in hand, checking over the front parlor: a sure sign that something serious was afoot, as she never normally did housework. The parlor was a cold, little-used room that smelled of damp and dust, unchanged since Sybil Lionheart’s day. It was still decorated with Sybil’s wedding photos in tarnished frames on the mantelpiece, flanked by a white marble statue of a horse leaping from the waves and a figurine of a bronze bear. To Connie, it felt more like a mausoleum than a living room.

  Well, it was no good regretting her decision to undergo the exam now. The assessor was on his way. The tests were to start at eleven, so she had half an hour to kill.

  Suddenly rebelling against her aunt’s insistence on secrecy, Connie decided that even if she was not supposed to meet the examiner that would not stop her from peeking at him out of the window as the car drew up.

  A dark-suited man with straggling brown hair climbed awkwardly out of the passenger seat, his legs far too long to fit comfortably inside. Connie caught a glimpse of a pale, thin face looking with disapproval at the ramshackle cottage, but then he quickly disappeared inside to enjoy her aunt’s hospitality in the kitchen. From this brief glimpse, he looked to Connie more like a bank clerk or insurance salesman, and not at all how she imagined someone with the august title of “Assessor.” She did not fancy letting him test her on anything.

  Her nerves were beginning to overwhelm her. She had better distract herself quickly before she chickened out of the whole thing. Connie tapped on her computer to while away the time, searching the Web for information about the environment. Was the test going to be a written one like exams at school? She doubted it very much, but no one had told her what was involved, saying it had to be kept secret from the candidate in order for it to work properly. Perhaps they’d be testing her to see if she was up-to-speed on local environmental issues? With this in mind, she decided to look up recent stories about oil disasters and found the references spread across many pages. Her heart sickened as she saw the pictures of seabirds tarred with black oil, dying lingering deaths as the stuff prevented them from feeding, or poisoned them slowly. It made for very grim reading.