“Uh...” said Meriadeg, looking as though he were thinking of going back onto his knees.
“Look, I have no intention of eating either of you unless that's the very thing you did with them...” she said, planting her hands on her hips.
“They be on Head, Lady!” said Meriadeg, blurting out at last.
“And they are indeed in charge,” said Ninog. “They have us overseeing things here because of our reliability...”
“They told you that, did they?” said Demonica.
“Oh they were most clear about that,” said Ninog. “And they ain't due back until they come with another shipment in about a week.”
“Well,” said Demonica. “If you're able to tell me that, can you show me where they've put the other shipments?”
“Well yes, we could...” said Meriadeg, “but they said we'd be drawn and quartered with our own swords if we let on to anyone...”
“Idiot!” snapped Demonica. “Do I look like anyone?”
“Why yes,” stammered Meriadeg.
“And by that he means no,” squeaked Ninog.
“In that case, my dear brave and reliable mercenaries” she said, with a voice of sweetened brass, “show me those shipments while you still live.”
“If you don't mind followin' us, Your Ladyship,” said Meriadeg, wheeling 'round to the door, “we'll take ye right there.”
“So why would I mind?” she said as Ninog snapped to and turned to follow Meriadeg up the narrow stone stairway. “My word! I do believe I see why,” she said, making a face after no more than a dozen steps up. “Have either of you ever bathed?” she said, pausing to speak up.
“Why, I did so not long ago at all, Intron Demonica,” said Ninog as he turned and steadied himself against the wall. “Right before the first snow flew. I was raised up to be certain that I do that each and every fall. I've not ever let a year go by...”
“Well let's hurry on then. Let's get out in the air,” said Demonica as she ballooned her cheeks. “I find myself more impressed with you, step by step.”
Soon she found herself being let into the thick-walled granary at one end of one of the stables, just inside her castle's inner curtain.
“There they are,” said Meriadeg, “if you can see 'em, back in there.”
Demonica flung out both upturned palms, releasing two brilliant mage lights which hovered in the musty air, lighting every nook and cranny of the granary and the glittering pile of pearlescent balls heaped against the far wall in the dusty ankle deep oats. “So what did Budog and Mazhev have to say about what would become of you two if these got stolen?”
Meriadeg and Ninog gasped.
“Never mind,” she said, pressing her finger to her lips. “There must actually be the seven thousand here. I really didn't expect that they would manage. I wonder what they did to Smole? Well, that'll certainly keep Spitemorta busy.”
She wheeled 'round with her hands on her hips. “Listen you two. Do this well, and I'll not forget it. Firstly: go have Ivona and Claudette give you each a bath...”
Meriadeg and Ninog shared dumbfounded looks.
“Look, everyone inside knows who they are. Go ask! Have them get you fresh clothes. Then, find me a good stout wagon, fit for me to sit on. It should be immaculately clean with fresh white paint and a seat upholstered in velvet which matches my furniture. Then put it in my receiving hall in front of my great chair and load it with every single one of these catoptrolyte balls...”
By now, Meriadeg and Ninog had gaping mouths.
“...and if you so much as damage my carpet or knock over a vase, you won't live to tell about it. Do it now! Have it done by the time I'm back from an errand that I have in mind. You'll have plenty of time if you don't rest.”
“And how long do ye reckon that'll be...?” said Ninog as he nervously shifted from foot to foot.
“Long enough for you to finish, if you don't want your death to be part of my arrival.” With that, she stepped out of the granary door, leaving them standing stunned in the oats.
Single-mindedly she marched through labyrinthine hallways and up winding staircases until at last she found herself at the top of the tower at the far end of her keep from the inner stables. Before her loomed a heavy oak door, deeply carved with vines and naked dragons burning a forest of sukre canna.
“Well,” she said, pausing to heave a sigh, “I've not been in here once since you died, and I've had no intentions of ever setting foot inside, but here I am.” Her eyes followed the intricate particulars of the carvings on the door as she pieced together a spell from her recollections. Presently she made a sign in the air and the door quietly rolled away on a track into the left hand wall, exposing an utterly plain door which quickly whisked out of sight into the right hand wall, revealing paneled double doors which unlatched on their own at once and swung inward. She stepped forth into a spacious library, chalky with years of dust in spite of being well lit by a row of tall glazed Gothic windows in the curving tower wall and by skylights, speckled with pigeon droppings in the roof above.
In the middle of the room stood a massive oak desk. Slowly she walked over to it and ran her fingertips lightly across its top. Underneath the dust the wood still gleamed. Razzorbauch had a particular weakness for polished wood. “I can plainly see now that I always did love you,” she sighed, looking about. “I could never decide at the time, but now that I see that I've not forgotten a single detail of your library after all these years, I had to have loved you after all.
“Well, there's nothing for it,” she said at last, as she grabbed the stepladder and drug it to the first row of book shelves, “I'll just have to start over here.” Up the ladder she went, to begin book by book on the top row, blowing off dust, thumbing through pages and checking for book marks. She went through each and every book, regardless of what it might say on its spine.
Pigeons came and went, giving muffled coos from the outside of the skylights as their toenails clicked on the glass. The shafts of light coming in around their antics slowly passed from west to east through the room as book by book the late morning became late afternoon.
“Kurun!” she said, when at last she crammed the final volume back into its place on the bottom shelf across the room and stood up. “No grimoire! Boull c'hurun!” She stamped her foot and slowly turned her back to the books.
“The desk. Very well, let's try the desk.” She rushed over to it at once to begin brushing and blowing aside dust. “Key!” she said as she smacked its top and stood up. “Key and spells, damn him! He always used both.” Just as she began a mad dash about the room, hunting for the key, she stopped short and broke out laughing as she reached into the pocket of her panniers inside her kirtle and withdrew the Heart. She set upon the desk with it in a mad frenzy, throwing open the top and yanking out one little drawer after another, only to find assorted odds and ends, pictures of unknown people and snippets and scraps of paper saying nothing that made any sense to her at all. “I hate you, Razzorbauch!” she shrieked at the top of her lungs as she yanked out the last drawer to find it empty and dash it upon the floor. “I've always hated you, kaoc'h razh! Rannet e oa ma c'halon! Bec'h a zo warnoc'h, you never let me in on anything important!” She flung her fists at the pieces of drawer, setting them alight with a crackling flash before falling to her knees to shake with sobs through her clenched teeth.
At last she fell quiet, sitting up on her heels to look distractedly about the room. “Whoa!” she said as she took notice of where the drawer had been. “What's that? She got up at once and felt about the cavity which she found in the bottom of the hole which had held the drawer. “What's this? Boull c'hurun! No grimoire at all. Looks like it must simply be his last journal. Well, I suppose this is all I get. I'll just take it with me and study it. Who knows what I'll find?”
With that, she quickly left the room, slamming shut the three massive layers of oak door behind her with an airy flick of her wrist.
***
“Well, right
up yonder is the Ellsmere-Loxmere border gate, and the right hand road at the tee just beyond is the road which takes us all the way to Sweet Pea,” said Hubba Hubba from the corner of the cantle of Herio's saddle.
“I might have been here before,” said Herio as he turned to offer Hubba Hubba his arm and a way up to his shoulder, “but I was 'way too upset at the time to remember a bit of it because I was chained to that Gollian gnoff who brought me to Niarg as a hostage.”
“My guess is that you and he crossed over on the road a couple of leagues west o' here, coming up from Ashmore,” said Hubba Hubba. “And you guys! I hate to see you ones leave, but this is where you said you were planning on going back...”
“Guess what?” chirped Tweet from between the unicorn's ears, making the beast toss his head and snort.
“We're not,” tweeted Squeak, lunging into the air with Tweet and Chirp to flutter around Herio's shoulders.
“But what about your three little hens?” said Hubba Hubba.
“They decided yesterday,” squeaked Chirp. “They're just as loyal to the crown as Pebbles...”
“And you've been sneaking out on adventures without us,” chirped Tweet, “so you're not getting away with it this time.”
“I allowed that you ones were busy with your...”
“In the dead 'o winter?” squeaked Chirp as he, Tweet and Squeak landed abreast on the cantle of the saddle. “No one will be stringing a single straw nor chicken feather through Razz's tower for another couple of months. We'll be long back by then...”
“I wouldn't be so sure,” croaked Hubba Hubba. “But I'm right glad to have ye along, boys.”
***
“Oh say, could you...?” said Yann-Ber, wheeling 'round to make a final request before the orderly got away, just as the door went closed. He grabbed the latch handle to hale him in the hallway, but it was locked. “Sir!” he called out as he pounded on the door. “Kurun! I'm being detained!” He tried the latch again. It was indeed quite fast. A white hot surge of fear swept through him. He hobbled at once across the brilliant mosaic tiled scene of two blue-birds of paradise in a rain forest to try the window, only to find an iron grill behind the velvet curtains which matched the floor. “This is indeed a cell, and I'm being held. And undoubtedly so are Fuzz and Rose.” He paused to study the room. “Floor, drapes, bedspread and even chair cushions, perfectly matched. Even in this cell for hostile dignitaries, Father still insists on displaying his lavish patronage of the arts.
“My, oh my,” he said, flinging his hat onto the bed. “This could be very bad. Surely Rose and Fuzz are being treated no worse than this. After all, they did recognize the royal Niarg regalia on our ship, still at sea. Perhaps I'm the only one being put under lock and key...” He paused amidst his pacing to trace with his walking stick an arbitrary detail in the tiles of the floor. “Fates, Fates, Fates! What if Demonica reached him first! Surely not. How could she even know we came? Father was always the fiery old man. Could this be about his years of brooding over me?” He hobbled back and tried the door once more. “What am I doing? Of course it's locked. I must think of something. This is already driving me mad. And what if Demonica's finally gone and done it? What if she finally commands Father?
“No, no,” he said with a sigh as he sat with a stiff bounce on the bed by his hat. “I simply must not let this get to me. My taking this in my stride might possibly be our only hope. I'll just go right ahead and dress for an audience with Father.” He pecked at the end of his trunk with his stick and rose at once to open it. Just as he was tying up his breeches, there came a commanding knock at the door.
“Just a moment, please!” he called out as he tottered and yanked on his boots. He went to the door, leaving his doublet on the bed as he straightened and tugged at his clothes. He tried the latch. It came right open. “Yes?” he said as affably as if he had not once tried the door.
“You will come with us now,” said the one in command of the armed escort standing before him.
“A stark order,” thought Yann-Ber as he gathered up his doublet. “No polite offer to consider requests, no reference to me by title or even by 'sir!' This is very bad.”
Chapter 112
“This castle hasn't felt so empty since your death,” said Minuet, slumping with a great sigh as she set down her brush and peered into the eyes of her reflection. “I wish I could just close up the place and start a new life somewhere else. But why? I still couldn't have you back.” She gave a rattling sniffle and ran the back of her hand along one eye as she turned away from the mirror. “Enough!” she said fiercely as she clapped her hands onto her knees and stood up. “I will stand my ground with my head held high while I serve Niarg without giving into grief.
“What on earth is that?” she said, looking up suddenly from turning back the covers on her bed. “My word, what could that be?” She tiptoed across the cold stone floor to the window and parted the drapes just enough to peep out at the glass, black with night.
She jerked back with a start as something began again to peck sharply on the outside of the very pane which she was staring at. “Who knocks three storeys up?” She threw open the drapes, unlatched the sash and stood back quickly as it swung in with the cold breeze.
At once a small crystal sphere rushed in to hover before her, its misty colors swirling within it.
“A message globe,” she said. “Could something be wrong with Lukus, Soraya or the twins?” She plucked it from the air and hesitated before facing its message. At last she opened her hand. “Globe, show me your missive.”
Its colors swirled furiously for a moment before giving forth the image of King Neron. His haggard looks made her gasp and sit back on the bed with a bounce. Now she was indeed afraid for Lukus and his family. “Greetings Queen Minuet,” it said as her heart began pounding. “I certainly hope that you and Niarg are still safe. We at Oilean Gairdin are not. Fen has been attacked and everyone there was eaten by trolls just as they were at Dúradán Deannaigh.
“I have sent word to all of our villages and hamlets to have them flee at once to Oilean Gairdin. We will suffer the fewest losses if everyone is gathered here. We fear that dark manipulations by Spitemorta and Demonica have doomed us to face the same peril from the Marfora Siofra that drove us here from Lobhadh when I was young.
“Fear not, for Lukus, Soraya and the twins are already here and are as safe as any of us here at Caisleán Oilean Gairdin.
“I realize that it may be utterly impossible for Niarg to divide its army with circumstances as they are. Even so, coming in from the outside would aid us greatly by catching the trolls between your troops and ours. In spite of the help that you would be, I do realize that dividing your army might well be part of Spitemorta and Demonica's plan, so by all means be certain that any move to help us does not lay you open to their attack.
“Meanwhile, we are preparing to evacuate Lukus, Soraya and the twins and a large but select number of our other brethren by way of the Magic River.
“I know that you will do that which is best for us all.” And with that, Neron's image was swept away by the globe's swirling colors.
Minuet squatted to find where her slippers had gotten to under the bed. Immediately she was out the door in her nightgown, on her way to Razzmorten's tower.
“He certainly won't mind being awaken to see what I have in my fist,” she declared to the echoes in the empty hallway.
***
“Celeste! Celeste!” hollered Rodon as he galloped 'round the corner into the kitchen.
Celeste and Nacea dropped their apples into their pans with a splash and looked up wide-eyed. Lance looked up from the wooden sword he was whittling for Abaddon.
“Weo wol never thee to understonde, gaspynge and pantynge lyche unto that!” said Celeste.
Rodon reared up, rolling his eyes wildly, utterly unable to speak. “The boye...!” he wheezed at last.
“Alacke...!” he cried, hitting his fist on Lance's bench as he paused to breathe in. “
Hote spryng! Horrours! Righte now! Hast!” And with that he wheeled aside and dropped onto all fours, charging back the way he came. Lance, Celeste and Nacea shared some quick looks before springing to their feet and rushing after him. They caught up with him in time to find Abaddon standing before a large flat topped rock, getting ready to sever the head from a squealing rat with a razor-sharp stone.
“That's not fair!” snarled Abaddon over his shoulder, keeping the rat mercilessly pinned. “If you all take one more step, I'll throw Rodon's stinking rat into the hot spring!”
“Michael myn oonly frend ybe!” wailed Rodon, anxiously twisting his tail in his hands. “Hee no thyng un-to thee ydon!”
“Michael's a stinking rat like you!” cried Abaddon as he turned to face everyone with the squirming animal clamped in both fists. “I'm doing you all a favor by getting rid of him!”
“No, no, no! My frende!” wailed Rodon as he turned pleading eyes to Lance.
“Turn it loose, Abaddon!” shouted Lance. “And if you're not big enough to do that, you're the stinker!”
“Too late!” said Abaddon. “He'll either lose his head or go into the drink. He's been promised.”
“You have no right to take someone's pet,” said Lance as he took a step, “and the Pitmaster has even less right than you.”
“You stepped, idiot!” said Abaddon from the gravelly bottom of his throat. “Too bad! Ta-ta Michael!” And with that, he heaved the kicking rat at the boiling spring.
Rodon was already dashing forth with everything he had. “No!” he cried as he leaped straight for the spring to grab for Michael.
“Na!” barked Celeste with a fling of her hand as though she had caught a butterfly, yanking Rodon and Michael back out of the air from over the boiling waters to come bouncing and tumbling across the hard rocks, right up to her feet.
“O thanke thee, thanke thee, myn wondreful suster!” cried Rodon as he buried his face in Celeste's skirts and broke into sobs.
Abaddon saw his moment and vanished around the corner. Lance saw that he was gone and set out at once to find him. He found him sitting calmly on the floor of his bedroom playing with some stick and yarn figures Nacea had made for him.
Heart of the Staff - Complete Series Page 123
