by Angie Sage
Mitza accepted the offer. She handed over half of the second bag of coins in return for a metal token in the shape of an eye. “Thank you,” Mitza said, looking at the cheap piece of tin for which she had just exchanged a queen’s ransom. “You have been most helpful,” she said, hoping that this was true.
“What is your third lack?” the sorcerer inquired.
Mitza named the lethal sand flies that she had used so successfully with Cassi.
The sorcerer regarded her with a new wariness. “They kill at a touch,” she said.
“Yes,” Mitza agreed. “They do.”
“You are familiar with their use?” the sorcerer asked.
“I am,” Mitza said placidly.
The sorcerer began to regret her offer of a job. Acquiring a murderous assistant was a sure way of shortening one’s professional career. She gave Mitza a cool smile. “I fear I am out of sand flies at present. But from the goodness of my heart I will give you another token for the Gremelzin. It will have the sand flies in stock.”
Mitza took the token: a small, black, seven-pointed star.
“A Death token,” said the sorcerer. “It will give you what you lack.” The sorcerer got to her feet and fixed Mitza in her gaze. “At the end of this alley you will find a small girl wearing black. She is my runner. At the sight of the tokens she will conduct you to the Gremelzin. I give you farewell.”
The hominid was waiting for Mitza by the velvet-covered door. He was holding a wooden box with an open grille for a top. Huddled in the dusty corner of the box was a tiny sparrow, trembling with fear. The hominid handed the box to Mitza with a respectful bow. It was impressed—it wasn’t every day the sorcerer agreed to hire out a Hawk.
TO FIND A PAIR OF HOODWINKS
It was Ayla’s first week as a sorcerer’s runner and she was learning fast. Ayla had watched Mitza go down the alley and had guessed that she was looking for a sorcerer, but after Mitza had roughly elbowed her out of the way, Ayla had not been inclined to help the hatchet-faced woman. But now the woman was back. She had a bird-in-the-box and two tokens for the Gremelzin’s cavern, which was the most dangerous place in the Red City, and where she wanted Ayla to take her. Ayla gulped. She saw the seven-pointed black star lying in the woman’s palm and goose bumps ran down her neck. It was the first Death token she had ever seen. This was not, she thought, turning out to be a good day.
Some runners would have turned the job down, but not Ayla. Ayla was from a poor family who lived in a tiny tent in the City of the Free. She longed to become a sorcerer, and the only way for an outsider to become accepted into the Guild of Sorcerers was to spend many years as a faithful runner, until at last a sorcerer trusted her enough to take her on as Apprentice. Feeling rather nervous, Ayla conducted Hatchet-Face through a maze of alleyways until they arrived at the entrance to the underground cavern of the Gremelzin.
To Ayla’s surprise, the woman showed her a gold coin and said it would be hers if she guarded the bird-in-the-box with her life while Mitza went into the cavern. Ayla nodded. But she had learned a lot in her first week and she did not expect to receive the coin. One look at the woman’s hard eyes told her all she needed to know.
The network of caverns where the Gremelzin lurked was formed by an ancient underground river that fed the wells of the Red City. Few people ventured there unless they were desperate, for it was known to be inhabited by infant Maunds. Mitza had taken the sorcerer’s advice and had placed her shawl around her shoulders.
After wobbling down a series of ladders, Mitza found herself in a tunnel, which was just a little too tight and a little too low for comfort. At the end of it glowed the dim red light of the cavern where the Gremelzin lived.
The Gremelzin was not a creature anyone would visit unless desperate. Covered in yellow scales, six-legged, with two sets of lizardlike hands and a long, pointed snout, it lay curled on an abundance of ragged cushions piled on a huge gilt chair. The Gremelzin was an intelligent creature. It had been found in a cave by the most powerful sorcerer the Red City had ever had, who captured it while it slept and set it to work in his storeroom. The creature took to the work at once and became obsessed by storage systems. Unfortunately, during a heated argument—the Gremelzin favored screw-top jars and the sorcerer preferred old-fashioned corks—the creature had bitten the sorcerer. The bite was venomous, and despite frantically trying every antidote possible, the sorcerer had died a lingering death. Unaware that its master had died, the Gremelzin faithfully continued dispensing the contents of the storeroom on production of one of the sorcerer’s tokens. It lived on the bats and spiders that inhabited the cave and drank the cool fresh water from the underground river. It never wondered why the sorcerer no longer visited and was perfectly content with its lot.
Mitza entered the red-lit storeroom and put the tokens on the nail: a tall metal pillar with a flattened top. The Gremelzin scuttled over to it and inspected the tokens. Its flat, reptilian eyes regarded Mitza. “Gold,” it hissed. “Gold for Death.”
Mitza counted out the gold from her bag, keeping one coin back for the runner. “That’s all I have,” she said.
The Gremelzin pushed the gold around disdainfully with its tiny pointed digits. It stared at Mitza. “Lie,” it said in a nasal, high-pitched voice.
And so Mitza handed over her last gold coin. “That is all I have,” she said.
“Truth,” the Gremelzin said. It slithered away and Mitza watched its suckered feet carry it effortlessly over the wall of screw-top jars, searching for the sand flies and the HoodWinks.
As Mitza stood in the gloom, one, then two, then three infant Maunds climbed rapidly up her dress and settled upon the broad space her shoulders provided. A Maund was an invisible, parasitic creature. An infant Maund would search for trailing hems, and then using its long, curved claws, it would climb the clothing until it reached the shoulders of its host. There it would squat, growing heavier at such a slow rate that all the unwitting host knew was a gradual sense of being weighted down, accompanied by a growing feeling of doom. In its adult stages a Maund’s claws would grow into the skin and curve around the collarbone until it roosted like an invisible vulture. Its host would become reclusive, depleted of energy, and fade into an early death. Mitza knew very well what a Maund would do, and thanks to the sorcerer’s warning, she was prepared.
At last the Gremelzin scuttled back, Mitza’s requests clutched in its top set of hands. First it gave her the HoodWinks: two matched necklaces of cut crystals the size of walnuts. Mitza took them and, surprised at their weight, she carefully put them into her pocket, which she wore in the old-fashioned way, as a soft leather bag tied around her waist.
The Gremelzin now showed Mitza a tiny gold vial with a silver top sealed with black wax lying in its lined, white palm. “Here is Death,” it said. “Take.”
Terrified of breaking the seal, Mitza took the vial between finger and thumb and placed it extremely carefully in her pocket. She thanked the Gremelzin, bowed and squeezed back down the tunnel. As she stepped into the courtyard, Mitza pulled her shawl from her shoulders in a rapid, deft movement and threw it to the ground. Taken by surprise, the infant Maunds tumbled down with the shawl. Mitza stamped on the shawl with her heavy boots, squashing two of the Maunds. The third, in a panic, clutched the hem of her skirts and did not let go.
Mitza was so jubilant at her success that she was oblivious to the third Maund, which was now climbing back up her skirt. She snatched the bird box from Ayla, who asked for her gold coin. Mitza gave Ayla a brass penny and told her to be grateful. And Ayla was grateful—she had expected nothing more than a sharp kick, and a brass penny bought a lot in the City of the Free. However, she was not going to show it. Ayla gave Mitza a rude sign and ran off to find her next job, thinking that it was turning out to be not such a bad day after all.
Five minutes later, with a key she had stolen from Marissa, copied and returned, Mitza was opening a door into a hot, enclosed courtyard with just a single palm in
its center and a channel of cool water running around its perimeter. She walked into the shadow of the palm tree and closed her eyes. She felt the air grow cool and her next breath tasted of damp leaves and mold. She opened her eyes to see dark green gloom and the outline of an ill-fitting door in front of her. Clutching the bird box, she pushed it open and stepped out into a quiet forest glade surrounded by trees hundreds of feet tall.
Mitza turned around to see the place she had just come out of, so that she would know it again. She was shocked—it was nothing more than a ramshackle pile of logs and leaves that had once, before it became an entrance to a Forest Way, been a charcoal-burner’s hut.
Mitza was amazed that the Forest Way had actually worked. Marissa had told her about it many times, but Mitza had not expected the witch to be telling the truth. But here she was: thousands of miles away from the Red City, and as free as a bird. Why would she want to go back to the Red Queen and place herself in danger when she could just walk away and begin a completely new life?
The answer lay in one word: revenge. Revenge on Dan Moon, revenge on that two-faced witch Marissa and revenge on the Castle, which had given the wretched Alice safe harbor. Let the Red Queen come and lop off a few Castle heads—it would do them all good.
At that comforting thought, Mitza Draddenmora Draa allowed herself a small, tight smile.
HAWK-EYED
Mitza had heard that the Castle Forest was dense and she had been concerned that the Hawk might not easily fly away. But she was pleased with what she found in the glade. High above her was a gap in the tree canopy showing a clear patch of blue sky, which was quite big enough for a bird to fly through unimpeded. Mitza knew that the fewer obstacles put in front of a Hawk on a mission, the better.
Mitza put the sparrow’s box on the ground. Kneeling beside it, she took out the Incantation, broke the seal and began to memorize the words, while the surrounding trees looked down with an air of disapproval. Ten minutes later, Mitza was ready. She lifted off the grille, reached into the box, grabbed the sparrow and held it up to her eye level. Two frightened black eyes stared at her. Slowly, clearly, not breaking the stare, Mitza said the Incantation:
Bird you are, bird you be.
No longer wild, no longer free,
You will now serve only me.
Of you now I do require,
To find someone within the hour.
Bring her to a place I tell,
Do my bidding wise and well,
And I will free you from this spell,
But until then you work for me.
Bird you are, now Hawk you be!
The sparrow did not take its eyes off her for one second. Mitza said the Darke words at the end of the Incantation—words that may be written only by the hand of a Darke sorcerer.
The sparrow began to change. Its feathers sprouted, its beak grew large and curved, and its frightened eyes changed to an angry, suspicious yellow. Quickly, Mitza pushed Marissa’s green ribbon into the Hawk’s ready beak. It held it fast and Mitza caught a glance from its eye. It understood.
“You Seek Marissa Janice Lane. A witch,” Mitza told the Hawk. “Bring her to Snake Slipway beside the Moat at sundown.”
Mitza stepped back and the Hawk jumped out of the box. It ran a few steps, and then with a powerful thrust of its wings, it lifted up into the air. Mitza watched it go, shooting up through the gap in the trees, its silhouette dark against the brilliant sky, the scrap of ribbon hanging from its beak. And then it was gone; Mitza was alone in the Forest and all was silent.
A sensation that she was being watched came over Mitza. She hurried back into the ramshackle entrance to the Forest Way, and then she was gone. Behind her the trees of the glade relaxed, glad to see an ill-wisher gone.
On the top of the hill in the Wendron Witches’ Summer Circle, Marissa was sitting in the afternoon sun with what she thought of as “her” group of witches, known to other Wendrons as “the Toadies.” They were discussing the party and in particular what Newt had done with the Kraan. Marissa had last seen Jo-Jo being pursued by the Kraan and she feared the worst. However, Marissa considered worrying about someone to be a weakness, and she was determined not to be weak. She was lying on the grass, staring up at the sky and trying—unsuccessfully—not to think about Jo-Jo when she saw the black shape of a bird hovering above the summer circle.
“Ooh, look, it’s a hawk,” said Byrony.
“Anyone got a spare mouse, ha-ha?” asked Madron.
“Yeah, I’ve got one.” Ariel, determined to tamp down recent suspicions about her loyalty, took her pet mouse from her pocket and held it, wriggling, by its tail. “Come on, hawky, hawky! Come and get your supper!” Ariel trilled.
Star looked horrified. “Ariel, you can’t do that to Pinkie,” she protested.
“Why not?” Marissa said. “It’s her mouse. And it’s fun. Look, the hawk’s diving. Oh, look it’s— Argh!”
The Hawk’s dive ended not with Pinkie in its claws but with Marissa. It landed on her stomach, its talons digging into her flesh. Marissa screamed in pain and leaped to her feet. “Aaargh!” she yelled, jumping around, swatting at the Hawk, which let go and rose up, fluttering in front of her, at head height. The swish of air from the beating of its wings and the glint of its yellow eye besieged her. “Go away, you stupid bird! Go away!” she shrieked, flailing her arms, batting at its wings. But the Hawk was immovable and its yellow eyes did not leave Marissa’s face for a moment.
“Do something!” Marissa yelled to the other witches. Bryony made a tentative swipe but the Hawk lashed out with its beak and made a deep cut across the top of her hand. Bryony added her yells to Marissa’s and retreated fast.
A circle of onlookers had gathered to enjoy Marissa’s discomfort, for it was now clear to all that this was no ordinary hawk. “Marissa,” Ariel said. “It’s an Enchanted Hawk. It’s got your ribbon and it won’t leave you alone until you go with it.”
“But I . . . I don’t want to go with it,” said Marissa, unsuccessfully trying to look away from the Hawk’s piercing gaze.
“Well, it’s not going to go away,” Star said. “So you may as well go with it and see what it wants.”
Marissa knew Star was right. “Someone come with me,” she said. “Please. I don’t want to go on my own.”
The witches made faces at one another.
“Sorry, I’m on supper duty tonight,” said Madron. “Otherwise I’d love to. Obviously.”
“I can’t leave the Witch Mother,” said Bryony, clutching her hand. “I’m her gofer this afternoon.”
“Someone come,” Marissa said desperately. “Please!”
Ariel and Star looked at each other. This was something Queen Jenna would want to know about: a Hawk was serious Darke Magyk.
“All right,” said Star, taking care to sound very reluctant.
“We’ll go with you,” said Ariel.
“Oh thank you, thank you,” Marissa said gratefully. She tried to look at Ariel but she could not take her gaze from the Hawk. “I can’t stop looking at it,” she said in a small, scared voice. “What . . . what shall I do?”
“I think you have to promise to follow it,” Ariel said.
“But you’ll have to keep your promise,” Star said.
“Because if you don’t,” said Ariel, “it will . . .”
“It will what?” Marissa asked tetchily, already reverting to her old self.
Ariel and Star spoke gleefully in unison. “It will peck your eyes out!”
JERRA’S DUTY
Tod, Ferdie, Oskar and Jerra settled down for the night in the Far Hub. They demolished Jerra’s supper of cheesy bean soup and sat around the fire toasting the supply of sweet crumpets that his girlfriend, Annar, had sent him off with.
Oskar and Ferdie were still catching up with all the news of the village, and Jerra had much to tell them about the rebuilding of the houses, the new village meeting place and the latest gossip. At first, Tod listened, happy to hear what had b
een happening and smiling at any mention of her father, Dan. But as conversation drifted to the Sarn family itself, Tod found her thoughts straying to the Castle, and she could not get an image of the Wizard Tower crashing to the ground out of her head. She thought of Septimus and how he had no idea that it might actually happen very soon indeed. She worried too that neither he nor Marcia knew about the Kraan loose in the Ways. She imagined the creatures creeping out of the Hidden arch in the Wizard Tower courtyard, just as the Garmin had done not so very long ago. To the background of Oskar and Ferdie giggling at a family joke, Tod came to a decision. As Septimus’s Apprentice it was her job to warn him. And she must do that as soon as possible—even if it did mean going back into the Ways. The sooner she went, the better: she must go that very night.
There was a lull in the conversation while Jerra hung the kettle on its tripod over the fire. “Hot chocolate,” he said. “Then sleep.”
“Aw . . .” Ferdie and Oskar protested.
Jerra noticed that Tod was silent. “Hey, Tod, you look wiped out. Here,” he said, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. “You’re still cold.”
Jerra’s gesture brought tears to Tod’s eyes, which she blinked away quickly. She longed to stay in the warmth with her friends but she knew what she must do. She stood up and handed the blanket back to Jerra with a wistful smile. “Thanks,” she said. “But I’ve got to go now.”
“Huh?” Jerra looked nonplussed.
Oskar and Ferdie were on their feet.
“Go?” asked Oskar.
“Where?” demanded Ferdie.
