Ms. Redclover behaved like a native, for all her attempts to distance herself from her ancient familial home. She set off along the beach at a purposeful walk, with the air of a woman walking a long-familiar route. ‘Dapplehaven is just around the corner,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘What is Dapplehaven?’ I asked, hastening to catch up with her.
‘The largest town in the Dell. The Redclover School is there.’
Straight to the point, hm? I smothered the desire to go for a long, exploratory hike, and dutifully trotted after Ms. Mabyn Redclover.
But we had not gone very far before three most unpromising things happened one after another.
First, it literally went dark. Not completely pitch, but the sun went pale and watery, like someone had turned down a dimmer switch.
Next, the magickal equivalent of a klaxon sounded from somewhere nearby. It sounds less like a car horn and more like an entire flock of griffins all screaming at once.
When a dark speck appeared on the horizon, I knew we were somewhat in trouble.
‘This does not seem good,’ said Jay, coming to a sudden halt, and warily eyeing the skies.
Ms. Redclover gave a huffy sigh, and fussed with her hair. ‘Always so prone to overreaction. Some things never do change, do they?’
I was watching that dark speck in silence. It grew rapidly bigger, proving itself to be winged, with a snaky body and four legs. ‘Yep,’ I said as it drew nearer. ‘Dragon.’
It wasn’t all that big of a dragon, in fairness, but it was plenty big enough to ruin our collective day. As it swooped down upon us, jaws gaping, with purple fire streaming from between its fangs, Ms. Redclover shook her head with another huffy sigh and said, ‘Oh, Archibald.’
8
‘Who,’ croaked Jay, eyes glued to the descending draconic menace, ‘is Archibald?’
I wanted to ask much the same thing, but I had been too busy digging for my Wand. I had not yet got around to returning the Sunstone Wand to Stores after our last adventure, for which oversight (ahem) I was now heartily grateful.
Trouble is, I had not expected to encounter so direct a menace two minutes into the Dappledok Dell, and I had left it somewhere in the depths of my shoulder bag. The pup was sleeping on it, and was remarkably resistant to suggestion. ‘Er,’ I said, beginning to panic, my fingers scrabbling uselessly for any trace of cool gemstone beneath the pup’s thick, fluffy fur. ‘Duck!’
We dived for the floor. The dragon swooped, claws extended, and mercifully missed all three of us.
Wait, no. No, it didn’t. Jay and I had hit the floor, but Mabyn Redclover had stood her ground like an idiot, arms crossed, tutting the way Matron used to upon finding ten-year-old Ves reading her book by torchlight well after lights out. (I was a well-behaved child most of the time, I swear).
The dragon, unimpressed with this display of disapproval, scooped her up in its long, polished claws and flew away again.
Mabyn’s voice drifted back to us along the balmy spring breeze. ‘I will get this sorted out! Wait there.’
Jay and I could only watch, helpless, as the dragon dwindled into the distance, taking our guide with it.
‘Well,’ said Jay.
I hefted my bag. I had found the Wand by then, disturbing the pup in the process, and she was now sitting up, yawning, her ears perked as she looked around. ‘Time to explore after all, then,’ I said brightly.
Jay gave me his what-are-you-talking-about look. He does something odd and sceptical with his eyebrows. It’s hard to describe. ‘Don’t you think we ought to help Mabyn?’
‘Did she sound distressed to you?’
The what-the-hell face became a frown. ‘No. Why didn’t she sound distressed?’
‘My guess is that the dragon’s called Archibald. Or he belongs to someone else with that name.’
‘Possibly not the first time she’s travelled by dragon?’ Jay surmised.
‘Possibly not. Shall we go?’
‘She said, “Wait there.”’
‘I know. I heard her.’
‘We aren’t doing that?’
‘Did you especially want to?’
‘We should.’ Jay said this very gravely. ‘She is effectively our boss for today.’
I put the Wand away again. ‘All right, then.’
Time passed.
Jay, to his credit, did a champion job of pretending not to be stupefied with boredom. He wandered about, hands shoved into the pockets of his dark leather jacket, an expression of bland interest on his face as he inspected the same outcropping of tan-coloured rock about sixteen times over.
I sat cross-legged on a nearby boulder, the pup in my lap, and stared into space.
After about seven minutes of this, he said, nonchalantly, ‘Maybe we could explore a little bit.’
‘We could.’
‘If we don’t go too far?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Do you want to lead?’
‘Nope.’
He set off.
‘Jay,’ I said.
‘What?’
‘How about we go in generally the same direction as the dragon?’
He turned around, scowling. ‘I did ask you if you wanted to lead.’
I hopped off my boulder, electing to keep the pup in my arms rather than let her run, and beamed at him. ‘Just helping out.’
‘It’s not the worst idea,’ he conceded.
My smile widened.
‘Fine. You’re right, we’ll go this way.’
The dragon had flown off inland, more or less in the direction Mabyn Redclover had been going herself. I judged it likely, therefore, that the dragon (Archibald?) had come from Dapplehaven, and had probably returned there with Mabyn. Why we had been left out of this kidnapping party, I had no idea, though I wasn’t about to complain. If I am going to fly, I will do it by winged horse, thank you very much. Or chair. Or, I suppose, airplane. Those are the only three options.
My hypothesis seemed sound, for after a half-hour’s wending our way across the uneven curves of a stony hillside feathered with bracken and heath, the walls of a little town came into view surmounting the very top of the peak. At least, it appeared to be of limited size at first, but as we drew nearer, it became clear that the settlement extended much farther back than had initially been apparent. The walls were taller than Jay, and built from a reddish-tan stone obviously hewn from the local hills. Those buildings we could see were mostly constructed from the same material, as well as sturdy oak and pine wood. To my eyes, they looked diminutive, being of course the homes of spriggans and other beings built along smaller lines than humans. But they did not lack vision. Neatly constructed from smooth bricks, with sloping, tiled roofs and mullioned windows, they towered over the town walls, most of them built at least four storeys high.
If this was Dapplehaven, it was a prosperous place despite its reclusive habits.
One particularly tall tower rose in the centre, a round-walled construct made from a much paler stone than the rest, and fitted with a variety of peculiar windows, every one of them a different shape. Its top was crowned with a huge nest made out of what looked like lengths of coloured cloth. It made a cheery sight, in spite of its probable purpose.
I pointed it out to Jay. ‘Suppose that’s Archibald’s house?’
‘Looks dragon-sized,’ he agreed.
Gradually, I became aware of a problem. Walls there were, but it occurred to me that I had caught no glimpse whatsoever of a gate, or a door, or an archway, or even a window, through which Jay and I might enter the town. We walked on, following the curve of the walls around and around, but no sign of an entrance did we find.
At length, Jay stopped. ‘We can’t walk around the entire town. If there was going to be anything obvious like a gate, it would have been on the side we approached from — facing the entrance.’
‘Are you sure? They stopped taking visitors from Cornwall many years ago.’
‘And then moved the g
ate? Did you see anything on the walls that looked like a bricked-up doorway?’
‘No,’ I conceded.
‘It’s got to be a hidden entrance, like the door in the cliff face which only Mabyn could find.’
I heaved a sigh. ‘Why do Dells always have to make things so difficult.’
‘Because they hate you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘And me, and the entire unmagicked population of Britain especially.’
‘Not altogether unreasonable of them,’ I murmured, thinking of many instances of persecution, theft, abuse and other such joys the magicker populations of our country had previously endured. Not to mention that the threat of exposure held more perils now than it ever had before. Imagine what would happen if some well-meaning but excitable non-magicker person discovered somewhere like Dappledok Dell — and managed to prove its existence to the rest of the world. Okay, we’re past the point where anybody would be likely to come down here with the torches and the pitchforks and burn the residents at the stake. Instead? Hordes of people would come down here with their Canon 70Ds and their camping gear and their Harry Potter t-shirts and the whole thing would become a theme park inside of about a week.
‘So, hidden door,’ I said to the wall before me. ‘Fun.’
‘Maybe it’s back where we started,’ said Jay. ‘Near the portal to Cornwall.’
‘Could be.’
‘It’s probably operated by a word, or a phrase. Something in Ancient Cornish, or whatever it was that Mabyn was speaking.’
‘One of the spriggan languages, possibly,’ I mused.
‘One of them?’
‘They have many dialects. Just like humans, isn’t that odd?’
He grimaced at me. ‘All right, sorry. Do you happen to speak any of them?’
‘No. Not having expected to end up in spriggan country, I specialised in old English and Court Algatish, which is the official language of Trolldom at the moment. I dabbled a bit in one or two of the goblin and elf tongues, but I never made much progress with those.’
Jay stared at me, bemused. ‘You speak Algatish?’
‘Not fluently, but not too badly.’
He visibly shook himself. ‘Er. So, we aren’t going to make much progress with the door if neither of us can speak any of the likely languages.’
‘Gosh, whatever shall we do.’ I reached out a hand and rapped politely upon the wall.
‘Knock?’ said Jay incredulously. ‘That’s the plan?’
‘Just wait.’
It took about thirty-five seconds.
‘Who goes there?’ snapped an irritable female voice, and a face shimmered into view. She was almost as wizened in appearance as Mabyn, though she was much more addicted to jewellery, and she wore bright lipstick.
‘I’ve always wanted to say who goes there,’ I whispered to Jay. ‘I’d say it with a bit more bombast, though.’
‘Er,’ said Jay. ‘We’re from the Society for Magickal Heritage, based in Yorkshire. We are here on an urgent matter of business.’
‘We had a guide,’ I added helpfully. ‘Mabyn Redclover. A dragon made off with her.’
The woman’s brows snapped down. ‘Wait there,’ she grunted, and the vision dissolved.
‘I was tempted to say “We come in peace,”’ Jay remarked.
‘You could have. I doubt she would have got the reference.’
‘Next time. So is this how it normally works?’
‘What?’
‘You just… knock?’
I shrugged. ‘It works more often than it doesn’t. The Dells certainly don’t encourage tourism, but it’s not like you’re in danger of being put to death for setting foot in here. And she must realise we had to have qualified help to get this far.’
The woman herself appeared shortly afterwards. A line of green fire snaked its way up the wall, tracing the shape of an elegant and surprisingly tall archway, and the stonework within apparently vanished. Our grumpy receptionist stood revealed in all the glory of an early Edwardian tea gown in heliotrope silk, a sash tied round her nipped-in waist. Fashions don’t always advance much once a Dell closes its doors to the outside world. Then again, some people just like to dress vintage.
‘Mabyn Redclover is currently unavailable,’ she snapped.
‘We guessed that,’ I said.
‘Is she all right?’ Jay put in.
‘Perfectly. What do you think Archibald was going to do, eat her? Credentials please.’
We flashed our Society symbols. Mine has the unicorn superimposed over the three crossed wands, but Jay has only the wands so far. He hasn’t yet had time to pick a unique identifier.
I might as well add: no, these are not fakeable. It’s like the magickal equivalent of that special paper and holographic stuff they use on cash money to make it hard (if not completely impossible) to fake. No one can use my symbol but me. Val and I tried, once, to fake each other’s symbols. The results were not pretty. My face hurt for three weeks afterwards.
‘Fine. Come in.’ The Edwardian spriggan turned her back on us and stalked back through the archway, which promptly began to display signs that the stone blocks were returning.
‘Quick.’ I grabbed Jay and dragged him through the arch, just as stone rippled back into place with a nasty grinding sound. Nice if we’d got stuck halfway through when that happened.
‘Hospitable,’ Jay muttered.
‘Habit,’ I countered. ‘I don’t think they get groups here very often.’
The town of Dapplehaven had all the hallmarks of an old, old settlement: narrow streets winding every which way, betraying the absolute absence of a town planner; old stone or timber-framed houses with crumbling facades built onto the front in updated styles; an occasional old well, which may or may not be still in use; doors with the doorknobs in the middle, instead of on the left side; uneven stone-cobbled streets; all of that kind of thing. They had updated a bit, though, for they had wrought iron streetlamps in that charming, late-Victorian style (ornate), and a suspiciously twentieth-century-looking wheelbarrow parked in somebody’s front garden (not so ornate).
Our new guide escorted us through several winding streets and at last entered a tall, skinny building with an unfortunate unsteady appearance. By which I mean, it was distinctly leaning at the top.
This did not appear to trouble our guide, who took us through a featureless entrance hall and up three flights of stairs. She shoved open a door in the subsequent hallway and ushered us into it.
Mabyn Redclover sat there on a hard oak chair. Her suit was torn in three places, and — alas! — her hair had very much come a-cropper. She was also missing a shoe.
‘Your assistants,’ said the Edwardian woman.
‘Thanks, Doryty,’ said Mabyn sourly. ‘I am sure you gave them one of your warm welcomes.’
‘Naturally. Wait a moment.’
She left us with Mabyn.
‘What got into Archibald?’ said Jay, sitting down beside her.
That won him a faint smile. ‘We go a long way back.’
‘Really? He didn’t look all that friendly.’
Mabyn looked away. ‘I did not leave on quite the best terms. Those who have the care of Archibald these days were not best pleased to see me back.’
‘What about Doryty?’ I put in.
‘Doryty Redclover. A cousin on my mother’s side.’
‘Good relationship there?’
‘Not really.’
Milady’s knowledgeable, well-connected guide turned out to be about the least popular person in Dappledok? Great.
I was in for a headache.
9
I suppose we shouldn’t have been surprised. Mabyn Redclover had aligned herself with precisely the type of organisation — and the very department thereof — most likely to be opposed and despised by those who remained loyal to the goals of the Redclover school. She had become a person who made a point of getting in the way of projects like the Redclovers’, curtailing their opt
ions and limiting their prospects for reasons with which they apparently disagreed. If you were not disposed to consider those kinds of laws as justified, Mabyn’s choices would tend to look rather like defection to the enemy.
I wondered what kinds of things they were getting up to at the school these days.
‘We need to pay a visit to the Redclover School,’ I said.
Mabyn gave me an exasperated look. ‘It has been forty years since I left. I thought they might have got over their anger by now, but apparently not. They aren’t going to let us anywhere near that school.’
‘Not you, perhaps,’ said Jay. ‘I mean no offence, but Ves and I have angered no one.’
‘Yet,’ I muttered.
Jay ignored that. ‘If we request a tour, as representatives of the Society, surely they would agree?’
‘Of course they would,’ said Mabyn.
‘Great.’
Her lips quirked in a sardonic smile. ‘Anything remotely objectionable is well hidden, and believe me, you won’t find it without help.’ She held up a hand as Jay opened his mouth, forestalling his words. ‘I cannot help you there. Forty years, remember? I am out of touch with their present arrangements.’
‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘I have a plan.’
Jay eyed me warily. ‘Is it by chance a Mad Ves Plan?’
‘A what?’
‘Mad Ves Plans make perfect sense to Ves, but less so to anyone else. They are the result of Ves’s unique worldview, combined with a splendid disregard for convention or rule and a degree of blithe recklessness.’
‘You don’t like my plans?’
‘They frighten the life out of me,’ said Jay. ‘It’s therefore galling to have to admit that they sometimes work.’
‘Usually,’ I corrected.
‘All right, usually. So what’s the plan?’
‘I am going to show them the pup.’
‘What? Ves, if they are the ones responsible for breeding that puppy, we’ll be in big trouble.’
‘I don’t think they are. Or if they are, they may be unaware that one has got away. They’d be quite interested to hear about that, don’t you think?’
‘Oh? How do you figure that?’
‘Because this place is so reclusive. If this is where the pup came from, how did it end up in a medieval ghost-cottage in East Anglia? If the pup came from here at all, then somebody took it out of Dappledok into England, and that is a circumstance that’s likely to be frowned upon by the School. I think they would like to know about it, don’t you?’
The Striding Spire Page 6
