The girls regrouped in the library. ‘No luck?’ asked Imogen.
‘No,’ said Marie. ‘There were voices in the king’s study, but the guards said Miro left hours ago.’
The girls searched the South Wing together. The prince hadn’t shown them this part of the castle. They ran from room to room, calling Miro’s name. Eventually, they came to a staircase that was flanked by flags. ‘Well, this looks grand,’ muttered Imogen. She sat down on the first step and Marie sat next to her. As their breathing steadied, Imogen heard a sound. A sort of snuffling. It was coming from somewhere above their heads.
‘Miro,’ said Marie, springing to her feet. ‘Miro, is that you?’ The snuffling stopped. Marie ran up the staircase and Imogen followed. About halfway up, the stairs split in two, looped round and met on the next floor.
The prince was sitting on the top step, with his knees tucked under his chin. His far-apart eyes were puffy and his cheeks looked like dough.
‘What do you want?’ he said, burying his face in his arms.
Marie approached slowly. ‘We’ve been looking for you,’ she said.
‘Well, I don’t know why. Everyone seems to get on just fine without me.’ His voice was thick with snot and tears.
‘We don’t get on fine without you,’ said Marie. ‘That’s why we’ve been looking for you.’
‘What if I don’t want to be found? Ever think of that?’
Imogen hung back. It was awkward seeing Miro like this. She noticed an open doorway behind him and wondered if she could wait through there while he sorted himself out. Miro must have seen her edging towards it. ‘Stay away from there,’ he snapped, looking at her with watery eyes. ‘You’re not allowed in.’
Imogen didn’t step over the threshold, but she could see into the room. It was a bedroom with ornate furniture and a window overlooking the forests. But, despite the lavish decor, it felt strangely sparse.
Then it clicked. This was the first room she’d seen that didn’t contain any of the king’s collection. There was just normal bedroom stuff, all covered in a thick layer of dust. A shirt was folded over the arm of a chair. A brush lay on its side, with long hairs trailing from it. A stuffed toy sat on the floor, just a few metres from where Imogen stood. It had a blue mane and an orange face, with a silly smile and buttons for eyes. ‘What is this place?’ she asked.
‘None of your business,’ said the prince.
Marie sat down on the step next to Miro. ‘Whatever’s happened,’ she said, ‘it can’t be that bad.’
‘Can’t it?’ said Miro, lifting his head a little.
‘Was your uncle angry about the rings? Is that it? I’m sure Imogen wouldn’t mind explaining. She can tell him it wasn’t your fault. Can’t you, Imogen?’
‘It’s not about the rings,’ said Miro. ‘It’s about Uncle’s visitor: Anneshka Mazanar. She says she’s going to be my mother. He’s going to make her my mother.’
‘What? How?’
‘They’re getting married.’
Miro started crying again and Marie put her arm round his shoulders, but she couldn’t quite reach far enough. Imogen watched from the doorway. ‘There, there,’ said Marie, just like Mum used to when one of them was upset.
‘I don’t like Anneshka at all,’ continued Miro. ‘And I don’t think she likes me. She’s not going to want me around. I’ll be banished to my tower forever.’
‘Surely she wouldn’t do that,’ said Marie. ‘Surely your uncle has picked her because she’s nice.’
‘She didn’t seem very nice …’
Imogen remembered Andel’s story and what Drakomor had done to his eye. Maybe Miro’s uncle had different ideas about ‘nice’. This didn’t seem like the time to bring it up …
‘I think it’s normal not to like your stepmum at first,’ said Marie, ‘but people seem to change their minds – you know, after spending some time together.’
Imogen thought about Mark, Mum’s new boyfriend, and she thought that Marie was wrong. Often you knew whether you liked someone at first glance. And often you didn’t change your mind. Imogen had known she would hate Mark as soon as she’d heard those stupid squeaky shoes.
‘What’s a stepmum?’ asked the prince.
‘A spare parent,’ said Marie. ‘Sarah at school said she couldn’t stand her stepmum. She said she was going to run away with the circus. Then the stepmum took her to see Cirque du Soleil, with tightrope walkers and everything. Her stepmum was afraid of the clowns too. After that, they got on better.’
Miro blew his nose into a hanky. ‘I didn’t know this happened to other people.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Marie. ‘All the time.’ She thought for a minute. ‘But other people aren’t the prince of an entire kingdom. That’s the only difference.’
The corners of Miro’s mouth twitched. ‘Yes, I’m the only one of those.’
‘Our mum has a boyfriend too, remember?’ said Imogen. ‘It’s basically the same thing.’
‘Because a boyfriend is a man you might marry?’ said Miro.
‘Yes, but it’s not quite the same,’ said Marie thoughtfully. ‘Mum’s boyfriends never stay.’
Imogen wondered if Mum had split up with Mark yet. He might be annoying, but the thought of Mum all alone made Imogen feel even more homesick. Mum’s words floated through her mind: It will always be the three of us, Imogen. No matter what.
‘So why were you hiding here?’ said Marie. ‘Why this staircase?’
‘It’s not really about the staircase,’ said Miro. ‘It’s about the room. That’s my parents’ room. My real parents.’
‘Is that your toy cat on the floor?’ said Imogen. ‘Why have you left him there?’
‘He’s a lion and I’m too big for toys … Besides, even if I did want him, I’m not allowed. No one goes in that room. We’re keeping it exactly as it was on the day that my parents died.’
Imogen wasn’t sure what to say. Miro wiped his face on his sleeve.
‘I suppose you two are keen to get going,’ he said. ‘We need to ask Lofkinye Lolo if she’ll take you up Klenot Mountain.’
‘Well,’ said Marie, ‘when you feel up to it …’
‘I thought so. Let’s get it over with.’
Miro stood up and offered Marie his hand. She took it. ‘You know, Miro,’ she said, ‘you could always come with us.’
The thought hung there for a moment, suspended somewhere above the boy’s head.
‘With you?’
‘Up Klenot Mountain and back down again,’ said Marie. ‘It’ll be an adventure …’
‘I won’t be much help in the mountains. I don’t like the cold.’
‘I’m not inviting you to help.’
‘Why are you inviting me?’ said the prince.
‘Because you’re our friend, of course.’
Miro looked at the floor and scuffed his feet against the banisters.
‘You’re inviting me … just because …’
‘Yes.’
‘You don’t want to make a new pact?’
‘No.’
The last of his tears glinted on his eyelashes.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’d like that very much.’
Back in the king’s study, the grown-ups’ conversation had turned from whispering sweet nothings to something altogether more serious.
‘There’s no mistaking it,’ hissed Anneshka. She was holding a scrap of cloth. It was the remnant that the Royal Guards had delivered, along with the news that the rings had been stolen. ‘It’s not just similar. It’s identical to what that boy was wearing!’
‘There must be other children in Yaroslav wearing tunics cut from this cloth,’ said the king.
‘And the boy just happens to have stumbled upon the stolen rings!’ said Anneshka. ‘Do you really believe that?’
The king bowed his head. ‘What does it matter?’
‘Are you serious?’ She took his face in her hands. ‘Look at me, Drakomor! Are you really telling me you
don’t understand what this means? That boy is a liability! He’s only small now, but it won’t be like that for long. Today it’s childish pranks and teaming up with lesni to steal our precious things—’
‘We don’t know what happened …’
‘—Give him a few years and it’ll be much worse. How is he going to feel about our children? Our sons? God only knows what he’ll do when he’s old enough to wear the crown. He’ll send me away – you can be sure of that! He’ll have me and you and any family we’ve raised sent across the mountains to perish!’
Now Drakomor was looking at her in horror, his face even paler than usual.
‘I’m telling you,’ she continued, ‘it’s me or him.’
The king took the ring off his finger and put it back in the box. ‘Your point is well made.’ He held out his hand for the ring she was wearing.
‘You mean you’ll do it?’ she said. ‘You’ll get rid of the boy?’
‘I’ll have him sent away.’
Anneshka gave a little squeak of joy and bounced into Drakomor’s arms.
‘But I do mean sent away,’ said the king. ‘I won’t have him harmed.’
‘Of course, láska.’ She pulled back, removed the ring and handed it to her beloved.
‘And I’m not sending him off unaccompanied. I want him taken somewhere safe. If he goes beyond the mountains, he’ll need an armed guard and special provisions.’
‘Yes, yes.’
The king closed the lid of the little black box.
‘I understand completely,’ said Anneshka. ‘Just leave it with me.’
‘And what about the wedding preparations?’ said Drakomor. ‘We haven’t decided how to get rid of the Maudree Král. Should I have the Royal Guards slit his throat after the ceremony?’
‘No,’ said Anneshka, ‘it needs to be more spectacular than that. Something that people will talk about for centuries to come.’
‘You think we should use some kind of weapon?’
‘Perhaps … It would need to be powerful enough to destroy the Maudree Král and any skret he brings with him. It would also have to be beautiful, so that they don’t suspect its true purpose. And it has to be assembled with haste.’
‘Sounds like quite the challenge,’ said Drakomor, stroking his moustache. ‘I once knew a lesni who was such a good craftsman that the peasants said he worked miracles. He made a clock – claimed it could read the stars.’
‘He sounds perfect!’ said Anneshka.
‘There’s only one problem.’ Drakomor looked sheepish. ‘He refused to work for me … years ago … so I took out his eye.’
‘Well, that’s easy to fix,’ said Anneshka. ‘Tell him that if he refuses again you’ll take the other one.’
Yaroslav’s prisoners were kept underground. In this place, there was no difference between day and night. Miro held a torch to light the way and Imogen and Marie followed him down the stone steps.
‘Do you think Blazen was telling the truth?’ asked Imogen. ‘Do you think Lofkinye really is the same woman I saw being attacked by the Royal Guards? I think we saw her feeding the velecours too.’
‘No idea,’ said Miro. ‘So long as she’s willing to take us up the mountain, I don’t suppose it matters.’
The children climbed down through the castle’s foundations. The walls were made of rock and the air smelled like it hadn’t been changed for centuries.
‘How deep are we going?’ asked Marie.
‘To the very bottom,’ said Miro. ‘That’s where the worst prisoners are kept – in the Hladomorna Pits.’
‘The what pits?’
‘Hladomorna. There’s one hole per prisoner to stop them sharing dangerous ideas.’ Miro sounded proud, as if it had been his invention.
The steps led the children to a sleeping guard. He snored softly. They climbed over his legs to get to another staircase that took them deeper still.
‘It might be best if I do the talking,’ said Miro. ‘When we get there, I mean.’
‘Why?’ asked Imogen.
‘Lesni are disobedient. It’s not going to be easy to persuade her to help us, but she might listen to her prince.’
‘Who are the lesni?’ asked Imogen.
‘They’re the people who used to live in the forests.’
‘Why don’t they live there now?’ said Marie.
‘No one lives in the forests any more. Because of the skret.’
‘But why aren’t lesni people allowed to hunt rabbits?’ asked Imogen. ‘I’d be disobedient too if the rules were unfair.’
Miro looked confused and then annoyed. He shook his head quickly as if trying to get rid of the thoughts. ‘I don’t know. My uncle makes the rules. That’s just how it is.’
The stairs took them to a small cave where two guards were playing dice. When they saw Miro, they hid the game, struggled to their feet and bowed.
‘Sorry, Your Highness. Didn’t know you were planning a visit today.’
‘I’m looking for a woman called Lofkinye Lolo,’ said the prince. ‘Can you tell me which Pit she’s in?’
‘Down the steps. Fourth on the right.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miro.
‘Will you be wanting any assistance, Your Highness? She’s got a bit of a mouth on her.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
Imogen couldn’t decide whether she was more irritated by Miro’s pompous tone, or impressed by his ability to boss grown-ups around.
They walked down the third staircase. It was narrower than the others and the walls were covered in green slime. At the bottom, they counted three doors on the right and went through the fourth. There was a hole cut into the ground. ‘This,’ said Miro, ‘is a Hladomorna Pit. The bars stop visitors falling in and prisoners crawling out.’
The children crouched down and peered in. Imogen recognised the prisoner at once, with her hair twisted into two buns and her determined eyes. But the human firework had lost her spark. Her clothes seemed duller, her hair had been messed up and her brown skin showed bruises.
Imogen didn’t understand. All of this for hunting a rabbit?
Miro cleared his throat. ‘My name is Prince Miroslav Yaromeer Drahomeer Krishnov, Lord of the—’
‘Skip the intro,’ said the woman.
‘Er … Are you Lofkinye Lolo, lesni huntress and friend of Blazen Bilbetz?’
‘I’m not friends with that pumpkin-brain.’
‘Right.’ Miro hesitated. ‘But you are all the other things?’
The prince held his torch closer to the bars and Lofkinye turned away. ‘We’ve brought you something in case you’re hungry,’ he said.
‘I don’t need charity,’ replied Lofkinye.
‘We’re not offering charity,’ said Imogen. ‘It’s actually the other way round. We need your help.’
Lofkinye’s shape shifted in the gloom. ‘What help can I give anyone while I’m stuck down here?’
‘That’s just the point,’ said Miro. ‘We’re going to help you escape.’
Lofkinye laughed. The laugh turned into a cough. ‘So this is my rescue party?’ she said. ‘A half-grown prince and a couple of serving brats?’
Imogen and Marie exchanged glances. Servants? That was a new one.
‘We want you to be our guide,’ said Miro. ‘We need to leave Yaroslav. Urgently.’
‘Ah, so you’re running away.’
‘No! My uncle’s the king. Why would I run away? We have to talk to the Maudree Král. We need you to take us up Klenot Mountain.’
‘What?’
‘My friends are looking for a door that leads to another world and we think the skret know where it is.’
‘I’ve heard of such things,’ said Lofkinye. ‘Doors among trees.’
‘Really? Great!’ said Imogen.
‘But I’ve never seen one for myself.’
‘Oh.’
‘What food did you bring?’
‘Cake,’ said Miro.
‘You bring
a starving woman cake?’
‘Why not?’
‘Never mind. Just give it here.’
Imogen held a parcel through the bars. When Lofkinye stood up and stretched her arms above her head, she could just about reach it. She ate the cake, then looked directly at Imogen. ‘Don’t I know you?’
‘I was there when you were arrested,’ said Imogen.
The huntress scrunched up her eyes and opened them again. ‘Oh yes! You’re the girl that took the dagger. I didn’t think you’d get away …’
Lofkinye moved back from the hole’s opening so the children couldn’t see her face.
‘This expedition you’re talking about,’ she said quietly. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘Your freedom,’ said Miro.
‘I imagine that’s essential if I’m to act as your guide.’
‘Yes,’ said Imogen, and she scowled at Miro. ‘We’ll help you escape either way.’
‘But I don’t have any more money,’ said the prince, irritation creeping into his voice.
‘I hear the king’s quite the collector,’ said the woman.
‘I suppose I could get you my uncle’s miniature Pustiny Jewel Collection,’ said Miro. ‘That’d be quite easy to smuggle out.’
‘What’s it worth?’
‘I don’t know … thousands of crowns. It’s the only one in Yaroslav.’
‘Okay,’ said Lofkinye. ‘It’s a deal.’ She stretched up again and held out her hand.
Miro turned to Imogen and whispered, ‘The word of a lesni is worth less than the fart of a dog. Yeedarsh said so.’
‘Don’t be so horrible,’ hissed Imogen. ‘She seems trustworthy to me. Get on with it before she changes her mind.’
Miro reached down and shook Lofkinye’s hand.
‘And what are you going to do if you find this door?’ asked the prisoner.
‘Go through it,’ said Marie. ‘Go home.’
‘You’re telling me you’re from …?’ Lofkinye’s voice trailed off. ‘Well, you’re certainly the craziest people I’ve met, I’ll give you that. It sounds like an interesting expedition. I’m in.’
A Clock of Stars Page 13
