She watched the bride stomp towards the castle. Everyone else was running in the opposite direction.
An old woman hobbled past with three tiaras on her head. Two boys dragged a stuffed wildcat by its teeth.
‘Look!’ said Marie. ‘People are stealing the king’s collection! He’ll be so angry when he finds out!’
‘Never mind the king,’ said Imogen. ‘Where’s Miro?’
Both girls looked at the castle. There was a terrible crash as the roof of the West Wing collapsed.
‘I have a horrible feeling that he’s somewhere in there,’ said Marie.
Imogen swallowed.
‘Hey, isn’t that …?’ A giant man strode by with a tangle of gold chains round his neck and diamonds the size of peaches in his hands. Sweat ran down his face and into his beard.
‘Blazen!’ shouted Imogen. The hunter looked over his shoulder. ‘Blazen Bilbetz!’ she cried. ‘Over here!’
Blazen looked shame-faced. He’d been caught red-handed and he knew it. ‘I don’t have to answer to you—’ he began.
‘Have you seen Miro?’ said Marie.
‘Now you come to mention it, yes, I have. I saw him about five minutes ago, running into the castle with a load of hooded children.’
‘Do you mean skret?’
‘Could have been skret. Could have been children.’
‘Blazen, that was the Maudree Král,’ said Imogen. ‘Did Miro look okay?’
‘He looked like he’d rather not go in the castle, if you know what I mean,’ chuckled the giant. ‘But I think he was all right.’
Something deep in the castle exploded and the flames shot higher. Imogen flinched. Blazen dropped a diamond.
‘You have to help us,’ said Marie. ‘We need to rescue Miro.’
The giant looked perplexed. ‘There’s nothing we can do. It’s too dangerous.’
He stooped to pick up his diamond and someone booted him in the behind. ‘Oi!’ he cried, turning to strike the offender. ‘Oh. It’s you.’ He lowered his hand.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Lofkinye. ‘We’re going in there.’ She nodded at the castle. ‘We’re going to rescue the prince and the Sertze Hora … if we can.’
‘The Sertze Hora’s in there?’ said the giant.
‘Yes. Are you coming?’
Blazen looked at his diamonds.
‘Surely Blazen the Brave wouldn’t miss an opportunity like this?’ said Lofkinye.
Blazen squirmed as if he was trying to wriggle out of his own skin. ‘I’m not as young …’
‘You’ve never been young. Not since I’ve known you. Still, we need all the help we can get … Don’t make me tell them what really happened when you were chasing the Royal Stag.’
Blazen dropped the diamonds. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said. ‘I’m in.’
Blazen and Lofkinye entered the castle through the kitchens.
‘I sent the girls to look in the South Wing,’ said Lofkinye. ‘It should be safer there. We’ll have to search the rest of the castle – or what’s left of it – before the fire takes hold.’
The dragon had hit the West Wing the worst, but it wasn’t the only part of the castle on fire. When Blazen and Lofkinye saw flames, they found another route. When the smoke got too much, they crawled on the ground.
In one of the least smoky rooms, Blazen caught hold of Lofkinye’s shoulder. ‘Just one moment,’ he said. ‘Just let me catch my breath.’
‘You’re not out of breath.’
‘You wouldn’t really tell them …’ blurted the giant.
There was a crackling sound in the room they’d just left. The fire was catching up.
‘Wouldn’t tell them what?’ Lofkinye’s eyes were streaming from the smoke. She wiped her cheeks on her wrists.
‘That I didn’t really kill the Royal Stag. That the story’s not true. That I’m really, you know …’
‘What, a fraud?’ finished Lofkinye.
There was another roar, but this time it wasn’t the roar of the fire.
‘I forgot!’ said Blazen, and he looked genuinely shocked. ‘I forgot about her.’
‘Who?’
‘The bear!’
Blazen Bilbetz strode into the feasting hall and Lofkinye followed. It was baking hot. Flames dominated the far end of the room.
The table was set for the wedding feast and Lofkinye had never seen so much food. The crowning glory was a life-sized sugar sculpture of the happy couple, but it hadn’t been made for these temperatures. The bride’s face was sliding down her neck and the groom was flopped to the side, peeling away from his beloved as if he wasn’t quite sure about her.
Lofkinye followed Blazen past the sugar sculpture, and there, dressed in navy trousers and a red waistcoat, was a huge bear.
The animal was straining to get free, but the chain round her neck was locked to a ring on the floor. The more she pulled, the more the chain tightened. There was a deep cut across her snout, and more cuts peeped out from underneath that ridiculous waistcoat.
The bear roared at the fire, showing her teeth and the whites of her eyes. The fire roared back.
Blazen grabbed a candlestick from the table and began smashing it against the ring on the floor. But the candlestick was soft and it gave way as he hammered, until soon it was little more than a lump of metal in the giant’s hand.
‘We don’t have long!’ shouted Lofkinye. The fire was only an arm’s length from Blazen and the heat was intense.
‘So help me!’ he shouted back.
The hunter tossed the disfigured candlestick away and picked up a fire iron instead.
‘It’s no use!’ said Lofkinye. ‘If the bear can’t break the chains, you won’t be able to either.’
‘Want a bet?’ Blazen hammered at the lock with the fire iron, teeth gritted, face covered in sweat. A vein in his forehead looked like it might burst.
‘This is madness,’ muttered Lofkinye and she scanned the room. There must be an axe or something sharp, but no such luck. She looked back at the bear. The animal was grunting and smacking her paws on the ground.
‘She’s afraid,’ said Blazen. ‘The fire’s too close.’
Something glinted around the bear’s neck – dangling just above the waistcoat. If only Lofkinye could get close enough to see it properly. She approached the bear cautiously, without making eye contact. There was a key in among all that fur.
The bear snorted as Lofkinye leaned in. She talked to it in as calm a voice as she could muster, then she grabbed the key, snapping it free from its leather tie.
‘Blazen, quick! Try this!’
The hunter shoved the key into the lock. It opened and Lofkinye pulled the heavy chains away from the animal’s neck.
The bear in human clothing broke free. She smashed through the sugar sculpture, tore the door off its hinges and galloped away, without so much as a backward glance.
Imogen and Marie searched the South Wing of the castle for the prince. The hall of statues was a furnace. The servants’ quarters too.
They went to the staircase where they’d found Miro the last time he was missing. Marie stopped outside Miro’s parents’ bedroom, but Imogen marched straight in. It was quiet – peaceful even – as if the rest of the castle being on fire had nothing to do with this room.
‘We’re not allowed in there,’ hissed Marie. ‘And look, you’ve made footprints in the dust.’
‘That hardly matters now,’ said Imogen.
She picked up Miro’s stuffed toy from the floor. ‘I still think this cat looks odd.’
‘It’s not a cat,’ said Marie. ‘It’s a lion, remember?’
Imogen wondered why Marie looked so sour. It wasn’t her parents’ room or her stuffed toy.
‘Looks like a cat to me,’ she said, dropping it back in the dust. ‘Where should we go now? I’m all out of ideas.’
Marie took a few tentative steps into the room and picked up the toy. ‘There is one place we haven’t looked yet,’ she said. ‘It’s not in the South Wing
, but I bet Lofkinye hasn’t been there yet. Although it’s actually pretty obvious …’
Now it was Imogen’s turn to look sour. ‘It’s always obvious when you know.’
Marie brushed dust off the toy lion and tucked it into her pocket.
‘Take your time,’ said Imogen. ‘This place is only burning to the ground.’
‘We haven’t looked in the second tallest tower,’ said Marie.
The room at the top of the second tallest tower didn’t look anything like the room Imogen remembered.
The heavy curtains were closed and a detailed drawing of a lizard had been left by the fireplace. Every surface was strewn with bits of machinery, strange tools and ceramic tiles. Miro’s old clock was missing too. The room felt strangely quiet without its constant tick-tocking.
Imogen pushed back the curtains. Thick smoke obscured her view of the square. She tried another window. Smoke curled up like fingers, beckoning her out. She ran to a third window and threw back the drapes. From here, she could see the castle’s tallest tower.
At first, she could only make out the tower’s silhouette, but a gust of wind cleared a gap in the smoke and Imogen saw a face – a skret face – looking out of a window near the top of the tower.
‘Marie!’ she yelled and her sister rushed to her side. ‘There’s a skret at the top of the tallest tower.’
‘But no one goes up there …’
‘I swear I saw a skret!’
‘It’s okay, I believe you,’ said Marie.
The castle groaned like a harpooned whale and Imogen thought she felt the floor tremble. ‘We have to go,’ she said.
‘One minute,’ said Marie. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘You can think while we run.’
‘No. I’m thinking right now.’
Imogen was about to reply, but she bit her tongue.
Marie’s face lit up. ‘Of course!’ she cried. ‘I know how we can rescue Miro.’
‘How?’ said Imogen.
‘The same way all knights do their rescuing – on horseback, of course!’
Anneshka found Andel in a corridor near the castle gardens. He came hurtling round the corner, wearing a long cloak and clutching a pillowcase stuffed with something that wasn’t a pillow.
‘Your Highness,’ he gasped, stopping dead.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ Anneshka sneered.
The man’s eye darted from left to right, looking for an escape route.
‘You did it on purpose, didn’t you? That dragon was never designed to kill the Král.’
‘You’re burnt,’ stammered Andel. ‘I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just—’
‘You just what?’ snarled Anneshka. ‘You just wanted to destroy the most important day of my life?’ She took a step closer. ‘I should have known better than to trust a lesni.’
Andel’s face hardened. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You should.’
That caught Anneshka off guard. ‘So that’s what this was? A lesni conspiracy?’
‘The dragon is nothing to do with anyone else … It’s my conspiracy, my revenge.’
Andel raised his chin. Was it her imagination or did the one-eyed idiot look proud?
‘Revenge for what?’ she demanded.
‘King Drakomor stole the Sertze Hora. He forced me out of my home and then he took my eye when I wouldn’t be his servant.’ Andel was cradling the pillowcase like a baby.
So, thought Anneshka, he’s stealing the heart of the mountain.
She smiled, feeling the burnt part of her lips crack. ‘You’re delusional. It was the skret that forced the lesni out of their homes.’
‘The skret turned on us because of the king’s theft!’ cried Andel.
Anneshka took a torch from a bracket on the wall. ‘So your revenge is to destroy the king’s castle?’
‘No. My revenge is to destroy the king’s home.’
Anneshka lunged and grabbed Andel by the arm. She held the torch to his cloak. He twisted free and shoved her away, but he was too slow. His cloak had caught fire.
Andel dropped the pillowcase and tried to pull the cloak from his neck. Anneshka could see the panic on his face as the flames licked round his legs.
She picked up the pillowcase and ran away as quickly as her petticoats would allow. Behind her, Andel was crying for help, but she didn’t slow down. She didn’t look back. She dashed across the castle gardens, dodging between squawking velecours. One almost crashed into her, but it swerved at the last moment.
The Royal Guards must have fled because the garden gates were unprotected. Anneshka slipped out unseen. Still she didn’t slow down. She didn’t look back.
She ducked under skret bones that were strung up like bunting. She hurried down backstreets and crossed skull-studded bridges. She ran past blacksmiths and breweries and big fancy houses. She ran until she could run no more.
Then she looked back. Andel’s revenge was complete. Half of the castle was engulfed in flames and it was only a matter of time before it spread to the rest of the building. The nearest houses were on fire too. If King Drakomor was still in the castle, it was unlikely he’d be coming out alive.
Anneshka hugged the pillowcase close to her chest and walked out through Yaroslav’s smallest gate. On the other side of the wall there was a white pony tethered to a post. It was almost as if it had been put there for her.
Anneshka looked over her shoulder. There was no one about; they were all too busy gawping at the fire.
Her burnt hands throbbed as she untied the pony and took the reins. The beast snorted, but it didn’t resist, so Anneshka hitched up her dress and climbed into the saddle.
The pony carried her away from Yaroslav, across the fields, to the edge of the Kolsaney Forests. At the first line of trees, she brought her mount to a stop.
Anneshka peeped into the pillowcase, expecting to see the hot glow of the Sertze Hora. Instead, she saw wood. A clock face looked up at her with five motionless hands and an array of jewelled stars.
‘What the—?’ She almost dropped the bag.
But, she reasoned, if Andel had chosen this one thing to take, out of all the treasures in the king’s collection … perhaps it was worth keeping.
Anneshka took one last look at Yaroslav. Black smoke billowed from its heart. She could just about make out the castle’s tallest towers drifting in and out of the haze.
‘Goodbye, láska,’ she whispered.
And, with that, the woman who was fated to be queen rode into the forest.
The skret half dragged, half carried Miro up the steps of the castle’s tallest tower. They stopped outside the door to the topmost room and held him against the wall.
Miro had seen his uncle climbing down from the dragon. The beast looked like it was about to collapse. Miro hoped his uncle had made it. He closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer.
When he opened them, the skret with spikes along his spine was kneeling by the door, cursing. He had one claw hooked in the lock, but Miro knew it wouldn’t open. His uncle had insisted that every lock in the castle be made skret-proof.
‘What’s wrong, Shpitza?’ said the Král.
‘It won’t open.’
‘Move out of the way,’ said another skret. He tried his luck. There was a pause, a hiss. The skret thumped the door in frustration.
‘I told you so,’ said Shpitza.
‘You’re wasting your time,’ said Miro. ‘The Sertze Hora isn’t up here.’
‘We’re not leaving until that door opens,’ said the Král.
‘But the fire,’ said Miro. ‘If it catches the bottom of the tower, this whole thing will go up like a matchstick.’
Shpitza looked out of the window. ‘The human has a point,’ he said, turning to the Král with concern.
‘I don’t care if it’s spreading,’ spat the Král. ‘I don’t care if we all burn to death. No one leaves until we’ve got that door open.’
Each of the monsters tried their luck. They ba
nged and they scratched and they clawed at the lock. The Král got angrier each time they failed.
A droplet of sweat rolled down Miro’s neck. It was too warm up here and he could feel a strange vibration in his chest. The fire must be close. The skret that was pinning him against the wall was sweating too. Miro wondered which would kill them first: the smoke or the flames or the collapse of the tower.
The last skret knelt by the door. He scraped at the lock with his claws, but they were too big to fit in the keyhole. When the skret turned to the Král, he looked frightened. Miro didn’t know that skret were capable of being scared.
‘I said no one leaves,’ hissed the Král.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Miro.
The Král looked at the boy. ‘Break into your own tower?’
‘Let go of me and I’ll do it,’ said Miro. ‘I’ll pick the lock.’
The skret hooted and jeered.
‘And where exactly did you learn to pick locks?’ asked the Král.
‘Going places you shouldn’t is one of the best games you can play on your own … I’ll need a pair of cloak pins.’
Miro was released and handed the pins. He bent them into shape and began his work. A few minutes later, the door clicked open. Even hotter air whooshed out. The skret pushed past and Miro followed.
The room at the top of the tallest tower was circular, just like his own. The only furniture was a pedestal covered by a cloth. Thick smoke pressed up against the windows, but where was that heat coming from? There was no fire in here …
A tiny vibration went from Miro’s fingertips up his arms and down to his chest. It pulsed, reverberating round his ribcage like a trapped bird.
The skret gathered by the pedestal, clicking with excitement. The Král reached out with his gold-tipped claws and, in what seemed like slow motion, he removed the cloth.
Miro knew what he was looking at the moment he saw it. The Sertze Hora announced itself in deep red and a vibration that went straight to the heart. Invisible strings seemed to reel him in, drawing him closer to the thing that didn’t exist, that couldn’t exist, that he was looking right into.
Colours swirled like the glass in an exquisite marble. But, unlike a marble, these colours moved. It was as though the stone was full of tiny explosions – miniature worlds making and remaking themselves. It was beautiful.
A Clock of Stars Page 24
