by Andrew Symon
Jack hastily stuffed the belt into his pocket. It was so light to the touch that he could hardly feel it.
The attention of the others around the table was moved to the doorway, through which a tall figure had just emerged. Again the exasperated shout came from the back: “Get – out – of – the – way!”
There was a cheer as this echoed around the room, then the crowd fell silent as they saw that it was Matthew who had entered. He stepped forward, a tattered leather book in his hand, and addressed the assembled Shian.
“Welcome to the match between Cos-Howe and Claville. This is the five hundred and thirty-ninth encounter, and I am pleased to say that I have refereed over two hundred of these. For the first time in Edinburgh, the pitch is to be your Royal Mile.
“The rules are the same as ever. As spectators, you must not assist or hinder in any way. Claville have elected to defend the castle gate; Cos-Howe have used their right to remove one Claville player, so Henri will not play. He has gone to watch the game with his brother. The away team’s hexes will last one minute, the home team’s two minutes. I will shortly freeze time for the match.”
As Matthew left, the screens became more focussed. Each showed a different section of the High Street and the streets running parallel to it. Matthew’s image came into the centre screen.
One of the Cos-Howe supporters got up and began to move towards the door under the screens.
“Oi! You’re in the way!”
The figure stopped and turned around. He glared at the back of the room, from where the shout had come.
“It’s Rob.” Jack nudged Petros, who had been looking intently at the screens. “Don’t you remember? He was talking with Boreus at Cos-Howe.”
Jack thought back to the wrestling match at Cos-Howe the previous year, when Rob had used a charm stone to blind his opponent. Cosmo had intervened, using a paralysing hex. The memory of Rob’s terrified eyes returned to Jack. But now there was no terror: Jack could sense his hatred.
As Rob disappeared through the door, the figure of Matthew approached the busy road junction where St Margaret’s Street crosses the High Street and held his sceptre aloft. A glow emanated from it, and Jack could see that all the cars and human figures on the screens had frozen. Then Matthew sketched a pattern in the air, and the fiery outline of a chalice appeared, hanging some six feet from the ground.
“What’s the charm he uses to do that?” enquired Freya.
“‘Calixignis’,” replied Jack smugly. “Cosmo told me after the game last year.”
A figure stuck his head around the door.
“Is Jack here? Jack Shian?”
Exchanging a puzzled look with Petros, Jack put up his hand.
“You’re wanted. Quickly!”
Jack clambered down towards the door and disappeared.
“He’s going to miss the game!” exclaimed Lizzie. “It’s just starting!”
A cluster of four Claville players approached Matthew, as did three Cos-Howe players, led by Cosmo, their long cloaks flapping in the breeze. Matthew addressed both groups, after which there was a short pause, and then he threw the ball up.
Cosmo jumped as his teammates Oobit and Tom drew their sceptres and made to hex the Claville players. A repeat of last year’s start, thought Petros, but he hadn’t reckoned on the French response. Before the Cos-Howe hexes could be fired, the four Claville players clapped their hands above their heads and disappeared. Cosmo seemed unsure of what to do: he stood, holding the ball, and seemed to be arguing with his teammates.
“They must’ve used too much hex,” said Petros. “They’ve obliterated them.”
“I don’t think so,” said Lizzie, looking intently at the screen next to the centre one. “They’re just drawing the Cos-Howe team on. Look – Claville’s formed up around the next crossroads.”
“It’s a trap!” exclaimed Rana. “They’ll let the Cos-Howe boys get tired out running uphill, then counter-attack.”
Indeed, after the unexpected start, the Cos-Howe contingent were moving quickly up to the next intersection, passing immobilised humans, but apparently unaware of why they were meeting so little French resistance.
“Look – there’s the Claville crew. They’re hiding in those doorways. Cosmo’s been suckered.”
There was a murmur of agreement around the room.
Then the hexes started to fly.
The middle left screen became bright orange as the Claville trap was sprung. The beleaguered Cos-Howe players dived for the cover of doorways and immobile cars, as the hexes flew in from left and right.
“They haven’t a hope,” said Rana. “This is going to be over before it’s even begun.”
“It was better seeing it live last year,” complained Lizzie. “You can’t see so much on the screens.”
“There was loads we missed last year because we couldn’t see it from the roof,” pointed out Petros. “The screens are great: you can see almost all of it.”
But what they could see was not very cheering: the Cos-Howe team were pinned down, facing an enemy with the advantage of height. While the doorways and cars offered some protection, it seemed only a matter of time before they were hexed one by one.
Lizzie’s eyes had narrowed. “Who’s got the ball?”
“Cosmo had it,” said Rana. “There he is. He’ll have it under his cloak.”
Cosmo’s distinctive frame had been clearly visible near the centre of the besieged Cos-Howe group as they moved uphill. They had nearly made it as far as the North Bridge crossroad, but had been forced to retreat under the onslaught of hexes from the Claville ambush.
“This is hopeless,” said Petros despondently. “They’re pinned down. Claville will pick them off and then just wander down to the palace.”
“What does that screen there cover?” asked Rana, pointing at the next screen to the one showing the ambush in progress. She was staring intently at two figures moving furtively down a nearly deserted street.
“That’s the Cowmarket,” said Freya, moving closer. “Below the High Street.”
“Ooh, it’s Jack,” shouted Purdy, becoming suddenly animated as a face came into focus on the screen. “He’s got a sceptre. And Gandie’s with him.”
“How come Jack’s playing?” demanded Petros. “And why are they there? They should be up on the High Street helping their team.”
“They are,” said Rana excitedly. “It’s all a trick: Cosmo’s drawn the Claville fire while they get the ball along to the Grassmarket. Then they can go up Castle Wynd steps to the esplanade. I’ll bet Claville haven’t got more than one player defending the castle goal: they don’t think anyone’ll get that far.”
Rana was right. A quick glance at the left-hand screen showed a solitary Claville player sitting on the castle esplanade. He looked very bored.
As foreseen, Gandie and Jack reached the Grassmarket and began climbing. The two players were lost to sight for a few moments as they ascended the steps, then they were seen to emerge, puffing slightly, at the top. Glancing to their right, they saw the bulk of the Claville crew some distance away, facing down the High Street, battling with the beleaguered Cos-Howe team. They smiled at each other as they turned left to go up to the esplanade.
Their backs close to the nearside wall, they edged cautiously up towards the castle. Catching sight of the solitary Claville player as he sat, bored, in the centre of the esplanade, Jack motioned to Gandie to remain hidden. Jack then stuck his sceptre down the back of his cloak and walked out boldly onto the esplanade, his hands out to the sides. The Claville player saw him approach and got uncertainly to his feet.
“I did not see you training before the match.”
“A late substitute. One of our players got ill,” said Jack casually as he drew near to his opponent. “Your team have us pinned down back there.” His hands remained visible and weapon-free.
The Claville player smiled. “Better tactics for us, I think?”
“Perhaps,” said Jack. “But
only if they work.” In a flash he had scooped out his sceptre and pointed it at the surprised Claville player.
“Attonitus!” A spark flew from the sceptre, and the Claville man fell back without a sound.
Seeing this, Gandie trotted out from where he had been sheltering and kicked the ball up to Jack. Between them they played keepy-uppy a few times as they moved without opposition towards the castle gate. Seeing that statue-like tourists partially blocked the view of the gate, Jack placed the ball on the ground and indicated to Gandie to act as goalkeeper. As he lined up to take the free kick, Matthew appeared as if out of nowhere.
Jack retreated a few paces, then ran up and struck the ball. It curved up, just clearing the humans’ heads, then down again towards the gate. In an extravagant display of incompetence, Gandie pretended to try to save the shot. He fell in a crumpled heap, turning his head to watch the ball strike the castle gate.
Petros and the others, watching in the Finisterre, let out a roar of joy as the goal was scored. Matthew, standing just yards from the goal, held up his sceptre and shot a bolt into the sky, signalling that the game was over. Within seconds, the hex-fight at North Bridge ceased. Jack scooped up the ball and handed it to Matthew, and together the three of them walked back across the esplanade. Encountering the prostrate Claville player, Jack and Gandie picked him up and made their way back down to the North Bridge crossroads. Several hexed players lay motionless on the ground. The rest of the puzzled Claville players stood around the High Street, unsure about what had happened.
Cosmo emerged from the shelter of a doorway, grinning. Gandie walked up to him and they embraced, clapping each other on the back.
“It worked then,” said Cosmo happily. “Well done, Jack. Your speed along the Grassmarket was what we needed.”
Jack beamed with pride as Henri approached, a look of disappointment on his face.
“Ah, you tricked us,” he said sadly.
“You started it,” replied Cosmo happily. “All that show about retreating at the beginning.”
Henri had to concede that the Claville bluff had been bettered by the home team’s stratagem.
“I felt sure that we could win, playing down the hill.”
“Things aren’t always what they seem,” replied Gandie with a grin.
“I couldn’t let you know before the game,” said Cosmo to Jack. “The Claville boys were watching our training. You were our secret weapon.”
Those players who had been hexed were starting to come round, and there was a general hubbub as the game was discussed.
“My friends,” declared Matthew, “we have witnessed a fascinating game tonight, a game of ploys and deceits. I congratulate the home team. I am sure that the party back at Cos-Howe will be memorable. Sadly, I cannot join you for that. The time is set to return to normal for the humans in fifteen minutes; by then you should all be safely back at Cos-Howe.”
The players began to walk down the High Street, and were soon mingling with the crowd that was pouring out from the Finisterre. Excited chatter and complaints about the strategies used by both sides were mixed. Purdy ran out and gave Jack a big hug.
Cosmo approached the fiery outline that still hung in the air.
“We thank our friends for coming from Claville,” he said happily. “You are all invited to join us at Cos-Howe.” He reached up to grasp the chalice, which, as it had done the year before, vanished as soon as it was touched.
Jack joined the rousing cheer that went up from the home players. In the commotion, he didn’t see Matthew simply disappearing along with the Chalice.
The crowd turned down St Margaret’s Street and made for Cos-Howe. Walking arm in arm with Jack, Purdy’s face showed her delight in the game’s outcome and his part in it. Within ten minutes they were near the safety of Cos-Howe, but the last few yards were a mad dash as the skies darkened and heavy rain began to fall. Thunderclaps echoed from building to building as the stragglers made their way in.
Despite the sudden wintry blast, the High Street resumed its usual activities, with none of the humans any the wiser about the events that had so recently taken place there. There were broken glasses and several cracked windows in the pavement bars around the North Bridge crossroads, and several smears of blood on the ground where a hex had worked too well. But as the humans retreated indoors to escape the rain, none thought to challenge these things: it was a Saturday evening, after all.
At Cos-Howe, the party was getting into full swing. Players swapped stories of hexes delivered and rebuffed, of injuries sustained and of opponents vanquished. Jack, supplied with a large goblet of juniper juice, was regaling his cousins – again – with stories of how fast he’d had to run along the Grassmarket and how puffed he’d been by the time he climbed all the steps to the castle.
“Ambush!”
There was a cheer from the assembled Cos-Howe players and supporters as a ragged figure ran in amongst them shouting.
“We know,” shouted Gandie, waving his arm extravagantly. “But the smart ones got out of the way. And we won.”
“Ambush!”
The cry was more insistent. Then Jack saw that it was Armina who was shouting. Her tall frame was almost doubled over as she staggered around in a blind panic.
“The Kildashie,” she spluttered, “have taken the Congress.”
Silence.
Then screams.
16
Escape to Dunvik
Cos-Howe was in a state of uproar, and it was several minutes before Cosmo’s pleas for quiet had the desired effect.
“Tell us what happened,” he said firmly to Armina, who had collapsed onto a chair.
Armina looked up at him.
“They will come here,” she gasped. “They know that you will resist them; they will try to kill you.”
“What are we to the Congress?” demanded a voice. “They tried to ban us having the match in the High Street. A fight between the Kildashie and the Congress is not our affair.”
Cosmo turned and fixed the speaker with a beady eye.
“The Kildashie are Unseelie. If they take the Shian square, they can get the Stone and the Chalice. Then nothing will stop them.”
“The Kildashie know there is a low road entrance here.” Armina’s voice was weak.
“How did they take the Congress?” demanded Oobit.
“Our meeting was at Falabray. Suddenly, the air froze, and they were all around us. One of your men was with them.”
“Who?”
“His name is Rob, I think. But there was no sound.”
“No sound!” shouted Tom. “Then they have the Tassitus charm. It’s as good as being invisible.”
“Calm down, Tom,” said Cosmo bluntly. Then he turned to Armina. “Is anyone killed?”
“Atholmor – I think. And Tomte the dwarf. He tried to fight, but there were too many. The rest are killed or captured.”
“And how d’you get away, then?” sneered Tom. “If you were surrounded?”
Armina’s gasps lightened. She stood up slowly and fixed Tom with a piercing glare. Tom looked away uncomfortably.
Then Jack saw the blood.
“Armina!” He ran forward and guided the enchantress back into the chair. “Please help!” he shouted behind him.
A Claville supporter stepped forward and produced a linen cloth, which he deftly wrapped around Armina’s upper arm, staunching the blood. Then, taking a small vial from his cloak, he dribbled some oil over Armina’s whole arm. There was a puff of blue smoke.
“You believe Tig will come here with his warriors?” demanded Cosmo.
“Not Tig,” replied Armina, wincing in pain. “Boreus. He boasted that Tig and Donar were dead. Boreus brought in many more Kildashie; he controls them now.”
Jack’s scalp felt icy cold. That Boreus … he was always a menace … Without Tig around to keep him in order … Jack gritted his teeth.
“You must stop them,” begged Armina. “They may not risk a full assault on the sq
uare, but if they can get in from here, then all is lost.”
“We’ll stop them,” said Cosmo calmly. “But you need to get away. And someone needs to protect the Stone Room, in case they get into the castle.”
Armina’s gaze fell upon Jack and Rana.
“You – you must take me to your grandfather. We must warn him.”
Rana looked uncertainly at her cousin.
“Come on,” said Jack simply. He helped Armina back up.
“Your arm will heal,” said the Claville physician to Armina as she tottered forward. “You know what to do. Here I must stay: if there will be fighting, I am needed.”
Lizzie had gone pale; her right arm started to shake. Rana moved over to her, and took her arm gently. She pulled her sister along after Jack, who was steering Armina toward to the low road entrance.
“I’ll come too,” said Petros. “Freya, you’d better take Purdy to your mum and dad.”
Within seconds they had all reached the low road and were whisked along to the Shian square.
The news had got there first.
Good old grigs, thought Jack.
Uncle Doonya was in earnest conversation with his neighbour Festus and a Darrig Jack didn’t think he’d ever seen before. Aunt Katie stood at the front door, looking anxiously towards the low road entrance. When she saw the youngsters, she let out a scream of joy.
Rana and Lizzie made their way quickly to their mother, while Petros looked rather sheepishly at Jack. However, Jack’s full concentration was on getting Armina up to her house. She walked painfully, making Jack wonder what other injuries she had sustained.
Uncle Doonya strode over to Petros.
“We’ll have to get Grandpa out of here. Pack what you can carry for him. We’ll leave in two minutes.”
Petros, relieved to have someone take control, ran towards the house, but was met at the door by his grandfather. When Armina saw him, she stopped.
“We must protect the Stone Room.”
Grandpa Sandy nodded.
“Petros, you can take us to the Stone Room,” he said simply. “We can place a series of hexes that will stop the Kildashie – for now. Then we must leave. We’ll go to Keldy.”
