‘What do you want him for?’ spat Scoot.
‘Security,’ said Gracie, calmly. ‘You tell the Hunt to stop searching for me.’ She pointed her blade at Ned. ‘He’ll be fine as long as I’m left alone.’ Gracie climbed back onto the white wyler and held her hand out to Ned.
‘Ned,’ said Leo warningly.
Ottilie was frozen in place, her instincts a mess.
‘Ned!’ said Gully and Leo at the same time.
In that moment Ned looked very young and utterly lost. Ottilie could see him shift to step forward, away from Gracie, to safety. But she sensed him steel himself. He looked to Leo and then to Ottilie. She felt as if her ribs were cracking, pressing in, as he took Gracie’s hand and swung up behind her.
Leo let out a noise like a wounded dog and lunged towards them.
‘No-one moves,’ Gracie repeated, flinging out her arm and pointing her knife in Gully’s direction.
‘Leo,’ Ottilie pleaded.
He froze.
‘I can be in their eyes. I’ll know if you do. No-one moves until I tell them to leave you. That includes the cats,’ she added, waving gently at the sky, where Ottilie caught glimpses of the wingerslinks circling above the treetops.
They stood, motionless: Gully, blood leaking from his hand, surrounded by the wylers, and Scoot, Leo and Ottilie, like statues, as Ned disappeared with Gracie and the white wyler.
There were shrieks from the sky. Ottilie risked a glance and saw that, high above the webwood trees, jivvies had begun to swarm.
37
Missing
Ottilie was slumped on a chair in Gully’s bedchamber. The patchies had fixed his hand as best they could and given him something to help him sleep. Ottilie couldn’t bring herself to leave his side, not after everything that had happened. Not now that Bill and Ned had both been taken prisoner.
The jivvies’ bloodlust had been their undoing. Almost half of the flock had been torn apart in the manic fray. The wingerslinks had helped keep the rest of them at bay until the wylers withdrew and Ottilie, Leo, Gully and Scoot dared to move.
Leo and Scoot had talked to the directorate, and a distraught Maeve had visited the infirmary to tell her that the directorate now knew what had happened with Whistler. Ottilie hadn’t seen any of them since. She didn’t know where Leo was. Under normal circumstances she thought he would have gone after Gracie, but it was too big a risk. If anyone came looking for her, she would hurt Ned.
Ottilie couldn’t stop reliving the moment he had taken Gracie’s hand. Where was he now? What was happening to him?
Gracie hadn’t seemed to know about Whistler revealing herself, but she must by now. Ottilie hoped Ned and Bill were in the same place; at least then they wouldn’t be alone. Of course, there was no guarantee that Bill was all right. Ottilie’s head fell into her shaking hands. She didn’t know what to do.
There was a small knock at the door, and Preddy slipped into the room. ‘How is he?’ he said softly.
‘They say he’ll be fine,’ she whispered, her throat swollen. ‘At least it was his left hand, not his right.’ She glanced sadly at her sleeping brother. ‘How’s Scoot? Have you seen him? Or Leo?’
‘Leo’s over at the training yards,’ said Preddy. ‘Scoot’s gone to his room. He’s not … not doing very well. First Bayo, and now …’
Ottilie sniffed, a painful lump rising in her throat. ‘Does he blame me?’
‘What? Why would he? If you and Leo hadn’t come they might all three be dead,’ said Preddy.
‘Because I said we should stay.’ Her voice cracked. ‘If we’d run away last year like we’d planned, none of this would have happened.’
‘This would still be happening, Ottilie, we just wouldn’t be involved,’ said Preddy gently.
‘I, well … that’s what I mean,’ said Ottilie, her eyes filling with tears.
‘I know. But that’s the point, isn’t it. We can’t walk away. They need us. It’s too important.’
‘What does she want?’ said Ottilie sharply.
Gully sighed and rolled over in his sleep.
‘Whistler?’ said Preddy.
‘She said something about giving the king back his toys, and the beginning of a war. She’s going to start a war. Why? What’s it all for?’ Ottilie clenched her fists. ‘And her army … her army is the dredretches. That’s what she’s been doing here, building her army. But we’ve been cutting them down … and if she wants the dredretches to attack the Usklers, they have to get past us, past the Hunt.’
‘She’ll be planning a big move against us, then,’ said Preddy, thoughtfully.
Ottilie’s heart thudded. ‘Do you think they’ll attack here? At Fiory?’
‘I don’t think that would make much sense. We’re in the middle here. With Richter and Arko on either side and nowhere to retreat because south and north of us is ocean – and the dredretches won’t go near it.’
‘Most of them,’ said Ottilie, thinking of the knopoes.
Preddy nodded gravely. ‘I think, to take control of the Narroway, she’d have to start from the west.’
Ottilie frowned, thinking hard. ‘Richter backs right onto the Laklands, doesn’t it?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Preddy. ‘Part of our job over there was to man the border wall between the Narroway and the Laklands. The coast cuts in a fair way on either side, so it’s not a huge infestation near the border.’
‘It makes sense, though,’ said Ottilie. ‘If I were her, I would try to take Fort Richter, then knock down that west border wall and bring in more dredretches from the Laklands. If she has some control over them, like Gracie does the wylers, I bet she can make them pass through coastal areas that they wouldn’t normally …’ Ottilie’s mind drifted back to the knopoes, living near the coast.
‘Someone was controlling them …’ she muttered. Out of the way, in an unexpected place – it was as if someone had been testing them, testing their limits.
‘What?’ said Preddy.
‘I think someone was controlling the knopo troop at Jungle Bay.’ She frowned – was it Whistler? Or someone else? She had thought that one of them might have been a bloodbeast like the white wyler – so perhaps Gracie wasn’t the only one bound to a dredretch. Perhaps there were others like her. Or many more like her – just what, exactly, were they up against?
Ottilie found Leo in the training yards at dawn. His face was pale and puffy and his eyes drooped with the weight of the night hours. He was slumped against the fence, digging his knife into the dirt.
She approached him silently, unsure of what to say.
‘It’s quiet,’ he said, without looking at her.
‘It’s dawn,’ she said. The birds were singing.
‘No. Listen.’
He was right. Something was different. Sounds were missing. Not just sounds: a presence was missing.
‘They’re gone,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I went up there.’ He pointed his muddy knife at the boundary wall. ‘I walked it over and over last night. I didn’t see a single one. They’ve gone somewhere.’
‘The dredretches?’
He nodded.
Ottilie had been so caught up in her own thoughts and fears she hadn’t even noticed the absence. Any prickling of nerves or tight feeling of foreboding she had attributed to losing Ned and Bill, or Gully’s injury.
Where had they gone? Were they all gathered together? They must have been. It all lined up.
‘We think Whistler might attack Fort Richter,’ said Ottilie, breathing through the rolling, burning sensation in her chest.
Leo nodded again. ‘The directorate thinks so too, but they don’t want to send us down there in case they actually circle round and go to Arko. They’re deciding what to do about it.’ He looked at her. ‘We have to get him back, Ott.’
‘We have to get them both back,’ she said.
She told him the story from the beginning: how Bill had helped her catch up to the pickers, how
he had cut her hair and stolen the pickings list, how he had come here to warn her about Whistler, and how Whistler had taken him captive, just like Gracie had taken Ned.
Leo didn’t say anything for quite a while. Finally he said, ‘I thought you were done keeping secrets from me.’
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ said Ottilie, without guilt.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked, with fresh pain in his eyes.
She didn’t answer.
‘I’m so sorry for all of it,’ he burst out. ‘For what I did, and for saying all those terrible things.’
Weak little witch played again in her memory.
‘I didn’t mean a word of it,’ he said firmly. ‘I was just in a rage, because I felt stupid for not seeing that you were a girl. I know it’s my fault!’
‘What is?’ She frowned.
‘That you don’t trust me. But, Ott, I promise you can. You can tell me anything, I won’t ev–’ His voice shook and he swallowed. ‘I won’t ever betray you again.’
‘I know,’ she said. And that was the truth. She realised it then, in that moment. She knew he would never betray her, or anyone under her protection. ‘I should probably tell you something about Maeve …’
The message came just after sunrise. The directorate were still in their chamber, deliberating, planning, but it was all too late. The dredretches were attacking Fort Richter.
‘This will be different from anything you have ever faced,’ said Captain Lyre.
They were gathered in the Moon Court, armed, ready to travel. There was one notable absence – Conductor Edderfed’s throne was empty. He was at Arko for the fledgling trials. They would have just finished. Ottilie wondered what those freshly picked fledges would be thinking, watching the huntsmen march west for battle.
She remembered her own sense of purpose, once she had realised the enormity of the threat that the dredretches posed. Would those fledges feel the same? Or would they be panicking, terrified, desperate to go home?
‘Under the influence of the witch, Whistler, the dredretches are attacking en masse,’ Captain Lyre continued. ‘This is not a flock of jivvies, or a trick of flares. This is worse than a pack of lycoats or a swarm of stingers. This is every dredretch. Cleavers, oxies, giffersnaks, wylers, barrogauls, kappabaks. All together. All at once. If the witches take Fort Richter they will move eastward to us, to Fiory, then to Arko, and finally there will be nothing left standing between the dredretches and the Usklers. Boys. This is your duty. Defend the Narroway. Defend the Usklers!’
A bone singer beat the drum and the huntsmen stamped their feet.
‘Gully, what are you doing here?’ Ottilie muttered as he appeared at her side.
‘I’m coming!’ said Gully, outraged.
‘You are not!’ she said, unable to contain her panic.
Around them the courtyard echoed with the sound of drums and stamping feet. It was powerful, like hail and rain and thunder cracking. Ottilie felt it in her bones, and it gave her courage.
‘You’re recovering, Gully, you can’t,’ said Preddy.
‘You can’t stop me!’ His voice was shrill.
‘You’re not coming,’ Scoot said roughly.
‘Scoo–’
‘I’ll chain you to a tree and guard it myself if I have to. You’re not coming,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘No-one else is dying.’
‘Ned’s not –’
‘No-one else!’ said Scoot so violently that Preddy actually jumped. ‘You’re injured, Gully. You’re not coming!’
Gully looked into Scoot’s anguished face and nodded. ‘Be careful,’ he said, to all of them, taking Ottilie’s hand in his good one and squeezing it tight. He blinked at her. ‘Don’t get … don’t …’
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, her voice firm. She would be all right. She had to be all right. Because she was going to get Bill and Ned back.
38
The Cave
Ottilie and Leo had a plan. Word from the west was that Gracie and Whistler were both in the Richter zone. Ottilie had no doubt that they had left Ned and Bill well-guarded, but it was now or never.
Keeping their distance from the horses, the wingerslinks and their flyers lined up facing the boundary wall. Wrangler Morse raised an orange flag and one by one they shot out over the wall and soared westward, to Richter’s aid.
Ottilie and Leo flew side by side. Behind them a scattering of huntsmen remained with the shepherds to guard Fiory, and she would be forever grateful to Scoot that Gully was among them.
Far below, she could see the mounts disappearing into the trees, their horses the size of mice. A little further back were carriages pulled by mountain bucks, carrying several wranglers and directors, flanked by the steadily marching footmen.
Ottilie and Leo stayed on course for as long as they could manage it, but once they reached Flaming River, Maestro and Nox swept northward.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ called Igor Thrike.
Neither responded. No-one would come after them. Everyone was needed at Richter, and if all went to plan, Ottilie and Leo would be there only a little later than the rest.
They reached the Red Canyon and dismounted on a ledge by the lightning-shaped gap.
‘Anything?’ Leo muttered to Maestro, who was sniffing the air, his tail flicking back and forth. Beside him, Nox was still, tense, ready for a fight.
Leo trailed Ottilie through the opening in the cliff. The passageway wasn’t wide enough for Maestro and Nox to follow along. She felt uneasy leaving them behind, but they didn’t have a choice. This was the only place she could think to look and there was no time to seek a wider gap.
They kept their weapons drawn, but after several twists and turns, they still hadn’t encountered anything. Finally, the tunnel opened up and Ottilie could barely believe what was in front of her. A great cavern stretched out, and built into the walls of the cave were what appeared to be the ruins of ancient buildings. Or the ruins of one great building, it was difficult to be sure. There were crumbling statues and broken archways and, over by the far wall, what looked like the skeleton of an old well. Something was slumped against it. Drawing nearer, Ottilie saw the bent shadow of a boy.
‘Ned,’ Leo breathed, and they hurried towards him.
Ned looked up very slowly. It was clear he had not been kept comfortably. One of his eyes was bruised and swollen, he had a great gash on his cheek, and Ottilie could see a string of strange, almost star-shaped burns up one of his arms.
He looked at her with unfocused eyes and something to the left of him caught her gaze. Carved into the stone was an ancient engraving of a duck. What was this place?
She looked around. There was no sign of Bill. But she spotted something else that made her blood drain all the way to her toes. High on a crumbling ledge was a bone singer.
Ottilie gasped. She knew him. She had worked with him when she was a shovelie. His name was Nicolai. Recognisable in his pale grey robes, he sat cross-legged with gleaming eyes, and beside him, as if standing guard, was a shank.
She should have known! So much had happened after Whistler’s unveiling, Ottilie hadn’t pieced it together. The bone singers were working with her! Nicolai was here guarding Ned, and the shank …
Shanks were usually small, like stretched rats covered in yellow spines. But this one was the size of a large house cat. Its scaly face was chestnut brown and its spines were like rusted blades. Ottilie knew immediately what she was seeing. The shank was another bloodbeast, and she would have bet her ring that it was bound to Nicolai.
‘The bone singers,’ she whispered.
Leo whipped around and aimed an arrow at Nicolai, but he hesitated. His uncertainty mirrored her own. That was a boy up there, a boy she knew. Leo lowered his bow.
Ottilie’s thoughts whirled. She remembered Bayo telling her a bone singer had been taken ill after she and Leo had felled the knopoes. She had never thought to find out if he recovered … but, remembering Gracie’s shriek whe
n the white wyler had been grazed by her arrow, she suspected that if the bloodbeast died, the person bound to it died, too. The thought made her feel sick. She couldn’t for the life of her remember who had felled the biggest knopo – it could have been her or Leo.
Ottilie had so many questions. All this time Whistler and her bone singers had been pretending to help, when really … really they had been controlling the dredretches, maybe even raising them from the ground. Their rituals with bones and salt ... was it all a ruse, just for show?
That must have been how the wylers were getting in. The bone singers probably had secret doors through the boundary walls, and uncanny ways of concealing them. But was every bone singer bad? Ottilie remembered Bonnie, the bone singer who had hated the Withering Wood – surely she couldn’t be one of Whistler’s minions, could she?
Ned gripped Ottilie’s hand. She turned to him. He opened his mouth, but it took him a moment to make words. ‘Watch out,’ he croaked, staring behind them.
Ottilie whipped around. Prowling out of the shadows, from every corner of the cavern, were dredretches.
‘Trap,’ Ned muttered.
Ottilie nocked an arrow. Beside her, Leo drew his cutlass. On the ground, Ned pulled a knife from Leo’s boot.
‘Ned, where’s Bill?’ said Ottilie quickly. ‘There was another captive, did they bring him here?’
‘Took him away,’ he said. ‘Didn’t want you to get him. She knew you’d come. I think they hoped there would be more of you.’
They were surrounded. Trapped. There were wylers and lycoats, morgies and learies. Nicolai and the shank didn’t move. He was doing something in that trance and the shank was guarding him, but there was no time to dwell on murky predictions.
The lycoats pounced first. Ottilie shot one down and Leo struck out, taking another. From above, a giffersnak dropped. Ottilie and Leo scattered, and Ned managed a clumsy roll out of the way. It was chaos. In twos and threes, they attacked. Ottilie couldn’t count how many she knocked back.
Then the little ones came, scurrying down the walls and up out of cracks in the ground. The shanks led them in, controlled by Nicolai. Then came yickers, spike mites, barbed toads, and countless more that Ottilie had never seen before. They could beat back the big ones, wave after wave, but the little monsters slipped between the others, the shanks a synchronised unit under Nicolai’s control.
Ottilie Colter and the Master of Monsters Page 21
