Escape From Wolfhaven Castle

by Kate Forsyth

  ‘Except for your own four-poster,’ the old woman pointed out.

  ‘Well, yes, but I can hardly be expected to be turned out of my own bed for a mob of uninvited children.’ Lady Mortlake shuddered. ‘Not to mention that beast you call a dog.’

  Fergus thumped his tail.

  ‘There must be somewhere we can sleep,’ Quinn exclaimed.

  ‘You can put us anywhere. Even in the stable, if you like,’ Elanor said.

  Lady Mortlake looked horrified. ‘No, no, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘We are so tired,’ Quinn said.

  ‘And hungry,’ Sebastian added.

  Lady Mortlake sighed. ‘You want food too? Surely I’ve explained there’s not a crumb in the whole castle.’

  They all stood in silence, drooping in disappointment. Nobody knew what to do.

  ‘Eugenie! Stop sucking your thumb! Do you want teeth like a rabbit?’ Lady Mortlake snapped. Eugenie took her thumb out of her mouth. Lady Mortlake waved a languid hand. ‘Well, it’s late and I am sure you are all tired. Eugenie! Put our dear guests in the Queen’s Suite.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too bad,’ Quinn said reassuringly to Elanor, who was looking very white and anxious.

  Eugenie took the four children to a vast, echoing room with an old straw mattress tossed in a corner. The glass in the windows was broken, the hearth was filled with fallen birds’ nests, and cobwebs draped the empty candelabra. Even worse, the little girl took away the only candle when she left.

  Tom did not much like the look of the mattress, which was half-chewed by rats, and so they huddled together in the corner of the room, hungry, cold, tired, and miserable.

  ‘What is more powerful than love, and more evil than hatred?’ Quinn said dreamily. ‘The poor have it and the rich need it. The dead taste it all the time, but if the living eat it, they will die.’

  ‘Whatever it is, it sounds horrible,’ Elanor said.

  ‘Quinn, now’s not the time for riddles.’ Tom spoke wearily, his head resting on his arm.

  ‘Every time is the time for riddles.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Sebastian said. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Yet you yourself spoke the answer,’ she said.

  ‘Quinn, don’t be so annoying. I wish you’d never got apprenticed to that stupid witch,’ Tom said.

  ‘Arwen is not stupid! And riddles are not stupid either. They make us wise.’

  Elanor said timidly, ‘But how?’

  Quinn spoke with deep fervour. ‘Riddles make us think harder and deeper and stronger. They make us look at the world aslant. They teach us that we can solve what seems unsolvable, if we try hard enough.’

  ‘So our bellies are empty and we’re freezing cold. How can you solve that?’ Sebastian spoke with heavy sarcasm.

  Tom jumped up. ‘Let’s go down to that great hall. We can throw some more wood on the fire, and wrap ourselves in those animal skins.’

  ‘A fine idea, except for the animal skins,’ Quinn said, getting up. ‘I am so stiff and cold. Look, my shawl is so wet I can wring water out of it!’

  Sebastian pulled Elanor to her feet. ‘Come on. If we get a good night’s sleep, it’ll all seem better in the morning.’

  Fergus yawned, got to his feet and stretched, then followed his master with a wagging tail. Tom groped his way through the darkness to the door, then turned the door handle and pulled.

  The door did not open.

  He yanked harder, twisting and pulling the handle so hard the door rattled. Then he kicked it. ‘We’ve been locked in!’

  16

  PRISONERS

  Tom was furious with himself. How could he have been so stupid? He had suspected that Lord Mortlake was somehow involved with the invasion of his home, yet he had let himself be persuaded to walk straight into a trap.

  Now they were prisoners.

  ‘We have to escape,’ he said.

  Sebastian ran to the window, opening the casement wide and leaning out. The wind blew his red curls back. ‘We’re too high here, we can’t climb out,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘If we had any sheets and blankets, we could have tied them together to make a rope,’ Quinn said.

  ‘Fergus can’t climb down a rope,’ Tom said. ‘And there’s no chance I’m leaving him behind.’

  ‘Hey, someone’s signalling,’ Sebastian said.

  The other three rushed to the window, and looked out. From one of the tower windows, a light was being flashed. On and on it went, then suddenly, far away, another light flashed in response. Three times it flashed, and then both lights were blown out. ‘My guess is Lady Mortlake is letting her husband know he’s got to come home,’ Tom said. ‘We have to get out of here before he returns!’ He went back to the door and shook the handle again, then bent and looked through the keyhole. ‘I can’t see anything. Elanor, could you get that ring of yours to shine again?’

  ‘I don’t know what I did to make that happen,’ she answered, coming to stand beside him. She rubbed the ring with her finger, but nothing happened. She rubbed it again. ‘Please light up for me,’ she coaxed it.

  ‘Try blowing on it,’ Quinn suggested. ‘You blew on your hands to make them warm, do you remember?’

  As soon as Elanor blew on the ring, it began to glow again. By its soft light, Tom was able to see that the key had been left in the keyhole. He thought for a moment, then went to his knapsack and got out the map. He unfolded it and slid it under the door.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Sebastian said.

  ‘I’ll show you,’ Tom answered. He poked at the key with the tip of his dagger. The key fell out and landed with a plop on the map on the other side of the door. Tom drew the map back under the door, and the key came with it. Tom picked it up, unlocked the door, then bowed extravagantly.

  ‘That was quite clever,’ Sebastian admitted.

  ‘Why, thank you,’ Tom said. ‘Now let’s get out of here.’

  They tiptoed out into the corridor, and Tom locked the door behind them and pocketed the key. ‘That’ll bamboozle them.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Quinn said.

  ‘Now, which way …’ Elanor said, looking left, then right. ‘Does anyone remember?’

  The corridor stretched a long way in either direction, bare and dusty and dark. The light from Elanor’s moonstone ring only illuminated a small area.

  Fergus took a few steps to the left and turned back to look at them, whining an enquiry.

  ‘Let’s go that way,’ Tom said.

  They ran after the wolfhound, who led them through the empty, echoing castle and down flight after flight of steps. It seemed to take hours, and Tom began to fear they would never find their way out.

  At last, Fergus led them to the kitchen, a vast, damp place scuttling with cockroaches. Empty flour bins lay on their side, and sacks drooped sadly, spilling dust. Fergus went up to a cupboard door at the far end, and sniffed it. Then he looked back hopefully at Tom, wagging his tail.

  ‘That cupboard’s padlocked,’ Quinn said. ‘Do you think …?’

  ‘I do,’ Sebastian said, and drew his sword. With one strong blow he smashed the chain.

  For a moment, they all froze, listening intently, but there was no cry of alarm, or any sign that anyone had heard them.

  ‘Look!’ Tom pointed. ‘So much for there not being a crumb to eat in the castle!’

  The cupboard door had swung open and revealed fat hams hanging on hooks, rows of smoked ducks and baskets filled with dried cod. The shelves were stacked with jars of preserves. Rounds of cheese in red wax sat next to long loaves of bread sprinkled with salt and rosemary, while a plate was piled high with jam tarts.

  Sebastian’s eyes gleamed. ‘Let’s grab what we can and get out of here,’ he said, seizing a jam tart in either hand. ‘Serves them right for locking us up.’

  ‘Serves them right for giving us nothing to eat,’ Quinn said. ‘Which, by the way, is the answer to my riddle.’

  To
m took down a ham, Quinn seized two loaves of bread, and Sebastian crammed one of the jam tarts into his mouth and grabbed a wheel of cheese. Elanor hesitated. ‘Oh, do you think we should?’

  ‘We need to eat,’ Sebastian said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘Lady Mortlake was just downright mean. The woman locked us up! Who knows what she had planned for us.’

  Quinn clasped both hands together at her heart, as they’d all seen Lady Mortlake do. ‘I do hate meanness of spirit … it’s like a dagger to my heart.’

  Elanor laughed. A most unexpected dimple flashed in her cheek. Tom realised he had never seen her laugh before. ‘They did lock us up,’ she said. ‘I guess that means we are at war with them.’

  ‘Yes, the spoils of war,’ Sebastian cried.

  Elanor stepped into the pantry. ‘Look! Everything is stamped with our insignia!’

  She showed the others the wolf stamp upon the wax seal on the jars. ‘This must have been stolen from Wolfhaven merchants. Father said the boats were being attacked by bandits!’

  ‘Lord Mortlake’s bandits, by the looks of it,’ Sebastian said.

  ‘Then in that case we should take as much as we can carry,’ Elanor said, grabbing a sack and filling it.

  ‘Good idea,’ Tom said, throwing sacks and jars into his knapsack till it bulged. Quinn and Sebastian did the same.

  ‘Now let’s go!’ Elanor cried.

  They hurried out of the kitchen, looking for some way out. ‘Where shall we go once we get out of here?’ Tom panted, racing along the dark corridor.

  ‘Listen to the storm,’ Quinn said. She could hear the ice hitting the windows. ‘We need to find shelter somewhere.’

  ‘We need to get away from here as fast as we can,’ said Sebastian, urgently.

  ‘Let’s head to the forest,’ Quinn replied. ‘We can take refuge under the trees.’

  ‘There’s that horse in the stable,’ Elanor said. ‘We would get along much faster if we took turns in riding it.’

  Tom looked at her in admiration. ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Let’s go!’ Sebastian urged.

  17

  THE

  WITCHING TIME

  Beware, little maid. Danger comes.

  Quinn peered into the darkness, her pulse jumping. ‘Who’s there? Who spoke?’

  It is the midnight hour, the witching time. Thou must beware.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Tom whispered. ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘I … I don’t know.’ Quinn’s hands felt for the wooden medallion that hung about her neck. It was warm, even though the air around her was so cold her breath puffed white.

  She and her friends were lost in the cavernous halls of Frostwick Castle, unable to find any door or window that was unlocked and unbarred.

  ‘There must be a way out,’ Elanor whispered, exhausted. The light sank as her strength diminished.

  ‘I’ll bash down the very next door we come to,’ Sebastian promised her. ‘No matter the noise I make.’

  Beware! The voice grew urgent.

  ‘Let’s run,’ Quinn urged. ‘Come on!’

  They broke into a stumbling jog, heedless of the sound of their footsteps in the echoing darkness.

  Fergus growled deep in his throat and stopped, stiff-legged, all his fur bristling along his spine. Looking ahead, Quinn saw the shape of an arched doorway illuminated by a faint flicker of candlelight.

  The light blossomed like a pale death lily. At its heart was a frail shadow.

  The captives whirled to run, but even as panic coursed through her blood, Quinn stopped and looked back over her shoulder. She recognised the shape of the stick-limbs and wild black hair of the little girl who had opened the front door to them. ‘Eugenie,’ she whispered.

  The little girl approached silently, carrying her candle before her. She was still dressed in the trailing black velvet gown, though now her feet were bare. As she came closer, Quinn saw the rat’s beady eyes staring out from the tangled mass of hair. The little girl beckoned urgently, one finger held to her lips.

  Fergus stopped growling, though his tail was sunk low. Quinn stood still, afraid but wondering, hearing the rapid beat of her friends’ feet racing away.

  A child of silence, the mysterious old voice said very softly. Yet she hears all.

  The little girl stopped before Quinn and laid her finger on the wooden face of the necklace. Her face was grave and puzzled.

  Greetings, little maid, the voice said.

  The little girl bowed her head.

  In great wonderment, Quinn touched her necklace. She lifted the Grand Teller’s gift so she could see it. The medallion was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. It was carved into the likeness of an old man’s face, though his hair and beard were made of oak leaves. She had always thought the eyes were shut, as if the old man was sleeping, but she now saw that the eyes were open, gazing up into hers.

  Beware, danger comes, spoke a voice in her mind. It was not the deep, old voice she had heard before, but a high, sweet, tremulous voice.

  Quinn looked back at the little girl, and saw that her face was filled with tension. The girl gestured towards the windows, and Quinn rushed to see. Through the tiny panes of glass, she could see a group of horsemen galloping up the hill towards the castle, all carrying flaring torches of flame. In the front was the man wearing boar tusks fixed to his helmet.

  I will show you the way out, the little girl said silently. But you must be quick.

  ‘Tom!’ Quinn called. ‘This way!’

  Tom had stopped and turned, looking back at her in worry. She beckoned, and saw his eyes fall upon the little barefoot girl. For a moment he hesitated. ‘We can trust her,’ Quinn urged. ‘She’ll help us.’

  Still he hesitated.

  ‘The man with the boar tusks is coming!’ Quinn cried in desperation. ‘We have to get out of here. She’ll show us the way out.’

  Tom made a swift decision. ‘Elanor! Sebastian! Come this way.’

  The pair were both a long way down the corridor, but slowed and looked back. They saw the little girl standing in her halo of light, beckoning.

  ‘Have you lost your minds?’ Sebastian panted. ‘She’s one of them! She locked us up!’

  Fergus trotted up to the little girl and looked up at her with his wise brown eyes. She stroked his head and he wagged his tail. That decided it for Elanor, and she scurried to join them.

  Sebastian groaned, flung up his hands in exasperation, and raced to follow her.

  Come this way, Eugenie whispered in Quinn’s mind. But be quiet as you can. My mother is near.

  ‘We must be quiet,’ Quinn said. ‘Lady Mortlake is near.’

  Tense and silent, the four friends followed the little girl and her circle of wavering light. The click of Fergus’s nails on the stone seemed very loud.

  Eugenie led them through the maze of galleries and staircases, till they reached the great hall. Its vaulted ceiling was hidden in shadows. Skulls of long-dead animals leered down at them. The embers of the fire were a cluster of small, blinking red eyes. Eugenie then led them to a small side door and drew a key from her pocket. In a moment, the door was unlocked and they were thrust into the tumult of the storm. Icy rain lashed Quinn’s face. A taloned wind yanked at her hair. It was so cold, the bones of her face ached.

  As they hurried down into the inner ward, Quinn saw that the gateway was open. She could hear the thunder of the horses’ hooves, and she could see the red glare of the riders’ torches. The knights galloped up the hill and across the wooden bridge. In seconds they would be upon them.

  ‘Hide!’ Sebastian cried, looking all around him.

  Eugenie beckoned them, and again they had no choice but to follow her. She led them, stumbling in the blinding wind, towards the stable. Beside the double doors were a row of barrels. The five children and the dog crouched down behind them, Tom’s hand on Fergus’s muzzle to keep him quiet.

  The horses came to a rearing, snorting stop in the middle of
the courtyard. The knights dismounted heavily, their armour clanking. The acrid smoke from their torches stung Quinn’s eyes. She crouched lower, hoping desperately not to be seen.

  A troop of bog-men came loping through the gate, their bony legs working tirelessly. The man in the tusked helmet pointed to a far corner of the courtyard. ‘Wait there,’ he ordered.

  The bog-men silently obeyed, standing in orderly ranks. The torchlight flickered over their hideous faces, highlighting the taut, blackened skin, the eyeless sockets and twisted mouths. The air was filled with the stink of rotting eggs.

  ‘You deign to answer my summons, at last!’ Lady Mortlake shrieked, striding down the steps of the castle, her black hair whipping behind her.

  The man with the boar tusks took off his helmet. Quinn bit back a gasp.

  It was Lord Mortlake.

  ‘Why did you signal me? I have much to do if I’m to keep Lord Wolfgang and his people crushed under my heel.’ Lord Mortlake slapped his gauntlets into his hand, looking thunderously angry.

  ‘What took you so long?’ his wife screeched. ‘I have news, important news.’

  ‘We galloped the whole way, almost rode the horses into the ground,’ said Lord Mortlake. He gestured towards the sweat-lathered horses, standing with hanging heads and heaving sides. ‘You’d better have a good reason for dragging us all this way.’

  ‘Lord Wolfgang’s brat is here!’ she cried. ‘She came looking for help!’

  Lord Mortlake strode forward and gripped her wrist with one hand. ‘Lady Elanor? Here?’ He looked around, his eyes fierce as an eagle bending to its prey. ‘Where?’

  ‘Luckily for you, I locked the brat up,’ Lady Mortlake answered. ‘Let me go, you’re hurting me.’

  Lord Mortlake shook her roughly. ‘Where is she? I must have her. As long as she’s free, she’s a risk to me.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, I have her safe,’ Lady Mortlake sneered. She jerked her hand and at last he let her go, frowning down at the cobblestones.

  ‘To keep her or kill her?’ he mused out loud.

  Elanor turned big, anxious eyes towards Quinn, who squeezed her hand in comfort and pressed her finger to her lips.