by Jenny Nimmo
“Do you really think so?” Elin squeezed out one more tear and smiled.
“I’m sure of it.”
They were about to creep back and get some more sleep when the door opened and a head of tousled brown hair appeared. It screamed.
All the children woke up. Yawning, groaning, grumbling, and mumbling, they lifted their heads and stared at the stranger standing in the doorway. And then they realized that she wasn’t a stranger at all. They had just forgotten that Mair, their mother’s attendant, slept in the royal apartments.
“Heaven preserve us!” Mair walked into the room, shaking her head at the children peeping out from the royal quilt. “Where’s the queen?”
Petrello hastily explained that Amadis was missing and the queen had gone to find him.
“She’s a bold one, your mother,” said Mair. “What possessed her?”
“The chancellor’s men wouldn’t go,” said Guanhamara. “And mother said we were to stay here together, because …” She looked at Petrello.
“She doesn’t think we are safe,” finished Petrello.
“Mercy!” Mair sank onto a padded stool. “It’s like Melyntha all over again.”
Petrello knew that Mair had run away from Castle Melyntha, after the queen escaped. She had followed his mother through the forest for many days before she eventually found her, and vowed never to leave her side again. He pointed out that they didn’t have to escape from their own castle.
Mair looked at him and rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.” Her lips formed a tight, little line. “If the chancellor takes over, he won’t want a batch of royal children hanging about, will he?”
Guanhamara, wide-awake now, leaped off the bed. “Don’t be silly,” she cried. “You’re such a pessimist, Mair. The king will return very soon with the crystal, and everything will be all right again.”
The desperation in his sister’s voice made Petrello think she didn’t believe her own words. What had her dream shown her?
“The king might be too late,” Mair said darkly. And she left a room of silent, anxious children.
“That woman finds optimism impossible,” Guanhamara said at last. “We are safe here.” She smiled around at everyone. “Don’t forget the leopards.”
After another bleak silence, Gunfrid said hopefully, “WE are not royal children.”
“They are our friends,” said Zeba, giving her brother a severe look. “Where would we be without them? You can’t even walk.”
Gunfrid pouted and rubbed his legs.
A few moments later, Mair returned with a jug of water, one cup, and a plate of small honey cakes. She seemed a little more cheerful. “Share nicely,” she said. “Later, I’ll go to the kitchens and see what I can get for you.”
They thanked her, and Guanhamara shared out the honey cakes, taking a handful to Gunfrid.
If only someone could tell them what was going on. Petrello went to the window. He could see Zobayda in the tower opposite, and decided to pay her a visit. Guanhamara joined him at the window and waved to her aunt.
“I’ll go and see her,” said Petrello.
Guanhamara clutched his arm. “Suppose they catch you?”
“They won’t. Star will protect me.”
“No,” said his sister. “Look!”
Petrello looked down into Zobayda’s garden. He was just in time to see Star leaving through the arch. His brothers must have called him, or he would never have left his post.
“I’m going anyway,” said Petrello. “I want to see our aunt.”
Guanhamara shook her head. “Trello, no, no, no!”
“Is it because of what you saw — in your dreams?” Petrello searched his sister’s face.
“I can’t make sense of it, but I think our father’s trapped somewhere.” She frowned and, looking over her shoulder, whispered, “And so are the knights.”
The other children were busy with the honey cakes, breaking the last ones into twos and threes. Petrello leaned close to his sister and asked softly, “What did you see?”
“I saw a lake as smooth as glass, and in the center, a white cloud hanging there, hiding everything beneath it and … and …” She continued in a whisper, “I think our father was beneath it, no, not think, I’m sure. In fact, I know that the king and his knights are trapped under that cloud. Don’t ask me how I know. It was more than a dream, Trello. It was a knowledge … given to me.”
“I see.” Petrello paused, uncertain whether to ask his next question. “And did you know that your best friend loves Amadis?”
Guanhamara grinned and gave him a funny, sideways look. “Of course I know, and so does he.”
“Oh.” Foolish Petrello, you know so little, he told himself.
The other children had noticed the two whispering by the window. Elin and Tolly came over to them.
“Why are you whispering?” said Tolly.
“We were wondering what to do next,” said Guanhamara.
“Look!” cried Tolly. “Our aunt has visitors.”
Looking down, Petrello saw two Gray Men at Aunt Zobayda’s door. Where were the guards? he wondered. There was a brass knocker on the door, in the shape of a camel. One of the men lifted the camel and rapped loudly.
Don’t open the door! Petrello silently warned his aunt.
Tolly banged on the window. “Aunt, don’t open the door!” he shouted.
But Zobayda couldn’t hear. Perhaps she thought her nephews wanted her. A moment later, she had pulled back the bolts and opened the door. The children watched in horror as one of the men grabbed Zobayda’s right hand and dragged her out.
“What can we do? What can we do?” wailed Tolly.
Petrello was about to run and help his aunt, when his sister gripped his arm and said, “No, Trello. They’ll catch you, too. Something’s happening.”
Before the second man could grab Zobayda’s left hand, she had lifted it up and brought it down on the first man’s fingers. There was a bright flash, a scream of pain, and the man fell to the ground.
“The ring,” breathed Petrello.
The man still standing was too shocked to move, but then he seemed to recover, and tried to snatch Zobayda’s arm. She whirled in a circle, too fast for him to catch her, and before he could step back, she had touched him with her ring. He yelled in agony and staggered out of the garden, clutching his chest.
Zobayda looked up at the watching children and smiled.
The children cheered wildly. Petrello unlatched the window and flung it open, calling, “Brave Aunt Zobayda, come and see us!”
“I was just about to,” Zobayda called back, “when I was so rudely interrupted.”
Petrello ran down to draw back the bolts. When he opened the door, his aunt walked in, looking as cheerful and unruffled as if nothing in the least unusual had happened.
“It was the jinni’s ring, wasn’t it?” said Petrello, peering around her at the man on the ground.
“Of course.” His aunt lifted her left hand and turned it this way and that. “Look at him sparkling. He’s always like that when he’s had a fight.” She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t worry about the Gray Man. He’s not dead. But he’ll be harmless for a while.”
Petrello peered at the jinni’s tiny face. “I’m glad you had him with you, Aunt. The leopard has gone. I don’t know why.”
“He must have had a very good reason.” Aunt Zobayda began to climb the steps. “And your guard is missing. I fear for him.”
“Me too.” Petrello bolted the door and followed his aunt. “Our mother has gone to look for Amadis. His horse came back alone, and the chancellor’s men won’t go and find him. Mother said we must all stay together, for the chancellor isn’t our friend.”
“I know. I know.”
“How do you know, Aunt?”
“I have windows, I have eyes and ears, and I have a jinni’s intuition.”
“Oh.” Petrello was a little mystified, but much impressed.
When Zobayda entered
the royal bedchamber, she was immediately surrounded by chattering children, all asking questions at once.
“Yes, yes. It was my ring,” she answered, sinking onto the bed. “When the king and I were young, it saved us many a time.”
They settled beside her on the big bed, and Guanhamara flung her arms around her aunt, begging her to stay with them.
“Of course I’ll stay, but not in this room,” said Zobayda. “It seems you have all made yourselves very much at home here. I’ll go and find Mair.”
They followed the king’s sister out of the bedchamber and down a passage with several doors opening off it. First, Zobayda looked into Mair’s tiny room. The queen’s attendant had fallen asleep again on her narrow wooden bed.
“We won’t wake her,” Zobayda whispered.
There were three more rooms. One for the queen’s clothes, her shoes, and her jewels; another for the king’s robes; and a third with long windows on both sides. Here the king liked to read at night. There were shelves of precious books, chests and boxes, a table covered in maps and papers, several tall candelabra, two high stools, and a long, velvet-covered couch.
“This is where I shall sleep,” Zobayda declared, settling herself among the cushions on the couch.
“Are we prisoners?” Tolly asked.
“You could say that,” his aunt replied. “But not for long, I’m sure.”
A sudden loud banging on the door sent Petrello leaping down the steps again. “Who is it?” he called.
“Don’t keep me waiting, boy. Open up.”
It was Llyr’s voice, Petrello was sure of it, and yet he hesitated.
Behind him, Tolly said, “I’m here, Trello! And I have my sword.”
Petrello turned to see his brother descending the stairway, his sword at the ready.
“I remembered that Mother had left it here,” said Tolly, running down to stand beside his brother.
There was another loud bang, and the same voice asked, “Do I have to use a spell to break down this door?”
Petrello drew back the bolts, but before he could open the door, a man burst through it.
“Merciful moons, Tolomeo!” gasped Llyr. “Sheath your sword before you do some mischief. I’m your friend.”
A friend he might have been, but he didn’t look like the wizard they knew. A steel helmet covered his fine, fair hair, and at least twenty sharp knives hung from his belt. He was carrying two large leather bags.
“Venison pies!” Llyr announced, waving one of the bags. “Are you all here?”
“Vyborn wouldn’t come, nor would Cafal,” said Petrello.
Llyr nodded. “And Olga is in my care. What about your aunt?”
“She’s here,” said Petrello.
“Take me to her.”
They led Llyr up to the king’s reading room. When he appeared at the door, the other children backed to the window, their eyes on the gleaming knives at his waist. But Zobayda greeted the wizard with a wide smile and a cry of welcome.
“Provisions,” said Llyr, putting the bags on the floor.
“What news do you have?” Zobayda begged. “We have learned not to trust the chancellor’s men.” She glanced at her ring. “But how can we continue like this, virtual prisoners in our own home?”
Llyr sat beside her and removed his helmet. He noticed the children staring at his knives and grinned. “Yes, I can turn bones into steel,” he said. “As for news …” His cheerful expression fell away, as though it had been a mask. “It is grave, the news, and I wish I didn’t have to give it to you.”
“What? What?” Guanhamara came closer to the wizard. “Tell us!”
Llyr looked at Zobayda and then at the king’s children, his eyes resting on each face for several moments.
“To begin …” He ran a hand through his damp yellow hair. “Last night, Wyngate lay beside Rigg. He lay on the cold stone floor and would not move all night, for he said the bellman might dream, and he might talk in his sleep. He might murmur a word or two that could tell us who opened that window and let two strangers in.”
“And did he?” asked Guanhamara. “Did Rigg talk?”
“Not in his sleep,” said Llyr. “He recovered a little, woke up, and cried for water. And Wyngate was there with the water almost at once. Poor Rigg was so pleased to see a friendly face he broke down in tears, and that’s when Wyngate asked him, ‘Who let this happen to you, Rigg? Who do we have to fear?’”
There was a tense silence in the room. They waited, almost afraid to know Rigg’s answer. Elin and Zeba crept closer, their bare feet making no sound at all on the king’s thick carpet.
At last Zobayda asked, “And did Rigg answer? Did he see the man who let two strangers into our castle?”
“He did.” Llyr buried his face in his hands, shook his head, and stared at the sky turning bright in the window.
In a hushed voice, Guanhamara asked, “Who?”
Llyr took a deep breath and said, “It was your brother Borlath.”
Zeba gasped, but no one else said a word. Had they guessed? Had they known all along?
Zobayda said, “But why? What reason could he have for throwing away our chances, of weakening the strength of our marvelous spell-wall?”
“He told me once,” said Llyr, “that he had no time for spells and wizards. ‘We should be able to defend ourselves,’ he said, ‘without resorting to magic. Where’s the pride in that?’ And then he put his face very close to mine and almost whispered, ‘Imagine what it’s like, wizard, to know that you will die before your father? That you will never inherit his castle, his treasures, all this?’ And he waved a hand at the courtiers in their bright clothes, the horses, the guards, the dogs and geese and children.”
Zobayda sighed. “I think I knew, but couldn’t bear to accept it. Envy is a dreadful thing. Resentment, even worse. They warp you. And now he’s in the forest with the king.”
Llyr lifted his head and stared at the painted ceiling. “He’s here.”
“What?” Zobayda exclaimed. “Borlath, here?”
“He rode in a short time ago, alone. The leopards behaved very strangely. They prowled about him, growling. He kept an eye on them and wouldn’t dismount until two of the chancellor’s men came to help him. And then he told us that all the knights were dead.” There was a cry from Elin, but Llyr pressed on. “They were set upon by bandits in the middle of the night. The king was captured and badly wounded. Borlath was the only man to escape.”
“Lies! All lies!” cried Guanhamara.
“The king can’t die,” Zobayda said quietly.
“It’s not that,” said her niece. “I know the knights aren’t dead, and I know the king can be rescued.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Llyr.
Guanhamara twisted her hands together. “I saw it, I dreamed it. I saw a cloud, hanging on a lake as smooth as glass, and I know my father and his knights were there. I know it.” Her eyes filled with tears and she stamped her foot.
“Calm yourself.” Zobayda got up and put her arm around Guanhamara. “I have dreams and often they come true.”
“But what do you do about them, Aunt? What use are dreams if we can’t … If we can’t do anything about them?”
Zobayda looked thoughtful. “We’ll just have to think how we can find this cloud that sits upon a lake, and rescue your father and his knights.”
“The eagles could tell us,” said Petrello. “They can see everything from up there.”
He nodded at the sky through the window.
“I wish I could fly,” said Guanhamara, and slowly, very slowly, she turned her head and looked at Tolly.
Petrello found himself doing the same, and in a moment, everyone but Zeba and Elin was looking at Tolly. Poor Tolly’s face turned crimson. He stared at the floor and shuffled from one foot to another.
“I’ll go,” said Tolly, in the quietest voice imaginable. “But not alone,” and he looked at Petrello.
Petrello felt slightly dizzy.
How could he and Tolly fly above the forest? The air couldn’t hold them up so high. Tolly might have wings, but he didn’t. And yet he couldn’t let his brother go alone. He grinned at Tolly and said, “Then I’ll come with you.”
Petrello and Tolly were alone on the battlements. Llyr had offered to come with them, but Petrello said no, they must be on their own. If they failed there was nothing anyone could do.
The sky was a clear blue, the wind so gentle it hardly ruffled their hair.
“D’you think I’m a coward?” asked Tolly, frowning.
“I wouldn’t like to go out there all by myself.” Petrello stood by an opening in the wall. The forest was still emerging from the dawn mist, the birdsong lifting out of it, soft and muffled. He had suggested they leave from the battlements because he remembered how the wind had pulled the king’s cloak into the sky, how it had held it up so powerfully. His hand reached for the sword his mother had left for him. Zobayda had found it in the queen’s dressing room. His name was on a label tied to the hilt. So she believed in him after all. He wouldn’t let her down.
“D’you think I can lift you?” Tolly sounded doubtful.
“The air will carry us.”
Tolly’s dark wings were spread behind him. In the airy light, the colors in the black shone like jewels. He flapped them slowly, once, twice, and then, suddenly, he was in the air.
“You’re going without me?” cried Petrello.
“No, no. I was just trying them out.” There was pride and panic in Tolly’s voice. He kicked the air, and rose even higher. “How do I get down?”
“Wish it!” called Petrello. He had no other suggestions.
Tolly closed his eyes, stopped flapping, and landed, rather heavily, on the battlements. “Ho!” He coughed. “I’m all shaken up.”
They laughed together, nervously.
“Climb on my back,” said Petrello. “You know, like you do when we’re playing horse. I’ll hold your legs very tight; then, when you rise into the air again, I’ll come with you.”
“D’you think so?”
“I know so.” If not certain, Petrello was at least hopeful.
Tolly gave a short run; he jumped. Now he was on his brother’s back, his arms around Petrello’s neck. His wings came down, the tips brushing Petrello’s arms. And then they were in the air.
