“What are they all for?”
“Croquet, mine dear.”
“What? I’ve never heard...”
“No, nor had I until a very old friend of mine introduced me to it, a long time ago now.” He handed her a long-handled mallet as he hefted a ball in his hand. “I will teach thee. Thou can then ask me thy questions as we play.”
Mirabel’s skirts did indeed prove a problem, giving her many mats, as Nephril called her short-swung shots.
As he lined up his own next strike, Mirabel asked, “Do you remember my majority celebration ball, Nephril?”
His mallet’s strike lacked its usual solid thud, and his ball rolled wide of its target. He looked up at her from his hunched stance. “I do. A fine and impressive affair,” and his eyes narrowed as he straightened.
“Do you ... do you remember that little chat we had then?”
“Thy turn I do believe, mine dear.”
It seemed mats were to be the order of the day for Mirabel. She then waited for Nephril to finish his own turn before saying, “Do you remember the favour I asked of you then?”
Nephril leant against his mallet’s handle, its head pressed into the lawn. “I did wonder if this day would come, Mirabel, wondered how much Phaylan had since told thee of that time.”
She gave him a forced smile. “It’s Phaylan’s undying loyalty to you that’s finally brought me here today, Nephril. In all our years together, he never once talked of those times.”
“I see. But thou at least suspect I reneged on mine promise?”
“I saw the glittering green tail of your wealcan turn off the way with my own eyes, Nephril, towards the Farewell Gap. So yes, I knew. I take it my mother finally convinced you to change your mind, and take the remains of Leiyatel to Leigarre Perfinn as promised?”
“Perhaps we should take a break, mine dear, for I see our refreshments are on their way.”
Mirabel followed his gaze and watched Whinny carefully carry a loaded tray towards them.
They were soon seated at the table, Whinny pouring tea into fine cups now set before them both. A third cup remained on the tray, at Nephril’s unobtrusive shake of his head, and Whinny quietly withdrew.
“Not a very exciting game I must admit,” Nephril eventually said, placing his cup back on the table. Their eyes met and Nephril coughed. “’Twas thine own Phaylan who in truth saved the day, Mirabel.”
“Phaylan?”
“He who convinced me I had deceived mine self, who swayed me to accept that Leiyatel should indeed be reborn. His unfailing Galgaverran honesty stayed mine hand, Mirabel, and so set us all on the path that has now brought us to this ... to this...” He waved his hand rather desultorily in the air.
Silence descended, both stilled by their own thoughts for a while. Eventually, Mirabel drank her tea in one swift swallow and stared hard at Nephril, drawing his eyes. “You took advantage of me, didn’t you, Nephril? You played a foul trick on a green young woman.”
A smile slowly spread across his face until he barked a short laugh. “Kettle and pot, mine devious one, kettle and pot. Had I not been so ancient, then likely thine unpractised wiles would still have worked their magic, and I would have willingly agreed to thy wishes ... would have succumbed then to thy mother’s own plan,” he quietly finished.
“Had the Herbengour not interrupted us, Nephril, would you then have sealed your deception in a more ... more intimate way?”
“Ah, so that be thy true question, Mirabel. Had I planned on robbing thee of thy tender virtue, eh? So to bind thee to me and make of thee mine own true agent, and thereby retain thy father’s unwitting support, eh? And by it help me destroy Leiyatel once and for all.”
Mirabel didn’t wait long. “Well?”
Nephril smiled. “Thou forget how long I had known thy mother by then, how closely I had observed her and thine eventual father on the long journey we made to Nouwelm. I knew something of how Lady Lambsplitter worked her magic - and like mother like daughter. Always fight fire with fire, mine dear, and I knew enough of thine own flame to choose mine weapon carefully.”
Mirabel blushed, an almost unheard of reaction in a cuckoo. It didn’t break her hold on Nephril’s eyes, though. Eventually, she smiled, although rather lamely. “Touché, Uncle, touché. But now, unknowingly, you’ve answered me my as yet unvoiced question,” and her eyes narrowed.
“Question?”
She grinned. “I now know why my wiles failed with you, and it wasn’t just your ancient years, Nephril. I should have suspected it since, that you were immune for an entirely different reason. Although your weft and weave is certainly of Leiyatel – High Dican no less, as I can attest – it’s not quite like that of any other, is it? It can’t be, because you still remember things from beyond the castle’s walls; the sailing ship – the Herbengour – and Nouwelm, a town beyond the Gray Mountains.”
Nephril grinned as he swept his arm out to encompass the garden. “Why dost though think I surround mine self with such a thick wall of yew, eh, Mirabel?”
She looked at the hedge and frowned.
“It be there so I am not constantly reminded of what no one else accepts they see, so I can forget the ocean to our west, the Forest of Belforas and the Vale of Plenty to the North, the horrors of knowing that Eyesgarth still lies beyond the dead deserts in the east. No, mine own mind has not been tricked into denying what mine eyes do see. Leiyatel has not duped me for the very reason that mine weft and weave has long been altered – and hence why only I could enter Baradcar and retrieve Leiyatel’s remains. And why thy father had such singular need of me.”
“So that’s why...”
“But now I too do know how different we each both are from all others, for thou too must see beyond the walls to have such clear remembrance, although I know not why that should be.
Mirabel drew herself up straight in her chair. “Well, now we see eye to eye, Uncle Nephril, I have one or two further but rather more difficult questions to ask.”
“Difficult? In what way difficult?”
She bit her lip for a moment, her eyes unseeing. “I have a ... a friend, you see, one who...”
“Nephril?” Whinny’s call cut to them from across the lawn. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid it won’t wait.”
Nephril waved her over. “What is it, Winifred? Can it not...”
She bent to his ear and whispered, a cloud quickly darkening his face. He nodded and waved her away. “I am afraid I must attend something urgent, mine dear. A damnable nuisance I know, but thy questions will have to wait. Another time perhaps.”
He rose, his arm outstretched, offering the way.
“But I shouldn’t need to delay you long, Nephril. Surely you can spare me...”
“I have a carriage awaiting me at the gate, Mirabel. I need to pack a few items and be on mine way without delay. I am sorry, but I have far to go, and the less of it in the dark the better.”
Mirabel’s face lit up. “Surely I can accompany you some of the way, just long enough to ask you my last few questions?”
“I will be travelling north, through still deserted parts of the Esnadales, mine dear, not towards Bazarral. I could not leave thee anywhere along that way. Have a word with Winifred. She can agree a time for thee to come again.”
“But I could do with sorting it out sooner rather than later, Uncle Nephril.”
He tapped his foot and stared at her for a moment, then his eyebrows lofted. “I will be passing the Royal College. There be an inn opposite – a decent one. I suppose I could drop thee there before turning west into the Upper Reaches. Carts come and go quite often between there and Yuhlm College, so thou should find no problem getting a lift back on the morrow.”
He stared at her, but only briefly before quickly nodding to himself. “Very well. Thou can come with me, but only as far as the inn. Now, though, I must rush,” at which he led her quickly back to the front door before vanishing inside in even greater haste.
13 The Seed of a Fevered Brow
The wind hushed through the canopy above Stella, hushed in waves, gently sweeping her on her way through the gloom of the woods towards a dance of dappled light. She breathed in deeply, of lavender and rosemary, of honeysuckle and thyme, her legs soft-brushed by drifts of rye.
Unseen, birds sang and called, their wings fluttering through the rattling tide of leaves above, seed cases flickering past in their twirling descent. Soft beneath her feet, the grass sloped lower, each step nearer the golden lustre of sunlight ahead.
Beyond the tracery of bole and bough hung beams of palest oak, straight-shadowed against a lime-washed sky. A snuffle and a snort round-ruffled the tussocks of a clearing, so suddenly spread out before her - a shifting pattern of familiar russet-red roses and gay green leaves.
At the far side rose a high wooden fence, round finials at either end, over which a faded yellow robe had been casually draped. Stella knew it well, recognised its peacock and heron pattern, and its pale blue sash. A gentle snore now seemed to ripple across the clearing – a rumpled bedspread she knew so well – the chill of early morning air in its wake.
Stella stared at her bed’s dark footboard until a smack of lips drew her gaze to one side where it came to rest on Mirabel, the pale skin of her exposed neck like ivory in the virgin dawn light.
The way Mirabel’s head lolled against the low back of her chair pointed her nostrils at Stella, enthralling her until reason chivvied her mind.
“Mirabel?” but she wasn’t sure she’d spoken out loud and so closed her eyes for a moment, but her friend still filled their reopened gaze. Mirabel’s lips again smacked together as she now rolled her head.
“Mirabel? Is it really you?”
“Hmm ... what?” and Mirabel’s eyes shot open, soon fixing Stella with a startled stare. “Ah. At last. You’re awake.”
Stella glanced around the room, checking where she was, and again peered at Mirabel. “What ... what in the ... how did you...”
The hand Mirabel placed on Stella’s arm made her jump, and she struggled to push herself up, but Mirabel firmly pressed her shoulders back. “You’re not to exert yourself. Leach’s orders, do you hear?”
“But...”
“But nothing. If you feel up to sitting up then I’ll lift you myself. I’ve a few extra pillows here for when I do.”
Stella saw such clear relief in Mirabel’s eyes that it frightened her.
“Are you hungry?” Mirabel asked.
She’d not realised until now, but yes, “Ravenous.”
“Then you stay where you are and I’ll go get you some broth. Your mother made a big pan full a couple of days ago, not that you’ve been able to keep much of it down since.”
“Down? Couple of days?”
Mirabel only smiled, patted Stella’s hand and quietly slipped from the room, the dawn chorus drifting in through the window to fill the space left by her softly receding footfall on the stairs.
Nothing seemed to make sense to Stella; why she was in bed, why Mirabel should be here, why she felt so empty. A crow settled on the wide windowsill outside and pecked at the glass, its head tilting at an inquisitive angle. Stella smiled back.
Beneath the window, on her unusually tidy desk, Melkin’s small dictionary sat in splendid isolation. Her eyes sought out the loose floorboard, beneath which she’d hidden the metal box. It seemed undisturbed, so Stella rested her head back as she heard the creak of floorboards approaching her bedroom door.
“Here we are,” Mirabel soothed as she pushed it open with her foot and carried in a tray. It joined the dictionary before Mirabel carefully helped Stella sit up, more pillows slipped in behind her. Soon the tray was on her lap, a towel spread across her chest, a spoon placed in her hand.
“It’s hot, so don’t rush it,” and Mirabel caressed lose strands of hair from Stella’s brow.
Stella blew across her first spoonful until cool enough to sip.
“The house is beginning to stir, Stella. Let’s see if we can make you a bit more presentable for when they look in, eh?” and Mirabel found a brush.
“Oh, that’s good,” Stella sighed as the broth went down, but stared up at Mirabel, now bent over her hair. “Why are you here, Mirabel? And how did you find out where I lived?”
“I came across someone who’d heard you weren’t well. When they said they were going to ... well, I remembered I’d heard the name before – Blisteraising. I never realised you were related to Prescinda.”
“Aunt Prescinda?”
“We knew each other from our Grayden days, not that she remembers it now.”
Stella put her spoon down. “I’ve been pretty ill, haven’t I?”
“You have, but you’re not to worry. You’re on the mend now, as long as we look after you ... and you look after yourself.”
“What day is it? How long is it before I’m due back on duty?”
Geran now stood in the doorway, her broad smile not quite hiding the worry behind it. “You’ve not to fret yourself, Stella,” she said. “It’s all been taken care of.”
She hurried in and sat on the bed, her hand soon on Stella’s cheek, caressing some colour back. “Oh, it’s good to see you looking so much better. You wouldn’t believe how worried we’ve all been.”
When it was explained to her that she wasn’t expected back to the Star Tower, Stella stiffened, the look on her face quickly drawing her mother. “Galgaverre think your illness is something to do with being so near Leiyatel’s intense gaze.”
Stella couldn’t take it in at first. “But ... but none of the other starmakers have ever suffered. Why should it be just me?”
Geran glanced at Mirabel and said she had to go get Falmeard’s breakfast, patted Stella’s hand reassuringly and stood up. She forced a smile before hurrying downstairs.
Mirabel pushed the door to. “I think it’s to do with your,” and she sat back down in her chair, “your unusual weft and weave, Stella.”
“But Galgaverre won’t know anything about ... unless you’ve...”
“No, of course I haven’t. It will always be our secret. No, they’re just being cautious, Stella. You told me you didn’t think the job was doing you much good. You must have said the same to others, your colleagues maybe. Anyway, you’re not to worry about it. I think they’re going to look at assigning you duties elsewhere.”
Stella wasn’t sure what she felt about that. The tower’s isolation had certainly suited her down to the ground, but that had been then.
Now, well, now she was beginning to see how much more there was to do, how much she needed to understand of the world beyond the tower’s remove. Despite her weakness, something had forced itself free within her, something that demanded far more answers, and again she glanced towards the loose floorboard and its hidden box.
14 A Parting Thought
“Oh, I wish you didn’t have to go back today, Mirabel, although I do understand, you know I do, but I really am going to miss you. And you’ve been such a help to mum. I don’t know how she would have coped without you.”
Mirabel lifted her head from her recliner, smiled and opened a slit of an eye against the morning sun, slanting in to the short back yard between the house and the cliff. “You’re not getting cold are you?” she said. “You look a bit peaky.”
“I’m fine, Mirabel. Stop fretting. You must have had a bellyful of me by now. I’m wrapped up well enough, and the sun’s nice on my back,” and she relaxed even further into her own recliner.
“Well, alright,” but then Mirabel’s mouth drew to a line. “I really am going to have to get back this morning. I’d love to stay but I’m worried how father’s doing. He can be a bit absentminded these days, and you’ve got so much better over the past couple of days.”
Stella watched Mirabel close her eyes and settle her head back once more, the sun’s warmth on her face bringing a soft smile to her lips. Her friend’s simple pleasure contrasted so sharply with Stella’s own wretched hollowness.
She’d expected as much. Their parting would certainly bring sadness but it would also give her more time to herself to find out what the metal box might hold.
That reminded Stella. “By the way,” she whispered, “did you get a chance to kiss dad?” then she noticed the crow land near the bread she’d put out earlier, an intelligent eye cocked her way from the far corner of the yard.
Without opening her own eyes, Mirabel sighed. “Your father’s a bit elusive, but at least he hung around to say goodbye this morning. I nearly cracked my head against his, though. Had to make do with a quick handshake.”
“He is a bit shy. Always has been.”
“Hmm. Well, I thought he would have jumped at the chance of a farewell kiss, but clearly I was wrong.”
“What about mum?”
“I had an opportunity the morning you came out of your fever. She was so relieved we had a long hug in the kitchen. She’s straight up and down Dican, Stella, just like your aunt ... and I reckon Grog too, although I’ve not had a proper chance with him either.” She lifted her head and again opened an eye. “Your family’s all a bit reserved aren’t they?”
Stella didn’t know how to answer. She’d nothing really to compare them against ... except Mirabel, and that seemed a bit unfair.
The crow took off, a large piece of bread in its beak, a flurry of wings as it laboured to get aloft. It landed on Stella’s bedroom windowsill from where it again cocked an eye their way.
“Oh, and I nearly forgot,” Stella said, returning the bird’s stare. “Did you manage to track down Lord Nephril? I’m sure I remembered you saying you were going to try.”
“Err, yes ... yes, I did. He lives out in Eyesget of all places. Has done for many a year.” She reached down beside her, picked up a mug and took a sip. “Well, the morning is getting on, so I ought to be making tracks.”
Starmaker Stella (Dica Series Book 6) Page 6
