by Toby Forward
“Don’t laugh at me,” he said.
Flaxfold shushed them.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But you see, every single one of us here is a wizard. This is Flaxfield’s house.”
“I know it is.”
“Then what did you expect to find but wizards? So your roffle talk’s no good for us. We know you only do it to fool us poor Up Top folk. There’s no need for it, Tadpole.”
“So it’s time to go home,” said Axestone. “We’ll send word when it’s safe to come again. You should never have tried it. You might have got yourself killed, but you got away with it this time.”
“I can’t go back. Not yet.”
“You have to,” said the big man.
Tamrin spoke quietly.
“Why not, Tadpole?” she asked.
He gave her a grateful look and before he could stop himself from telling the truth, though it sounded stupid as he spoke it, he said, “I haven’t seen the stars.”
A silence covered them. Tamrin broke it.
“Is that why you came here?”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
“I caught eight fish,” said Sam.
“And there are eight places laid at the table,” said Eloise.
“And,” said Waterburn, “there’s always a roffle, isn’t there?”
“Yes,” Flaxfold agreed. “There’s always a roffle, and it looks like it’s you, Tadpole,” she said.
“So I can stay?”
He beat his fists on the side of the barrel.
“Just a moment,” said Axestone. He took Tadpole’s hand and made him stand up. “We’ve come here today,” he said, “to make plans.”
“I know. Well, I guessed.”
“Don’t interrupt.”
Tadpole flinched at the reprimand.
“Don’t be harsh, Axestone,” said Eloise. “There was never a roffle in the history of the world who didn’t interrupt.”
Axestone looked into Tadpole’s eyes.
“I don’t think that every one of us will live beyond the work we’re planning today. If you stay with us, you might not. Do you understand?”
Tadpole looked steadily at him. “Seventeen roffles were killed in one week,” he said. “I understand.”
“Do you? You were frightened half to death by a woman just now. How will you manage when you see a real kravvin?”
“Enough,” said Flaxfold. “Tadpole. What we’re about to do is very dangerous. We’re all in danger and we have great magic. You have none. If you stay, you’ll put yourself at risk. Are you prepared to do that?”
Tadpole didn’t answer straight away. He remembered the Deep World, the safety of home. He thought of his father’s warning. Going back down seemed a very pleasant thing. Perhaps he should leave them to it.
“I think, after all…” he said. Axestone smiled, and Tadpole pointed to him. “I think I ought to ask a question first. If you fail, if you lose and the kravvins win, will they stop here? Or will they get down into the Deep World and come for us next?”
Sam whistled. A long, slow whistle.
“He’s right,” said Tamrin.
“Yes,” agreed Flaxfold. “And we never even thought of it.”
“Well?” said Tadpole.
“I don’t know,” said Axestone. “Not for certain. But if you want my opinion, yes. If they win they’ll come for you. They’ll swarm all through the Deep World.”
“Then I’ll stay,” he said. “Start your meeting.”
“Hello, what’s this?” said Axestone.
The memmont had slipped through the door and was tidying the dishes away into a cupboard.
Tadpole made up his mind
not to say anything in the meeting at all.
“Are lots of people Up Top wizards?” he asked.
“Don’t interrupt,” said Axestone.
“Sorry.”
Sam and Tamrin sat side by side at the table. The others gathered round.
“If Tadpole’s with us we have to help him to understand,” said Eloise.
Axestone growled something.
“Not everyone is a wizard,” said Flaxfold. “Not many people. You’ve just happened to come to a special house on a special day.”
“Thank you.”
He tried to listen to the meeting, but there were so many things he couldn’t follow that he gave up. He looked around at the kitchen. He liked the cooking range and the rushes on the floor, and the scent of the herbs that rose up when you trod on them. He liked the door half-open into the pantry, with hams hanging from hooks in the ceiling and a wheel of cheese with a damp cloth over it to keep it cool and fresh. He liked the way the wood of the furniture gleamed with polish and age. He liked the rows of plates and mugs and dishes on the dresser.
“What do you think you can do to help?”
He liked the way the ripples in the glass of the windows muddled the afternoon sunlight.
“Anything? Nothing? No help at all?”
Tadpole looked at the others and they were all looking at him.
“What do you think you can do to help?” asked Waterburn again.
“What did you say your name was?” asked Tadpole.
Axestone banged his fist on the table.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t going to work. It really isn’t. We can’t let him stay. He’ll get himself killed and he’ll get all of us killed.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” said Flaxfold. “We can’t risk letting him get hurt. I’m sorry, Tadpole.”
“Waterburn?” said Tadpole. “Is that right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Are lots of people called Waterburn? Is it a common name?”
“Only me,” he answered.
Tadpole hopped off his barrel, lifted the lid and, taking care that no one could see inside it, he found a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Waterburn.
“What’s this?”
“Look.”
Waterburn opened it up. He stared at Tadpole and back at the paper again.
“What is it?” asked Sam.
“Where did you get this?” asked Waterburn.
“Let me have a look,” said Tamrin.
“Who gave you this?” Waterburn said.
It was the map from the Deep World to Flaxfield’s house.
“That’s got your name on it,” said Tadpole. He put his finger on the paper. “There.”
“Where did you get this?” repeated Waterburn.
“I’ve got letters as well,” said Tadpole. “Letters from someone called Waterburn that are years and years old. So there must have been someone else called that. A long time ago.”
“No,” said Waterburn. “Only me.”
“No,” Tadpole insisted. “They’re very old. Very, very old.”
“A long time ago,” said Waterburn, “when I was about the same age that you are now, I had a friend who was a roffle. That’s when all this trouble started.”
“What trouble?” asked Tadpole.
Axestone clattered his chair back and strode across the room.
“I give up,” he said. “Have you been paying any attention to what we’ve been saying?”
Tadpole lowered his eyes and shook his head.
“Why should he?” asked December. “Everything here’s so new to him.”
“If he doesn’t understand…” began Axestone.
“He will,” she said.
She extended her arm to Tadpole, and he knew that she knew he found her frightening, repellent. “Will you walk to the river with me, and I’ll explain some of it, not all?”
Tadpole hesitated and he saw that she knew why.
“Yes, please,” he said.
He put his arm out. They linked arms. He didn’t mind. No, not just that. He liked linking arms. She smiled.
“Follow the stars,” she said.
“What stars?” Tadpole put his head out of the door and looked up at the sky, blue and bright.
Axestone barked out
a laugh.
“Cabbage,” said December. “Do you think we could have some stars, please?”
Tadpole looked for someone new. Cabbage?
Waterburn moved ahead of them. He bent his arm, flung it out, as a farmer scatters seed on the field, and a shower of tiny stars burst from his opened palm. They fell in a line, a path of stars, glittering in front of them. Waterburn walked ahead, flinging stars as he went. Tadpole grinned until he felt his face would fall in two.
Magic. Real magic. His first ever sight of it.
And it was stars. Just as he had wished for. Later it would be dark, and he’d see other stars. He couldn’t stop himself. He jumped and laughed.
“Come on,” said Waterburn.
December and Tadpole followed.
“Tread softly,” said Waterburn, “for you tread on my dreams.”
Tadpole looked over his shoulder at the house, and a small, grey cat followed them, licking up the stars as it came.
At the riverbank Waterburn flung one last handful of stars into the water, where they flashed silver and gave themselves to the current. The cat stopped at the river’s edge, lapped up the last of the stars on the grass, looked at the ones on the water, turned, walked away, sat in the green shade and licked its paws.
“Why did you call him Cabbage?” asked Tadpole.
The three of them sat together looking at the sunlight weaving the ripples on the water.
“We’re very old friends,” said December. “Since we were children. That was what he was called then.”
“Why?”
“And we both know the person who had that map, and the letters,” said Waterburn, before December could answer.
“You can’t have done. He was my great-great-ever-so-many-greats-grandfather. Hundreds of years ago.”
“Wizards live a long time,” said Waterburn. “Longer than roffles.”
“Too long, I think, sometimes,” said December.
“Perhaps you’re right.”
“You knew Megapoir, my ancestor?”
“We did. But we called him Perry then. He was my very best friend. And I saw him every year until, well, until he wasn’t there to be seen any longer.”
“He was a great roffle,” said December. “A hero Up Top.”
“A hero?”
“Not famous,” said Waterburn. “But he did great things, and we’re all in his debt.”
And December explained how, when she and Waterburn were children, they had both been apprenticed to wizards.
“I was Flaxfield’s apprentice,” said Waterburn.
“Were you? What was he like? I wish I’d met him. Were you his apprentice as well?”
“No,” said December. “No. But I met him. I was apprenticed to an old, dying wizard called Slowin. He stole my name, my real name, and he stole my magic.”
Tadpole wanted to ask a question. December stopped talking and waited for it.
“Is that…?” he said. He stopped.
“Go on.”
“No. I’ve forgotten what I was going to ask.”
December drew the scarf around her face and looked away. Waterburn put his hand on Tadpole’s shoulder.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t tell lies. It’s never good.”
Tadpole looked over December’s shoulder at Flaxfield’s house.
“Look,” he said.
He pointed. The sun was past its highest point now and something with huge wings hung over the rooftop, dark against the fading day.
“It’s a dragon,” he said.
“It’s Starback.”
“Really a dragon?”
“Really. You’ll see a lot of him.”
Tadpole looked at Starback over December’s head, turned away from him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please. I was going to ask if that was why your face is like that. But it seemed rude.”
She didn’t turn back when she replied.
“But it wouldn’t be rude to ask me. It was unkind not to.”
Tadpole thought about this.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. Please don’t look away.”
“There was a fire. Not an ordinary fire. Magic fire. It nearly killed me. Cabbage here found me. And he took me to Flaxfold. If it wasn’t for them I’d be dead.”
Questions bubbled up in Tadpole’s mind and appeared on his face. He couldn’t stop himself from asking them.
“Couldn’t they have used magic to, well, you know—”
“Ask me,” she said. “You have to ask.”
“Make your face better?” he splurted out.
“Good boy. Never avoid something difficult if it’s important.”
She drew back her scarf further and sat upright, head, neck and shoulders bare. The scarring and damage didn’t stop. It covered her, disappearing in the yoke of her dress.
“All over,” she said. “I am burned like this everywhere. And it’s all right. It took so much magic even to save my life. No magic I know of is strong enough to make me any better than I am.”
Tadpole looked steadily at her and thought there was something beautiful in the puckered skin, the smooth patches.
“Slowin,” he said. “What happened to him? Is he all burned?”
December shrugged herself back into her scarf and flinched as though he had hit her.
“We’d better go in,” said Waterburn.
“No,” said Tadpole. “No. I want to stay outside. I want to see the stars. It’s why I came here.”
“It won’t be dark for a while yet.”
“Still. I’ll come in later.”
Tadpole had seen Tamrin walking down from the house, and he wanted to see if she would talk to him.
Tamrin walked down to the river
and took off her shoes and socks. It was cool on the bank under the alders. She dangled her feet in the current, watching the patterns on the water.
Tadpole wanted to speak to her, but she seemed so perfectly alone that he hesitated. He put his hand to the trunk of a willow that stood away from the water. Pushing, he slanted a roffle door half-open, stepped in and watched her.
A bee blundered against her shoulder. It bounced off and hovered round in front of her face. She smiled.
“Yellow and black,” she said.
She held out her left hand, pursed her lips and blew on the bee. It circled down and settled on her palm. She stroked it with her right forefinger. The striped body was fat, furry, pleasant to touch. She folded her left hand, with the bee inside it, blew into the space between her thumb and finger and opened it again.
She was holding a tiny, perfect yellow and black striped cat, no bigger than an acorn.
It sat down and licked its paws.
She stroked it again. The fur was softer now. The cat turned its face and licked her finger.
Tadpole nearly fell out into the open. He caught himself just in time and kept back.
He followed her gestures, opening and closing his palm, blowing into his empty hand.
It looked so easy, so natural. He had to be able to do it. Now that he was Up Top. There was magic everywhere. There must be enough for one roffle.
A shadow slid along the grass and covered the cat.
“Room for two?”
Tamrin didn’t look up.
“Hello, Waterburn.”
“Are you waiting for me?” he asked.
“I don’t like having a lot of people around,” she said.
“Can I sit with you?”
She shuffled along as though space was in short supply. He sat a little apart from her.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Yellow and black.”
“Of course.”
He leaned over and looked at the cat.
“What’s next?” he asked.
“I’m a bit stuck. I can’t think of many things that fit those colours.”
“Shall I?”
“If you like.”
He snapped his fingers. The cat grew w
ings, lengthened, its legs growing slimmer and its neck longer. It spread the wings and flew up into the air in front of Tamrin’s face, just where the bee had hovered.
“Tiger-dragon,” said Waterburn. “Very rare. Not full size, of course.”
Another dragon. Tadpole held his breath. First day Up Top, and first dragons. It had to be right.
The dragon perched on Tamrin’s shoulder and nuzzled against her neck. She wriggled.
“How big’s a real one?”
“About the same size as a donkey.”
It ran down her sleeve and fell off, opened its wings and flew round. Tamrin held out her hand again and it settled there.
“I like it.”
“They’re good company,” said Waterburn. “You should learn from it.”
She scowled at him.
“See what I mean?” he said.
She was caught now. The more she scowled the more she put herself in the wrong, but she was too stubborn to smile.
Tadpole was pleased to discover that Tamrin was moody and unpleasant to everyone, not just him. These two were clearly old friends, and she was being really rude to him.
“Find something else,” said Waterburn.
“I can’t think of anything. I only chose yellow and black because it was a bee.”
“Have a think about it.”
She studied the dragon.
“That roffle at the house,” she said.
“Yes?”
“He shouldn’t be here.”
Tamrin turned her hand over and over and the dragon crossed from palm to back and then to palm again.
“Are we going to die?” asked Tamrin.
“Eventually.”
She frowned.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
“You mean is this fight going to kill us?”
“Yes.”
Waterburn lay back and looked up at the sky.
“I don’t see why it shouldn’t kill us,” he said. “Whole villages are being killed. Lonely travellers. Families on farms. There was even a group of merchants with twenty donkeys, travelling to the city to trade. Every single one of them was slaughtered by the kravvins, men, boys and donkeys. The kravvins fell on the bodies, gorged themselves and left all the merchandise lying by the side of the road.”
Tamrin folded her fingers over the dragon, shook her fist, and when she opened it she was holding a pansy, with a black face against a bright-yellow rim.
