‘Please state your true name,’ he said calmly, with a voice of such unexpected depth that Ottilie shivered upon hearing it.
‘Ottilie Colter.’
‘You are lucky, Ottilie Colter, that our full directorate was already gathered here at Fiory to deal with other matters. I am sure you would not have liked to spend another night in the burrows.’
They all seemed to be waiting for her to respond.
‘No, sir.’
He studied her for a moment before turning to the others. ‘Before we begin,’ he picked up an orange box from the arm of his throne, ‘we need to select an impartial representative of the Fiory select elite. I have taken it upon myself to remove Leonard Darby’s name from this box as I think we can all agree that he does not qualify as impartial.’ There were murmurs of assent from around the room.
Ottilie realised she was nodding in agreement, and hastily steadied her skull. She glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. They hadn’t seemed to, but she felt her face glowing all the same.
No, Leo was certainly not impartial. She supposed she should feel relieved that his opinions on the subject would not be heard today, but instead she just felt angry. And hidden well away, masked by the anger, was sadness; she was sad that she had lost a kind of friend, and hurt that he had turned his back on her so quickly.
‘Captain Lyre, if you would,’ said Conductor Edderfed.
Captain Lyre rose from his seat and took the box from Conductor Edderfed. Prying it open, Captain Lyre glanced at Ottilie. Did she detect a hint of sympathy in his gaze?
Without looking at the box, Captain Lyre plucked a card from within and read out the name: ‘Edwin Skovey.’
Ottilie remembered her first moments in Fort Fiory; a shepherd snarling in her face and someone gripping her elbow, helping her stand. Ned. She felt a wave of relief.
It didn’t last.
Ned was Leo’s best friend. Would he share Leo’s view of the situation?
‘Are there any objections?’ said Conductor Edderfed.
No-one spoke.
Conductor Edderfed nodded to Captain Lyre, who strode across the room and opened the door. Wrangler Furdles was waiting outside. Captain Lyre muttered something to him, and Wrangler Furdles nodded gravely and hobbled away.
‘Ottilie Colter, you are called before the Narroway Hunt Directorate to witness our deliberation upon your fate. Upon the arrival of our impartial elite you will be given a chance to explain your actions. It will then be put to a vote. If the majority find that you can remain in your position as a Fiory fledgling, a suitable punishment will be determined. If not, the alternatives will be nominated and put to a vote. Do you understand?’
Ottilie swallowed hard. She had not realised there was a possibility that she could remain a huntsman.
They were all staring at her.
‘Yes,’ she said.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ said Conductor Edderfed. Ned stepped into the room. ‘Edwin, you are called here to cast a vote as an impartial representative of the select elite. Do you accept this responsibility?’
‘I do,’ said Ned, taking a seat beside Captain Lyre.
Ottilie didn’t look at him. If Leo’s anger was mirrored on his face, she didn’t need to see it.
‘Let us begin. Ottilie Colter, it was reported to this directorate that you entered the Narroway unauthorised and took upon the guise of a recruited fledgling to join the Narroway Hunt. How do you explain yourself?’
‘I –’ Ottilie faltered. Her pulse quickened and she could feel a rash creeping up the side of her neck. She looked at Captain Lyre, who shot her a small smile.
‘My brother was kidnapped. I found out where he’d been taken and I followed. I meant to catch up to him at Wikric and bring him home, only he’d already moved on, so … I cut off my hair and snuck into the cell with the other boys while the pickers were sleeping.’
‘How exactly did you get into this cell?’ said a director with rosy cheeks and two extra chins.
‘I climbed up the wall and jumped in.’
There were mutters around the room. Ottilie thought one or two of them looked rather impressed.
‘You jumped in?’ said the rosy-cheeked director. ‘And the pickers didn’t wake?’
She smiled inwardly. ‘They’d had too much bramblywine.’
Captain Lyre let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. ‘And then what happened?’ he said, after clearing his throat.
‘They woke up the next day and moved us on to the border gate.’ It seemed so long ago now, that slow trudge through the tunnels, the hunger, the fear, the anticipation of catching up to Gully.
‘But what about the list?’ said Captain Lyre.
‘Oh … I stole that before I jumped.’ She didn’t think mentioning Bill was a very good idea. She didn’t want them to be aware of his existence, considering how much he knew about the pickings. ‘I just wanted to find my brother. I followed along until I caught up with him here at Fiory. Then I wanted to leave but there wasn’t any way, and after a time I … well, I liked it here. I liked the Hunt. I want to be a huntsman and I don’t want to be away from my brother. I only came here to find him.’
‘And your brother is Gulliver Colter?’ said Conductor Edderfed.
‘Yes.’ Why was he asking? Were they going to punish him?
‘Gulliver Colter was a special recruit. Showing exceptional promise, he was picked early, at eleven years old, and currently leads the fledgling tier by fifty-three points,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘I believe he’s your fledge, Eddy?’
‘He is,’ said Ned.
‘But you, Miss Colter, are not a recruit,’ said Conductor Edderfed. ‘You are an imposter.’
Ottilie didn’t know what to say. She knew she hadn’t said enough. She wished she could think of something marvellous and brave to say that might help her case.
Skip would have known exactly how to put it. Skip would have explained herself better, explained about how important Gully was to her, and how important the Hunt had become, maybe used the fact that she was ranked third out of eighty-seven to argue that she was a valuable asset.
But Ottilie couldn’t think of how to say all that, so she just stood there, staring straight ahead, her back stiffening from standing still for so long and her skin hot from all the eyes upon her.
‘Before we vote, let it be known that Wrangler Reuben Morse has offered a character reference for Miss Colter. We three,’ Edderfed gestured to his fellow cardinal conductors, ‘have decided not to hear it today, but let his offer be taken into consideration as you cast your votes.’
This was it. They were going to vote. There was nothing left to be said. No defence, no character witness, just her own meagre words and the vote.
‘All those in favour of Ottilie Colter retaining her position as a Fiory fledgling, please raise your hands.’
Ottilie sensed movement to her right. Two hands were in the air: Captain Lyre’s and Ned’s. What would Leo have thought of that? She glanced around at the rest of the directorate. No-one else moved. It was two to eleven.
‘Moving on,’ said Conductor Edderfed, ‘to the matter of banishment. It has been previously sanctioned that no untrustworthy persons may be permitted to leave the Narroway in possession of conscious knowledge of the Hunt. Considering deceit is the crime for which Ottilie Colter stands before us, return to the Usklers cannot be considered an option.’
Ottilie’s stomach fluttered. Would they really permit her to stay?
‘In situations such as this we have three courses available to us. Servitude in the Narroway, banishment to the Laklands, and death.’
Ottilie felt as if she had plunged into an icy lake.
‘Deceit is a grave crime, but as there is no evidence to suggest Miss Colter has caused any substantial harm to our operation or community, I put it to a vote that we remove the last course as an option. All those in favour, please raise your hands.’
&
nbsp; Every hand in the room was raised but for three; the two directors that sat to the left of her, and one to the right – Captain Lyre.
‘Oh. Wait,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘Are we voting for death or against death?’
‘Against,’ muttered Ned, his eyes smiling.
‘Oh good, because I’m for. I mean, against. Sorry Ott. Against. Against your death.’ He thrust his hand into the air. ‘I knew something must be wrong if I was voting along with Yaist.’ He gestured to a sallow-skinned director with sagging features and rather yellow lips.
Director Yaist narrowed his small eyes and kept his hand firmly down.
‘Motion passed,’ said Conductor Edderfed. ‘Death will not be considered. Moving on. All those in favour of banishment to the Laklands, please raise your hands.’
Ottilie’s heart plummeted. There were more hands in the air than she would have liked. Her vision grew blurry. She couldn’t count them.
‘Denied,’ said Conductor Edderfed.
What was denied? She looked about frantically. Captain Lyre looked satisfied. Was that good? He did seem to be on her side.
‘It looks as if you will get your wish, Miss Colter. You will be allowed to remain in the Narroway with your brother. If there are no objections, I will allow you to stay here at Fiory,’ said Conductor Edderfed. He paused.
There were no objections.
‘And that brings us to the question of what, exactly, is to be done with you.’
Ottilie lay on the floor, watching the shadows cast by moths in the candlelight. She had not been sent back to the burrows. Instead, Wrangler Furdles had led her to one of the long communal bedchambers they had slept in before the fledgling trials.
‘They told me not to lock you in, but I’m going to do it anyhow,’ he’d said, as if it were the most cunning of plans.
The directors and cardinal conductors from Richter and Arko had returned to their stations. The Fiory Directorate alone would decide what happened to her now. She imagined she would join the other girls and become a custodian of some sort, perhaps a sculkie like Skip. That wouldn’t be so bad, she supposed. It was a job with room and board. She would still be helping the Hunt in a way, and she would still see Gully every day.
Someone was struggling with the latch on the door. After much clanking and muttering it finally swung open.
‘Well! None of them want you, Colter,’ said Captain Lyre, striding into the room.
She blinked at him, and moved to sit with her knees pulled up to her chest.
‘Montie Kit said she’d take you in the kitchens, but the custodian chieftess was particularly adamant that she wanted nothing to do with you, which personally I think is something to be thankful for, but one outranks the other, so …’ He settled down onto a bed. ‘That of course put us in a bit of a pickle considering your gender and all. But a vote’s a vote and compromises must be made. For whatever prejudicial reason, the healers wouldn’t take you as an apprentice patchie, and you’re not qualified to be a bone singer, which of course left the only field with no grounds for refusal considering their entire rank is made up of discharged huntsmen.’
‘I’m going to be a shovelie?’
‘Hope you like shovels.’ He patted her on the head. ‘It could be much worse. Well, you know … you were there. And there is one upside. They won’t let you sleep with the shovelies on account of your,’ he waved his cane in her direction, ‘… femininity. Which, considering the shovelies sleep in an annex – that’s really a nice word for barn – is something to be thankful for. They’re going to let you move into the sculkie quarters, which are inside the main buildings, and far nicer.’
She was going to live with Skip – that was a happy thought. But it was further from Gully than she would have liked. ‘Is my brother all right?’ said Ottilie. ‘Have they … are you going to punish him?’
‘As I hear it, Gulliver was initially very distressed. But I imagine Eddy will fill him in right away, and the result should calm him.’
Ottilie chewed her lip. She hoped Gully hadn’t made more trouble for himself. She was desperate to see him, and resolved to find him the moment she was free.
‘Wrangler Voilies has had a talk with him. He was scolded for keeping secrets, but no, we’re not going to punish him,’ said Captain Lyre. ‘Also, I thought you should know Mr Sloch was apprehended earlier this evening. Apparently, he was trying to sneak beyond the boundary walls after your confrontation was overheard by Leonard Darby. Leo informed us of the threats he made against you, so it should give you some peace of mind to know he is in our custody.’
‘He can get out of locked rooms,’ said Ottilie. ‘He got out before.’
Captain Lyre frowned. ‘Yes. It seems we underestimated him. I would imagine that happens to him a lot. I assure you we’ve been more careful this time.’ He got to his feet and brushed off his blue coat. ‘I’ve got to get back to business. A sculkie will be down to take you to your new bedchamber in a bit.’ He gripped her shoulder and muttered, ‘Good show, Ottilie Colter,’ before sneaking a smile and marching from the room.
Ottilie closed her eyes in relief. Her secret was out. There were no more lies. She could breathe again.
Captain Lyre had been gone barely three minutes when Skip dashed into the bedchamber. ‘You’re staying!’ she cried, hugging Ottilie so heartily that she was lifted off the ground.
‘Agh, can’t – breathe – Skip!’
Skip released Ottilie, pulling back, but still gripping her wrists tightly. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘what a wonderful, horrible day.’
27
The Newest Shovelie
Ottilie trudged towards the shovel shed. She didn’t think about the way her arms swung, the length of her stride, or how she should let her weight fall. She just walked. The afternoon sun was hot on her neck and for the first time in a week she was grateful not to have to don her hunting gear. She was wearing a peculiar oversized garment that was both trousers and a shirt in one. It looked silly, but the pale green shovelie suit was gloriously comfortable, and far better suited to the warm summer afternoons.
On her first day, Mr Bote, the ancient shovel master, had handed her the suit with a twitchy wink. Ottilie had suspected it was a spasm rather than a deliberate gesture, until he leaned in and muttered, ‘Magic.’
‘Magic?’ Ottilie had asked, the folded suit feeling heavy in her hands.
‘Invisibility.’ He’d smiled a toothless smile, pointing a knobbly finger at the shovelie suit. ‘You’ll see. You won’t have to put up with that much longer.’ He’d jerked his gnarled thumb towards a group of whispering gardeners. The young custodians, with a mass of fluffy woffwoff seeds caught in their hair, had ceased their assault on the weeds to stare very obviously in Ottilie’s direction.
Now, a group of huntsmen wandered past, one of them pointing at her and another laughing loudly. Rage simmered beneath her skin. What was funny? That a girl had scored highest in the fledgling trials? That a girl had been paired with their precious prize champion, Leonard Darby? But Ottilie wasn’t really angry with them. She was angry with herself because, despite having all those things to be proud of, she had let them make her feel ashamed.
Ottilie only wished the shovelie suit really would help her be less visible, especially when she came across Leo by the pond. At the sight of her, his freckled face turned scarlet with rage. Two weeks had done nothing to abate his anger. She understood it to a degree; she had deceived him. He had a right to be mad. But not this mad.
In a silence cut only by frog song, they avoided each other’s gaze. Leo glared. He stood stock still in the centre of the path, forcing her to step around him. She knew he was utterly disgusted with her, disgusted that she was a girl, disgusted that she had fooled him – and his disgust, in turn, disgusted her. She didn’t think she would ever be able to look at him the same way again.
Despite the fact that his anger made her heart rattle in her ribs and her hairs stand on end, her stubbornness tempted her to
stand still and force him to pass. Would he really hurt her? Surely not. But she couldn’t be sure, not when he was acting so atrociously, and so, to avoid the possibility of a black eye or a broken nose, Ottilie stepped aside and slipped past him, forcing herself to hold her head high as she marched towards the shovel shed.
In the month that followed her dismissal, Ottilie learned what it was like to be truly unpopular. There was a lot of anger directed her way, particularly from Leo and a number of the wranglers. But some others, like Ned, seemed neutral. Scoot had an interesting journey, beginning with denial, then confusion, an odd bout of misery and finally hilarity. He found the idea that she’d fooled them for so long endlessly amusing.
Some of the worst reactions, or at least the most confronting, came from a few of the sculkies. It was in no way overt – whispers behind hands, disdainful glances and false smiles. Ottilie wasn’t sure she could actually name a single girl that had said anything to upset her. It was just a sense; she could feel their animosity. And then, of course, there were the little things that kept happening.
One morning Ottilie woke to find all of her underclothes were missing. Two days later someone burnt little holes into the knees of every one of her shovelie suits, and that very night she slipped into her bed only to find great bunches of human hair scattered beneath the quilt.
Skip was irate about it. ‘You know who it is?’ she said the next morning as they dressed. ‘It’s those ranky witches, Moth and Moravec!’
‘Ranky?’
‘Ranky!’
‘Is that some sort of Wikric street talk?’
‘Ottilie, this is serious. They can’t treat you like this!’
It was serious. The little acts of bullying were affecting her more than she wanted to let on. She felt unsafe in the sculkie quarters. Seventeen girls shared that cramped bedchamber and Ottilie didn’t know who she could trust. She was having trouble sleeping and found herself feeling inconsolably shaken and weepy.
Ottilie Colter and the Narroway Hunt Page 19
