by Sarah Rayne
‘Anyway,’ he went on, opening elaborate, carved doors with the wolf emblem engraved on them and brass wolfhead handles, ‘anyway, the Gruagach inherited me.'
‘Yes.'
‘And you needn't think it's an easy task,’ said Caspar, crossly, who had been saying this to people at regular intervals ever since the Gruagach came storming down out of the North and took everyone by surprise. ‘You needn’t think it’s all poteen and parties.’
‘Of course not,' said Floy and Snodgrass politely.
‘I dislike it very much,' said Caspar, glaring at them. ‘And if anyone can tell me how I can get out of it, I'd be very glad to know.’
‘Couldn’t you simply walk out?’ asked Floy and Caspar, who had been unlatching the door of the first bedchamber, turned round to stare at him.
‘Where would I go?’ he said. ‘Wherever I went, they'd catch up with me. Ever since CuRoi and the Robemaker put the Gruagach into Tara, every single house for miles around — probably all of Ireland really — is visited on a regular basis.’
‘Why?’ said Floy, because they had to learn as much as they could. ‘Why is that?’
‘So that the Robemaker can be sure he’s being given all the finest young men to work his Looms, of course,’ said Caspar, shaking his head in sorrow at people who did not know something so basic. ‘He’s taken a great many as it is but, of course, nobody lasts long inside the workshops. Also,’ said Caspar, warming to his theme, ‘also, have you ever tried to walk away from a giant?’
‘Well, no.’
‘I thought not. They’d catch up with me inside of ten minutes. Even now, when they’re sending me out down into the valley to see if there’s any Humans they’ve missed from the Angry Sun, even then, they’ll post sentries to be sure I don’t stay away too long.’
‘How terrible,’ said Fenella, sympathetically, wondering whether this might be the time to ask about sentries and guards.
‘They’d simply stride down to the village and pluck me out of hiding if I tried to get away,’ said Caspar. ‘And then, of course, we all know what they’d do with me.’
‘What?’ said Fenella and Snodgrass together.
‘They’d eat me,’ said Caspar, and Fenella turned so pale that Floy reached out for her in case she fainted.
‘Or,’ said Caspar with relish, ‘they’d give me to the Robemaker for his Workshop. And, on balance, I don’t know but what I wouldn’t prefer to be eaten, really.’
Snodgrass said, ‘Dear me,’ and peered over his spectacles.
‘As it is,’ said Caspar, ‘I’m of some use to them. They think I’m better at catching Humans for the Fidchell than they are. Which is perfectly true. I am better.’ He glanced over his shoulder, and then drew nearer. ‘I manage to let most of them go,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Only the Gruagach don’t know that. If they did, I’d be Manpie for certain.’
‘But,’ said Floy slowly, ‘didn’t you say that giants could usually be outwitted? Can’t you think of a way to escape them?’
‘Can you think of one?’ asked Caspar. ‘No, and no more can I. And I have to eat, you know,’ he said, crossly. ‘People forget that people have to eat.’
‘Especially giants,’ murmured Floy and Caspar looked at him sharply in case this was meant to be derisive. But Floy smiled back guilelessly and Caspar hunched one shoulder and turned his back, because it was not worth worrying about.
‘Here’s your rooms,’ he said, throwing open the second door. ‘I’ll leave you to sort yourselves out. I’m off into the valley, now. They’ll expect me to be back before dawn with any captives. I suppose there weren’t any others with you, were there? No, I didn’t think there were. And, even if there were, you’d be as well not to tell me. I do try to spare people where I can, well, I told you that. But I have to go through the motions.’
‘You have to eat,’ said Floy and Caspar shot him a suspicious look.
‘If I were you,’ he said, ‘I’d try to find a way out and see if you can’t be off into hiding somewhere. Couldn’t you just get back into the Feargach Grian and be off? It’d be far better for you. Because otherwise,’ said the giants’ procurer, ‘otherwise, they’ll have the Fidchell board out again, and there’ll be Manpies on the supper table tomorrow night.’ With which he took himself off, because if he had stayed, he might have fallen into conversation with these three travellers and, if he had done that, he might have found himself rather liking them. And say what you wished, it was entirely pointless to make friends of any Humans who landed themselves in the Gruagach’s hands.
The rooms were very comfortable indeed. There was a connecting door between them: ‘Safer,’ said Snodgrass nodding. ‘Floy and I can have this room and Fenella will be just through there.’
‘They’re very lavish,’ said Fenella, fingering the bed hangings and the thick, fluffy towels that someone had wrapped about huge copper ewers of hot water. Both rooms had jutting bay windows with tiny panes of glass in them and comfortable, velvet-padded seats directly below. There were thick, brightly patterned carpets on the floors and things which Snodgrass thought were brass warming pans and carved chairs and silk cushions.
‘Beautiful,’ said Fenella, in an abstracted voice. The three travellers stood still and looked at one another.
‘We’re inside,’ said Floy at last.
‘And we seem to have thrown dust in the giants’ eyes so far,’ added Snodgrass. ‘Bless us and save us all, that all went down well, you two. My word, I couldn’t have kept that up for the life of me.’ He nodded at them both. ‘Star People and the Fire Court,’ he said. ‘Very astute.’
‘I think they believed it all,’ said Fenella. And then, in a worried tone, ‘But we have to get out of here.’
‘Did you believe that person?’ asked Snodgrass, who was inspecting the furniture and peering into cupboards.
‘Yes,’ said Fenella. And then, ‘Didn’t we?’
‘I don’t think we ought to trust anyone inside Tara,’ said Floy.
‘Caspar was a Human,’ said Fenella.
‘Was he?’
‘He looked like a Human.’
‘I don’t think that necessarily means very much here,’ said Floy. ‘Let’s not trust any of them.’
‘Nuadu would have known who to trust and who not to,’ said Snodgrass.
‘Yes, he would,’ said Floy. ‘But we’ll have to rely on our wits.’ He looked at them both. ‘And we mustn’t lose any opportunity to find out about the Robemaker,’ he said very seriously. ‘We mustn’t miss any chance at all.’
‘Caspar knows about the Robemaker,’ said Fenella.
‘Yes, but we have to remember that Caspar might be in the Robemaker’s service,’ said Floy. ‘He might be working far more subtly than it seems.’
‘He didn’t seem subtle,’ said Fenella, thoughtfully. And then, half to herself, ‘But of course, somebody who was really subtle wouldn’t. It’s difficult, isn’t it, trying to remember that people mightn’t be what they seem.’ Floy was inspecting the two bed-chambers. ‘Comfortable, at least,’ he said, grinning at them.
‘The beds are enormous,’ said Fenella. ‘Although they aren’t giants’ beds. I think I’d have hated to sleep in a bed that a giant might have slept in last night. They’re large, but they’re Human-sized beds.’
At each of the four comers was a post, elaborately carved. Rich hangings were draped from the posts so that you could pull them across and be quite private once you were in bed.
‘Fourposters,’ said Snodgrass. ‘Bless my boots, Snizort will be sorry not to see this.’
‘Snizort will be very glad indeed to have missed out on this,’ said Floy, who was kneeling on the deep window seat and looking out over the darkened countryside. He turned back into the room and looked at them both, his eyes bright. ‘For the moment, we seem to be honoured guests of these creatures,’ he said. ‘But I suspect that we shall have to sing for our supper.’ He looked at Fenella. ‘Well, sibling? Can we sing?
How many stories can we come up with about Star People and the Fire Court, and the dozens of other worlds we have visited in the Feargach Grian?’
‘I expect we could keep them quiet for a few nights anyway,’ said Fenella, and Snodgrass muttered something that sounded like ‘Scheherezade’ which, as Floy pointed out, was not very helpful.
And then Fenella, who had been exploring both rooms a bit further, said suddenly, ‘Floy. The doors are locked.’ The doors were not only locked, but bolted from the outside as well.
‘So much for being honoured guests,’ said Floy, trying the doors and pulling hard at the door handles. ‘They meant to lock us in all the time.’
‘And so much for Caspar’s friendship,’ said Snodgrass.
‘He told us to try to escape,’ said Floy, thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what he’d have done if we had tried.’
‘We don’t know for sure that it was Caspar who locked us in,’ put in Fenella, who had found Caspar friendly.
‘I wouldn’t mind laying a bet that it was,’ said Floy and sat down on the nearest of the beds, looking at them. ‘If it had been one of the Gruagach, we’d have heard.’ Fenella, who was beginning to feel frightened in earnest now, said, ‘It’s not an adventure any longer is it? It’s not something interesting and unusual and just a little bit dangerous. It’s real,’ she said, white-faced.
She tried to think that of course they would get out, there would be a way out and they would find it. But all Floy’s resourcefulness and integrity and shrewdness, and all Snodgrass’s scholarship and intelligence could surely not get them out through solid oak doors which were probably about two feet thick, or out of windows that were certainly a hundred feet from the ground with a sheer drop directly below. The combined strengths and wits of all of them would certainly not prevail against the strange enchantments and the dark powers that were abroad in this unknown land. Fenella found herself remembering that even Nuadu, with his magical wolfblood and his inherited knowledge of the old enchantments, had not been able to save himself from the Robemaker.
‘The floors are of stone,’ said Floy, who had been prowling the room. ‘I can’t see how we can get out of here until they let us out.’
‘Isn’t there anything we can think of?’ asked Snodgrass worriedly and then, in case they thought he was being a touch unhelpful, ‘I haven’t really got an adventurous mind, you know. I just don’t know very much about escapes and plots.’
‘That doesn’t really — ’
‘There were a good few escapes in the Earth-people’s history, of course.’
‘Yes, but that won’t help us now.’
‘There was the chap who was shut away and made to wear a mask because he looked a bit too much like the King — oh, dear me, now that was tactless. Fenella, my dear, I didn’t intend — ’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Fenella at once.
‘And there was that fortress, somewhere in what they called World War Two, where they put people captured by the enemy,’ went on Snodgrass, trying to re-direct the conversation, because he would not have hurt Fenella for all the worlds put together. ‘I forget its name,’ he said, ‘but it was supposed to be absolutely escape-proof, only people did manage to escape.’
‘This isn’t escape-proof,’ said Floy, pacing the floor and frowning. ‘I won’t believe that it’s escape-proof. We’ll get out of Tara somehow.’
‘Colditz, that’s the name,’ said Snodgrass, triumphantly. ‘Or was it Zenda? No, that’s something else. Dear me, my memory isn’t what it used to be.’ Fenella started to say that perhaps if they waited until morning, probably somebody would bring them some breakfast, and there might be a means of getting out then, when Floy, who had been standing by the door, his ear pressed to it, raised a hand and said, ‘Hush!’
‘What is it?’
‘Footsteps,’ said Floy.
‘Caspar coming back?’ asked Fenella hopefully.
‘No.’ Floy stayed where he was, his expression intent, his eyes serious. ‘It’s too heavy for Caspar.’ He put his head closer to the door and, as he did so, Fenella and Snodgrass heard it as well.
Footsteps. And as Floy had said, they were far too heavy for Caspar.
Giants’ footsteps.
It had been Goibniu’s idea for them all to meet quietly, to discuss how far they had progressed with the marriage negotiations for Inchbad and Flame, and also to consider how best they could make use of the three Humans who claimed to have come from the Feargach Grian. Inchbad had thought it a fine idea and had said they would use the place the Wolfkings had called the Star of the Poets, which seemed to have been some kind of special Council Chamber. It was thought that the Wolfkings had considered it to be a rather tasteful place, but Inchbad and the others thought it pale and insipid. And blue and silver was a poor sort of arrangement of colours when you were having a bit of a think about State matters. Goibniu had ordered up some nice dark red paint and had promised that there could be purple hangings at the windows (the windows were huge and made out of crystal with silver and pearl tracery, so they were something you would want to cover up as much as possible).
And they were all pleased to think that the pale, gold-etched floor would soon be covered by several of the grand new floor coverings from the East. It gave you a shivering grue just to sit here and have to look at the ceiling, with the spattering of silver stars and the maps charting the journey through the skies to Dagda’s country and the strange symbols that were probably the Workings’ ancient spells. None of the giants wanted to look at the journey to Dagda’s country and none of them, certainly, wanted to see the spells of the Wolfkings. The chairs were comfortable enough, because Goibniu had decreed that the Gruagach’s own chairs should be brought in, along with a decent-sized table. You could not be sitting on Human-sized chairs, said Goibniu firmly, especially when they were made of what appeared to be solid silver. You could get all manner of nasty illnesses from sitting on cold silver for hours on end, said Goibniu, and several of the older giants, who suffered from unsociable ailments which meant they had to spend longer than most people in the Stool Room and had to be given large helpings of prunes and figs three times a week, supported this view.
Inchbad donned his maroon robes, since this would be a proper Council, and remembered his crown, which he sometimes forgot, and was pleased to see that Balor had been told to bring up a few firkins of best onion wine. Arca Dubh and Fiachra Broadcrown would probably drink too much, and become quarrelsome and hurl the silver chairs at one another and Goll the Gorm would certainly fall asleep and snore loudly, but this could not be helped. If one of the silver chairs happened to go through the crystal window during an argument and shatter the ugly, ivory tracery, Inchbad would not waste any tears.
Goibniu opened the Council by reading out a list of the Settlements that had been offered to the sorceress Reflection for her daughter’s hand in marriage.
‘Impressive,’ said Fiachra Broadcrown.
‘Generous,’ added Arca Dubh.
‘Not sufficient for Madame Reflection, however,’ said Goibniu, shaking his head.
Inchbad, who was hoping that they could agree to Reflection’s demands, asked what else they would be offering.
‘The Gnomes of Gallan are forging an entire new set of Crown raiments, Sire,’ said Goibniu. ‘And when they are ready, we are sending them to the Fire Court, in earnest of our good intentions.’
‘I see,’ said Inchbad, nodding ponderously, feeling his crown slip a bit.
‘In fact,’ said Goibniu, ‘even as we speak, Sire, the Gnomes will be journeying to Tara from Gallan.’
‘If they can find the way,’ said Arca Dubh with a guffaw, and everybody nodded and laughed, because this was a traditional joke. Everyone knew how the Gnomes frequently lost themselves and were never where they were supposed to be. They nearly always had to be looked for and found and brought to wherever they were supposed to be going.
Fiachra Broadcrown wanted to know, rather belligerently
, who would be going to the Fire Court. The giants looked at one another rather doubtfully, because didn’t everyone know that the journey to the Fire Court was beset with all manner of dangers. You had to pass very close to the City of Gruagach to get there, they said, and wasn’t the Frost Giantess still in possession of the City? Not that they were in the least bit afraid, they said, banging the table firmly to show their courage; it was just that once you had encountered the Frost Giantess, leave aside the Storm Wraiths who served her, you thought twice — well, you thought more than twice, about risking another encounter.
Goll the Gorm said they could cope with Storm Wraiths and with any other nasty things that Reflection and the Geimhreadh might have set about the countryside to guard their domains. ‘As for sentries and guards,’ he said licking his lips, ‘I say fry’em.’
‘But what about the fire demons?’ asked Arca Dubh. ‘Wasn’t Reflection always thought to be hand in glove with them?’
Goll the Gorm said that fire demons were a different pair of boots altogether, which did not seem to help the discussion much.
‘But,’ said Inchbad, ‘somebody has to go with the new proposals and the Crown Jewels.’
‘Well, it won’t be we,’ said Goll and loosened his belt and belched comfortably and reached for the onion wine.
‘It occurs to me,’ said Goibniu, as if he had only just thought of this, ‘that our guests have some acquaintance with Madame Reflection’s Court. We all heard them say so.’ He sat back in his chair, revolving his thumbs and nodding, and Inchbad looked at him and waited.
