The Wildkin's Curse

by Kate Forsyth

  He paused for a moment, fighting down an irrational surge of fear. She beckoned him forward impatiently, and he heaved up his pack and his lute bag and followed, thinking: Lili, Lili, where are you?

  Liliana trudged back through the forest, scratched and bruised and hot and tired and feeling the low spirits that come after a fit of temper has ebbed away. Every now and again she looked up at the palace, seen only in glimpses through the overhanging canopy, but coming closer and closer with every step.

  She would be polite to Merry when she saw him, she decided. Polite and pleasant, but decidedly cool. She would help mend the cloak of feathers, help rescue Rozalina, and then she would go back to her own castle, and do what she could to build it again from its ruin.

  Tears rose once more in her eyes, but Liliana blinked them back and trudged resolutely on.

  Zed sat on the end of his bed, thinking and worrying, then rose to his feet and went to the door. Four bodyguards stood, two on either side, staring ahead at nothing, the strap of their helmets pressing against their hard, clean-shaven chins. He beckoned one.

  ‘My squires seem to have gone missing. Can you run to the kitchens and make sure they are not there, raiding the cupboards?’

  The soldier grunted and looked displeased, but went away down the corridor towards the kitchens.

  Zed beckoned another. ‘And can you go and make sure they are not at target practice in the outer bailey?’

  ‘My lord, we are not hired to run errands for you,’ he answered, looking irritable.

  ‘No, I know, my squires are, but how can they run errands for me if they are not here? If you find them for me you won’t need to run errands anymore.’

  The soldier went to do Zed’s bidding, scratching at his head in puzzlement as he went.

  Then Zed said to the third, ‘Now I come to think of it, they might have gone to the armoury, looking at the swords. They’re very interested in swords.’

  ‘But, my lord,’ the soldier said, ‘who will guard you if we’re all gone?’

  ‘This fine young man,’ Zed said, clapping the fourth soldier on the shoulder and then wishing he hadn’t because the metal armour was very hard.

  The third soldier went away down the corridor, and Zed looked at the fourth soldier who looked back at him with shrewd blue eyes. ‘I could go and get you a mug of hot milk,’ the soldier suggested. ‘Or look for your squires in the garderobe. But I’d really rather not, because it’d be my hide that would be flayed if something should happen to you whilst I was on duty.’

  Zed grinned in response and pulled a gold coin out of his pocket, tossing it up and down nonchalantly. ‘What about if I locked you in my room? There’s a nice jug of wine in there, and a comfortable chair.’

  ‘Do you plan to have yourself assassinated?’

  ‘Not today.’

  The soldier sighed. ‘It’d be much easier if I just came with you.’

  ‘Easier than a comfortable chair and a jug of wine?’ Zed pulled out another gold coin, and then another, and amused himself by seeing if he could juggle them. He couldn’t.

  ‘I guess not,’ the soldier sighed, bending down to scoop up the three fallen coins and sliding them into his pocket. He then followed Zed into his bedroom.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Zed said as he slipped out the door with the key in his hand. ‘I can look after myself.’

  ‘I hope so,’ the soldier said, pouring himself a goblet of wine and sitting down by the fire. ‘I really hope so.’

  Zed locked the door behind him and then set off as quickly as he could to the postern gate. The guards there remembered Merry and Liliana going out late last night, but said they had not come back in. Zed gave them a few more of his gold coins, thinking that his uncle’s chest of money was coming in very useful, then set off at a jog around the path towards the road. The sun was shining and birds were singing, and he had a magnificent view across the forest to the city and the busy harbour beyond. His confidence rose. Surely he would find the other two, who had probably decided to get the last feather before returning to the palace. No doubt he would meet them coming back from the harbour.

  It was a long walk down the road to the city gates, and then through the busy streets to the harbour. Zed was glad of his dagger and his concealing cloak, which seemed to stop people from noticing him much, because the city was filled with rough-looking men with scarred faces and gangs of skinny children who ran through the marketplace snatching at bread rolls and old turnips and people’s purses.

  He walked along the harbour, asking anyone who did not look too scary if they had seen a boy with a lute, or a boy with bow and arrows.

  ‘I saw a boy with a lute,’ one barefoot boy said. ‘Crazy loon, he was! Kept jumping into the harbour trying to catch pelicans.’

  ‘Did he catch one?’ Zed asked in excitement.

  ‘Not he!’ The boy laughed. ‘But he went off to search for the pelican lady, the tomfool. Maybe she’s ground up his bones for one of her magic potions.’

  ‘The pelican lady, where is she?’ Zed demanded.

  The boy pointed up at the massive headland, with the glittering crown of the palace at the very top. Looking up, Zed saw that the sun was now high in the sky. He remembered the spring equinox feast with a sudden lurch of his heart. He could not be late to the feast, not when he had to sit at the king’s right hand. People had been thrown into the dungeon for lesser affronts than that. Zed turned and hurried away from the wharves.

  He was able to hire a horse from the stables outside the customs house, paying extra for it to be picked up from the palace later in the day, and then trotted as quickly as he could through the seething crowds. His cloak flared out behind him, revealing his red velvet jacket and fine leather boots, and beggars at once converged on him, seizing hold of his stirrups, hands reaching up for him on all sides. Zed hoisted up his purse and threw it over their heads, gold coins raining down onto the ground. As the beggars scrambled to reach the coins, Zed spurred his horse into a canter, almost running down a skinny hen that ran squawking away with a burst of lost feathers.

  Merry will be fine, he thought. He’s just gone to get the pelican feather.

  ‘Have you always had a pelican for a pet?’

  Palila glanced back at Merry. ‘Horace is not my pet. Pelicans are not like kittens! Believe me, Horace would much rather be back with his flock, fishing and swimming and flying together. They’re very sociable birds, you know. It is almost as if they share a single consciousness. They fly south for the winter in formation, and nest together and share the raising of their young. Some say pelicans pierce their breasts with their beak and feed their young on their own blood, when fish is scarce, even if it means their death. I’ve never seen it, but I’d never be so cruel as to willingly deprive Horace of his squadron.’

  ‘So, why . . .’ Merry prompted.

  ‘He was caught in a fishing line. His wing was broken and his pouch torn open by a hook. He would never survive in the wild. But shush now. We’re near the cellars.’

  Merry came quietly up behind her. Palila was probing at a low wooden door with her long fingers. A click sounded and the door sprang open.

  Palila held it open for him. Merry walked through and found himself in the cellars under the Tower of Stars. He recognised the low vaulted ceiling, the cobwebbed corners, and the herring-bone pattern of old red bricks on the floor. One thing was different. Last night there had been only a few old barrels and boxes. Now row after row of gleaming glass containers were stacked against the outer wall, each filled to the brim with the strange blue liquid of fusillier fuel. Merry could smell the stench in the air. It stung his eyes and burnt the fine hairs in his nostrils.

  Light wavered over the glass casks, and he saw each had a long fuse leading out of it, neatly twined together and leading towards the entrance. He followed the fuse with his eyes. It led along the floor, past a row of silver armoured boots, the star-sewn hem of a long robe, and a pair of high-heeled red shoes with very lon
g pointed toes.

  CHAPTER 26

  Traitors

  HIS HEART SINKING, MERRY LIFTED HIS EYES.

  Standing by the door, fusilliers armed and raised, was a row of starkin soldiers. Beside them stood Ambrozius the astronomer, a faint smile on his face, and Lord Zakary, one hand resting nonchalantly on the handle of his pink silk parasol.

  ‘My dear Ambrozius, I do declare you were right—again! Do you not find it monotonous? How did you know he’d come popping out just where you expected?’ Zakary drawled.

  ‘I have friends in low places,’ Ambrozius replied, with a smug glance at Palila.

  Merry stared from one to the other, then glanced quickly backwards. Palila had shut the door behind her, and there was no sign of the entrance to the secret stair. She stood, arms crossed, her face sad. At his accusing look, she shrugged her shoulders very slightly.

  ‘What is all this?’ Merry asked, looking about him for some kind of escape route.

  ‘A trap,’ Ambrozius replied. ‘I do suggest you come along quietly. I dislike scenes.’

  ‘Why? Where are we going?’ Merry backed away.

  ‘I have a few questions,’ Ambrozius replied. ‘I’d like to know just how you think you’re going to be able to kidnap the crown princess, and what you plan to do with her afterwards? I’m guessing it’s all part of some foul, rebellious plot hatched by that Hag, so I’m very interested in hearing more about her too!’

  Merry looked round him wildly. He did not think much of his chances. He had no escape route, no weapon but his small dagger. Not even Tom-Tit-Tot was with him. Remembering what Palila had said to him about his Gift, he tried calling silently to the omen-imp, projecting all his fear and longing outwards. Tom-Tit-Tot was not a bird, but perhaps the Tongue of the Heavens worked for all flying creatures. Merry had no way of knowing. He felt a movement behind him, and turned. Palila had started forward, one hand flying up. He looked at her, with all the bitterness of her betrayal in his eyes, and she fell back, colour creeping up her ashen face.

  I’m sorry, she whispered in his mind. But he has tortured me before, to make sure I cooperate, and I could not bear it again. And it’s not just my life that’s at stake. There’s Horace and all the other birds, and the hearthkin in the city that rely on me, and the wildkin hiding in the forest, and Rozalina herself. We have been working in our own way to free her, and now at last it seems as if all her wishes will come true. Her father is dead, and the king has named her his heir. Even her hero has come at last. We cannot risk losing it all now. He would have known you had come to me, he would have watched you climb the cliff through his farseeing lens—he sees everything. If I had not told him, he would have punished me cruelly.

  Merry shook his head dazedly. It felt strange and wrong to have someone speaking inside his own head. It set up echoes that seemed to reverberate around his brain, knocking down walls and shaking foundations. He had to concentrate hard to keep his balance, and put out one hand to steady himself against the wall.

  ‘Look, he’s gone quite white!’ Zakary crowed. ‘My dear Ambrozius, it seems even country louts have heard of your terrifying reputation. By the looks of him, you’ll have no trouble extracting answers to your questions. What a shame.’

  ‘I have a few questions of my own to ask,’ Merry said in a shaking voice. ‘Why are all these casks of fuel here? What are you plotting? There’s some plan to blow up the tower, isn’t there? You plan to murder Princess Rozalina!’

  He saw the shocked comprehension on Palila’s face, and the quick glance of complicity between Zakary and the astronomer.

  ‘How can you say such a thing?’ Ambrozius said in a hurt voice. ‘The casks of fuel have been moved here for safe-keeping. We have had information that the rebels intend a daring attack on the palace itself. I shudder to think what would happen if the fusillier fuel should fall into their hands . . .’

  ‘It’s the spring equinox feast tonight,’ Merry cried, his brain moving at lightning speed. ‘There’ll be fireworks . . . it’ll seem like a terrible accident!’

  ‘You were right,’ Ambrozius said to Zakary. ‘He is too quick for his own good. We will have to make sure he does not survive our questioning.’

  ‘Your questioning,’ Zakary replied. ‘I do not soil my hands with such sordid pursuits. Make sure you extract all the details of the plot from him first. And make sure he gives us proof that my dear, dear cousin is involved. Remember Zedrin stands between me and the throne. A trifling obstacle, I agree, but one which I’d rather have tidied away.’

  Merry’s breath was coming short, and his heart pounded so hard he felt he might be sick. He cast Palila a pleading look, but it was clear the old woman could do nothing to help. She was trembling so much she looked as if she might faint.

  There was only one thing he could do. Merry leapt sideways and sent a casket of blue liquid crashing onto its side, so that the fusillier fuel cascaded over the floor. No starkin soldier would be stupid enough to fire with all that inflammable liquid streaming everywhere, Merry hoped, running straight at the astronomer. At the last moment, he feinted and ducked past.

  Just as he made it to the door, Zakary thrust out the tip of his pink silk parasol and Merry tripped over it and went crashing to the floor. Winded, he lay still for a moment. Hard hands hauled him up. As he brushed past Zakary, he smelt a strong, sickly and all too familiar scent. Snatches of memory flooded him. He saw a dark form bend over him, a white hand stabbing down . . .

  ‘It was you!’ he gasped. ‘You stabbed Count Zygmunt and poor little Annie . . . you tried to stab me!

  Zakary yawned. ‘How unfortunate you remembered! Not that it is of the slightest consequence. My dear Ambrozius will make sure you never live to tell the tale.’

  ‘But why? Why? I mean, I guess Count Zygmunt stood in your way, if it’s the throne you’re after . . . but why Annie? She never hurt anyone!’

  Zakary laughed his high, sweet tinkle. ‘My darling Merrik, she and her betrothed were in my pay. Once it became clear the ambush had failed, I had to make sure she wouldn’t talk. She was just the sort to complain once her dear beloved was dead, I assure you.’

  Merry pressed his hands over his eyes. ‘You paid him all that gold! I should have guessed. I did wonder . . . but it seemed so improbable. After all, you’re Zed’s own cousin. How could you want to murder him?’

  Zakary yawned. ‘Second cousin, once removed, my dear. The merest connection. And, frankly, he was an embarrassment to the family. Such rude good health! Such unsophisticated manners! And, of course, it would be a scandal to allow a child of a hearthkin to inherit the throne. If you think about it, my dear boy, I’m sure you’ll agree I was only doing my duty.’

  Merry hardly listened. He was running the past few weeks through his mind. ‘Did you pay Wilhelm to shoot the albatross? I guess he killed all the swans too!’

  ‘Oh, no, Sugar and I did that. It was rather fun.’

  ‘Fun?’ Merry said incredulously.

  ‘Sugar enjoys tearing things apart,’ Zakary replied sweetly. ‘She doesn’t often get the chance.’

  ‘But . . . why?’

  ‘I heard you talking about swan feathers in the courtyard at Estelliana Castle. I’d paid Wilhelm to tell me as soon as you and Zed got back from wherever you’d been—I knew you were up to something, you’d been gone for months and months. He sent me a message and I came sneaking down, really, I was just too, too clever. I could not hear much, just something about a swan feather and the Erlrune. I didn’t know what you were up to, but I thought I’d kill all the swans and see if that upset you, and indeed it did, your faces when you found the dead swans were just too delicious.’

  So he doesn’t know about the cloak of feathers, Merry thought with relief. He wondered how much Palila had told them and remembered the brief note she had written and hidden in the pelican’s pouch. She could only have written a few words. She stood now, staring around at the rows of glass tanks of fuel, wringing her hands in distr
ess. Merry’s heart lifted. He could only hope that she meant to tell them no more about their plans. And they could have no proof, could they? Only snatches of overheard conversations and a few vague suspicions.

  ‘That is another question I’d like the answer to,’ Ambrozius said, confirming Merry’s thoughts. ‘What was all this fuss about birds? Swans and albatrosses and pelicans? They’re big, I grant you, but not big enough to support anyone’s weight. Do you have some kind of flying chariot you wanted them to pull? Is it some kind of foul wildkin magic?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Merry replied sweetly. ‘I’m a bird-lover. We all are. We’re having a competition to see who can be the first to catch sight of every bird in Ziva.’

  The astronomer kicked him hard in the ribs. Merry rolled into a ball, groaning. ‘Take him to the dungeon,’ Ambrozius told the soldiers. ‘I’m going to enjoy our little session.’

  Zed galloped up the hill towards the palace. His poor horse was sweating and labouring for breath, but Zed dared not be late.

  He knew he had to be very careful. The eyes of everyone at court were upon him, speculating, imagining, gossiping.

  If he made one false move, he could well be arrested and charged with treason. Not only would he have failed to rescue Rozalina, but his whole family would suffer. Although he felt quite sick with worry about his friends, he knew he must not allow his feelings to show on his face. He must act as if all was well, and do nothing to draw unwelcome attention.

  He could not act until he had the final two feathers. If Merry and Liliana had failed to find them, then Zed would have to wait until an opportunity presented itself.

  He saw a small figure trudging up the road ahead of him, and his heart leapt. He recognised that dark, curly head, and the green-grey cloak. As he brought his horse cantering up behind her, she turned, her bow lifting automatically, one hand flying to her quiver of arrows.