by Angie Sage
“It all sounds very complicated to me, Nigel. Why don’t I make you a nice cup of cocoa?”
Benn listened to the domestic sounds of cocoa being made and his mouth watered. How he would love some too.
Suddenly Ma spoke. “They won’t want to go, you know.”
“What?”
“Those two kids. They won’t want to go to Rekadom.”
Ratchet chuckled. “They won’t have much choice, Ma. I’ve just sent Merle off to the king. With a request to send the Jackal here to collect them first thing in the morning.”
“Jackal! Here?” Ma sounded horrified.
“Yep. They’ll take the kids back and solve my Bartlett problems at the same time. Two birds with one stone, eh, Ma? Make that three birds, counting Merle, ha ha. Or maybe even four. Because—listen to this, Ma, this is really clever . . .” Ratchet’s voice dropped and Benn slipped out of bed and tiptoed fast over to the door to catch Ratchet’s rumbling tones. “. . . I’ve said in my note to the king that these are the last two Beguilers in the whole land. So when he gets these kids he’ll stop bothering with all this crazy stuff with the Hawke, see? And then it won’t matter if the Flyer’s not a Dark, because we won’t need a Flyer anymore, will we? Because we won’t need a Hawke. And then I can go back to nice, ordinary birds of prey.”
Ma Ratchet did not sound convinced. “But will the king believe you, Nigel? About them being the last two ever?”
“He’ll believe me, Ma. Because I used the secret password,” Ratchet said. There was the sound of rustling paper. “See here. I updated the password at the spy place yesterday. That was a bit of luck, wasn’t it?”
“Well, I do hope so, Nigel. We could do with a bit of luck, because Beguilers bring bad luck, you know. And thanks to you, we’ve got two of them under our roof all night.”
Ratchet chuckled. “But they’ll be gone in the morning, Ma. Off with the Jackal.”
“Good riddance,” said Ma Ratchet.
Benn had heard enough. Shivering, he tiptoed away from the door and slipped back into bed. He pulled the blankets tightly around him and lay on the hard shelf, staring up at the ceiling. listening to the creaking of the stairs as Ma Ratchet and her son climbed up to their rooms for the night. He waited until the footsteps moving across the floorboards above his head had ceased, and then he got up and moved quietly across to the pile of crab pots. One by one he placed the pots below the tiny, shuttered window. He made a base of five pots and then put three on top of those and then two, then a final one. It was a flimsy pyramid, but it reached almost to the window, and Benn was pleased with his work. He looked down at Alex, sleeping so soundly, and he longed to wake her and get out of their prison right now. But Benn knew she needed to rest and get warm, and Ratchet had said that the Jackal were not coming until the morning. He must be patient. He crept back to his shelf and burrowed down into the blankets. He was asleep before he knew it.
Chapter 26
Merle’s Mission
HOLDING A SMALL BRASS TUBE in his talons, Merle flew into the night, heading away from the cliff where occasional flickers of light from the Xin zipped through the air. Merle was small for a bird of prey, but his round dark eyes had perfect night vision. The merlin falcon had been hand-reared with more love than Ratchet had shown any human, and considered himself to be a small, winged human being. Merle comprehended most of what Ratchet said to him and was unaware that his peeping replies and subtle head movements were not actually human speech.
And so, as he flew, navigating by the stars above and the smell of the ocean below, the compact and powerful little bird understood his mission perfectly. Merle’s tiny bird heart sang with pleasure as he sped through the cold night air, reveling in his freedom and with not a thought to the damp cottage filled with fear that he had left behind.
After two hours of flight, Merle was plummeting down through the darkness, heading for a dimly lit, colored window at the top of the Gold Tower. About twenty feet above its landing ledge he broke the dive. Splaying his wings, leaning backward and dropping his legs down, he kept his talons tightly curled, even though his instincts told him to splay them out as if to grab a prey. Merle was well trained and he understood he must hang on to the precious brass tube. The landing ledge of stone was just beneath him now, and Merle positioned himself above the hollowed-out dip from which an angled runnel led to a small arched gap in the foot of the window. Hovering, he lowered himself to within a few inches above the dip and then opened his talons. The brass tube landed right in the middle of the dip, and Merle watched it slowly roll down the runnel and disappear through the tiny arch at the foot of the window. A few seconds later he heard the loud ping of a bell and Merle landed neatly on the ledge. And there he waited patiently for someone to give him the receipt.
Merle had a long wait. King Belamus was fast asleep, and so was his Jackal bodyguard at the foot of his bed. When the bell pinged, the Jackal leaped up and looked warily around, unable in its sleepiness to remember the significance of the ping. But as the brass tube came rattling down a chute into the king’s bedroom, made its way across the room and dropped onto the royal pillow, the Jackal loped over to the king and stood beside him, long strands of drool dropping onto the velvet bed cover.
Blearily, the king sat up and looked at the Jackal. “What?” he asked anxiously. “What’s happened? Oh my days. There’s a Beguiler here, isn’t there? Help, Help!” The king sprang out of bed and the brass tube flew onto the floor and landed with a clang of metal on stone. The king caught a glimpse of it as it rolled under his bed. “A bullet!” he screamed.
The Jackal watched his master dive back under the covers and become a quivering lump beneath the bedclothes. As it stood, uncertain what to do, a seed of disrespect for the leader of its pack was planted. The brass tube rolled out from the other side of the bed and the Jackal leaped into action. It bounded across the bed, leapfrogging over the king’s quaking posterior, and grabbed the “bullet.” It regained its balance and rolled the tube between its finger and thumb. Then it respectfully tapped the lump beneath the bedclothes, which let out a high-pitched scream of “Go away! Go away!”
The Jackal, obedient as ever, backed away and spent the next ten minutes or so waiting in the shadows as far away from the king as it could get without leaving the room. For that was forbidden. At last the lump beneath the bedclothes began to move. Slowly it lengthened out like a coiled snake unwinding itself, and a disheveled head peered out. Warily, King Belamus surveyed his bedroom. He wished it wasn’t hung with so many dark tapestries, for a whole army of Beguilers could be hidden behind them. He would get them removed that very morning, he decided. The king sat up and saw the impassive white muzzle of the Jackal watching him. He relaxed a little. The Jackal would have sniffed out any Beguiler, that was for sure. Feeling a little foolish under the impassive eye of the Jackal, the king barked out, “Don’t stand there staring like a ninny-cat. Bring me a strawberry cordial.”
The Jackal bowed its head, but instead of going to the little service chamber behind one of the tapestries where cordials, chocolate, sugared nuts and cinnamon nibbles were kept for the king’s sweet tooth, it advanced toward the king.
For one terrifying moment the king thought the Jackal was going to kill him, for there was a cold, disdainful look in its eyes. The king shrank away and pulled the blankets up to his mouth. “No . . . ,” he whispered. “No . . . please don’t.”
The Jackal stopped beside the king and wondered if the king did not wish to have the message. But the withholding of a message was a capital offense, and so it extended its hand with its long, doglike claws, and as the king shrank away, it dropped the tube onto the thick velvet bedspread, where it rolled into the dip between the king’s bony knees. The king stared at the tube for some seconds, wondering if it was going to explode, and then, at last, he realized what it was.
He snatched up the tube, unscrewed its smooth ebony top, and a tightly rolled piece of paper dropped out. Belamus picked i
t up and held the thin tissue up to the candle. Ratchet’s neat, precise writing showed dark against the light.
Recipient: King Belamus the Great.
Delivered by: Merlin Falcon. King’s Bird.
Sent by: Ratchet. King’s Messenger.
MAP: ANANABASITTELTRAB
Message: I have the pleasure to inform Your Most Gracious Majesty that this night I have captured the very last two Beguilers in your kingdom. They await collection from 13 Harbor Row, Netters Cove. Please send Jackal to arrive at dawn.
The king read the message three times very slowly, scarcely daring to believe its contents. “The last two Beguilers in my kingdom,” he murmured. “Which is exactly what the spy said.” He thought a little longer and doubts began to creep in. “But suppose this is a trap? Maybe it’s a scheme to lure my last Jackal out and ambush them. To leave me defenseless. Suppose a Beguiler has sent this?” He looked down at the message again to check the Authentication Password. If that was up to date, then the message was a genuine one from the King’s Messenger, flown by a King’s Bird. Belamus took a pencil from his notepad beside the bed and scribbled down the password, folded it in three, dropped wax on the join, stamped it with his seal and handed the note to the Jackal. “Jackal, go check the password. At once!”
The Jackal took the note and hurried away. Five minutes later it was banging on the door of the Old Watch Shop and sending up a blood-chilling howl.
Vera Watchet looked out the window and fear flooded through her; she was certain that she was about to be taken to the dungeons. Why, she had no idea, but she knew that anyone could end up in the dungeons in Rekadom. Indeed, most people already had.
She picked up her emergency go bag—like all those in Rekadom, she had a small bag packed with things she thought she would need in the dungeons—and kissed her cat, Terence, a tearful goodbye. Dreaming that Vera Watchet was an importunate mouse, Terence flicked her away and caught the tip of her nose. Her nose smarting, Vera hurried down the dark stairs and, with a feeling of dread, she opened the door. To her surprise, the Jackal did not grab hold of her and haul her away. It merely thrust a scrappy piece of paper at her. Vera took it and stared at the paper, unsure what to do. But then she saw the king’s seal and her hands began to shake. The Jackal was growing impatient. It growled and pushed a claw under the seal. Vera flinched at the hot breath of the Jackal and watched as the Jackal broke the seal and unfolded the paper. With shaking hands, Vera held the message and read:
I, Vera Watchet, officer of the King’s Spy and Messenger Service, do confirm that the latest and genuine Message Authentication Password is: ANANABASITTELTRAB
Signed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Vera read the code three times just to be sure. The third time, she read it backward just to check, and Ratchet’s meaning became suddenly clear. Vera’s heart sank. Now she understood why she was being taken away—she had demeaned the sacred office of the King’s Spy and Messenger Service by allowing a ridiculous password to be used. “I—I beg you, please forgive me,” she stuttered. “I did not realize at the time. The Chief Falconer insisted upon it. Oh!”
A sudden bark from the Jackal cut her short. It grabbed the king’s letter back and its talon tapped impatiently on the place awaiting Vera’s signature. “Oh. Yes. Of course,” she said in a whisper, knowing this was the end of everything for her. The Jackal handed her a pen and in a trembling hand Vera signed her name. She was, she just knew it, signing her life away. The Jackal snatched the paper, folded it up and dropped it into the capacious pocket of its long red coat. Vera fell to her knees, hands over her face, sobbing. “Forgive me . . . I beg you . . . please.”
There was no response. After some minutes Vera looked up to find the street empty and the Jackal gone. Uncertain what to do, she waited—she did not want to be accused of evading arrest. But the empty street stayed just as it was, and it was only when the dull glint of a Slicer began to slink its way toward her that Vera dared close the door. And then bolt it. And put the chain across. And then, after slowly climbing the stairs, lock her bedroom door too. And there she stayed for a whole week until she ran out of everything she had to eat, was drinking the water in the flower vase, and Terence had left to live in the house two doors down.
Back at the top of the Gold Tower, the king perused the shaky signature confirming that the code was the real thing. A slow smile lit up the king’s beaky features as the consequences of this message sank in. There were only two more Beguilers left in the kingdom. Well, three if you counted the toad RavenStarr, but he’d already gotten him. It was these last two he needed to get his hands on.
Belamus considered what to do. The problem was, he was running worryingly low on Jackal. There was the one he’d found dead outside RavenStarr’s door—which he was sure RavenStarr had something to do with. And then one had been mobbed by crows down in Gate Court and was limping now—the Jackal pack would have that one soon, for sure. That left only three healthy Jackal and the crow-mobbed one. Belamus made a decision. He would keep the crow-pecked Jackal for his own bodyguard, which would keep it safe from the pack for a few more days, but the rest would have to go. RavenStarr would lose his Jackal guard, but he’d take a chance on that.
Belamus leaped off the bed, grabbed his winged crown and jammed it onto his head. Then he stood up as tall as he could and addressed his Jackal. “Bring me the crow-mobbed Jackal for my bodyguard.”
The Jackal hissed its disapproval. The post as the king’s personal bodyguard was for the Top Dog only. Not for the weakest in the pack.
Buoyed up by his decisiveness, Belamus was standing for no nonsense. “Do not disobey me, cur. Bring it!”
The Jackal slunk sulkily away and ten minutes later was back with a cowed, shivering and ear-bitten Jackal. At the sight of the king it threw itself onto the floor and groveled. Belamus shoved it aside with his velvet slipper and addressed the other Jackal. “You are to lead a mission. Take the rest of the pack. You will need to get the one guarding the Beguiler. Take a javelin each and two chariots with cages. Go to Netters Cove. Number Thirteen Harbor Row. House of Ratchet. Bring back to the dungeons the two Beguiler brats that you will find there—a boy and a girl. You understand what you are collecting? It is not the Ratchets. It is the boy and the girl,” Belamus told the Jackal.
The Jackal bowed its head to show it understood.
“You will not fail!”
The Jackal, mollified by its new and important mission, bowed low. Then it loped out of the room, its red coat swishing across the carpet as it went.
King Belamus went to the multicolored window and from a small box beneath the ledge he took out a receipt—a silver stick with a winged crown pressed into the end of it. He pushed it under the gap and felt the bird on the other side take hold of it. Belamus chuckled. He had forgotten what fun it was to send messages. It reminded him of the days when he and his old friend Hagos would send messages many times a day. Hurriedly, Belamus pushed that thought away. That would never happen again—because very soon there would be no Hagos to send them to.
Hagos could not sleep. Unable to stop thinking about Alex, he had been watching the old message window, with its colored glass panes lit by a lantern within. He watched the merlin take off from the message ledge with some surprise. Who is the king sending a message to? he wondered. The only person who still had a messenger merlin was the ghastly Ratchet. Hagos frowned. Something was afoot. He watched the little bird rise up into the starry sky and disappear into the night, then he resumed his distant stare out to sea and his mournful wondering of where Alex could possibly be.
Chapter 27
Jackal in the Cove
WHEELS WERE WHIRLING THROUGH THE darkness, racing along the cliff tops. Jackal, with their doglike pelvis, were unable to ride horseback, and so in order to travel the land they used chariots. These were lightweight, fast-moving vehicles made of steel, with two large metal wheels upon which balanced a small carriage drawn by two fas
t horses. The Jackal sat on a high driver’s seat, which was mounted on a curved metal spring that bounced and swayed with the bumpy ride. The two chariots bowling along that night were specially adapted prisoner transport: behind the driver’s seat was a bell-like bar structure that formed a secure cage. They made good progress, and just before dawn they arrived at the old railway station, Netters Halt.
Down in Netters Cove, Alex woke with a start. She sat up suddenly, with no idea where she was. A chink of dim light from a little high window showed her a small storeroom with an old potbellied stove where her clothes were hanging and a pile of crab pots below the window and—to her relief—the unmistakable shape of Benn lying on a wide shelf across from her. A little shakily, Alex got up and put on her dry clothes, then she went over to Benn. “Hey, Benn,” she whispered, gently rocking his shoulder.
Benn opened his eyes and looked blearily at Alex. “Uh?” he mumbled.
“Where are we?” Alex asked.
Benn was heavy with sleep. Slowly he took in the small room, shadowy and dimly lit, and he remembered. He sat up fast. “Alex—you’re okay!”
“Apart from the bucket of water still in my ears, yes. I’m okay. Thanks to you.”
Benn looked up at the window anxiously. “It’s getting light. I overslept. We’ve got to get out, fast. The man here—Ratchet—has sent for the Jackal to get us.”
“Ratchet!” Alex looked scared. “But he’s the Chief Falconer.”
“Sheesh,” Benn said. “That makes sense now. I saw him in Rekadom.”
“We’ve got to get out of here right now,” Alex said.
“I know,” Benn said, struggling into his dry clothes. “They locked us in last night. So I—”
