by Lian Tanner
No one looked twice at her, which was just what she wanted. She strolled past three women talking about the Old Country, and a bunch of children arguing over who was next in line to the throne after the Young Margrave.
That made Duckling prick up her ears. But when she lingered, jostling and laughing with the rest of them, she discovered that they were only interested in who would be allowed to help the Heir with his sword, when he was tall enough and old enough to wear it.
Duckling strutted away from the children and made her way towards Grandpa, coming from behind so he wouldn’t spot her.
‘—huge, ugly brutes,’ said Grandpa, over the roar of the crowd. ‘And each of them with sharpened teeth that could tear a man’s throat out.’
The grafs murmured their appreciation.
‘If I had not tucked myself between two rocks,’ said Grandpa, ‘the whole thing would have been over within minutes, and I would not be standing here.’
Duckling knew code words when she heard them, especially when she saw how Grandpa paused and waited for a response. She waited too, but none of the grafs spoke up.
I wonder how many people he’s tested this morning, thought Duckling. I hope he’s found a trail, or at least the beginnings of one. I hope he’s thinking about how to get us out of here.
She glanced up to where Pummel was standing, and wished he was a bit more convincing as a guard. He wasn’t suspicious enough, that was the problem. He thought people were his friends, when they weren’t.
Grandpa didn’t believe in friends. But he could spot an assassin from miles away – and he’d spot her too, if she didn’t move.
For the next hour or so, Duckling listened in on dozens of conversations. She discovered that the Grafine von Eisen was Adelheide’s mother; that orphaned babies were sometimes brought into the Strong-hold to add some new blood; and that twelve people had been beheaded so far this year, not seven. (Graf von Stoen, a short man with enormous moustaches, was wagering there’d be at least three more before spring.)
She discovered that the Young Margrave had once had an older brother, who’d disappeared as a toddler, and that most people thought he’d been murdered and his body thrown down a well. But there were some who believed he was still in the Strong-hold, living as a swineherd or a spit boy, with no idea who he really was. (Von Stoen was taking wagers on that, too.)
She discovered that if she thought of something really small before she started humming, the resulting breeze could hardly be felt by anyone except a few startled dogs. But it still brought voices to her ears.
‘… no place in the Strong-hold for a boy who can never be a warrior.’
‘But no one dares go against the arms-mistress. And he is Heir’s Friend. He has protectors in high places.’
‘His protectors will do him no good if I catch him alone.’
Duckling realised they were talking about Otte. No wonder he hadn’t joined the procession to the Great Chamber.
‘Idiots,’ she whispered, but she kept listening, just in case the grafs’ dislike of Otte was something to do with the Scheme.
Another voice said, ‘The boy is not worth wasting breath over. Have you taken von Stoen’s wager? Who do you think will be executed next?’
‘My money is on von Goedel.’
‘Mine is on Grafine von Stich…’
Metti and a couple of other servants pushed past Duckling with loaded trays and barely-heard grumbles.
‘… always wanting more. When do they think…’
‘… bad-tempered old so-and-so told me to…’
But although Duckling listened and listened, no one mentioned an invisible assassin.
The woman watched out of the corner of her eye as the Outsider girl made her way around the Great Chamber.
She thinks no one sees her. She is clever, but not as clever as she believes. If I can get her out of the way, and the cat also, I can deal with the boy.
She had already woven a Mystery to entrap the cat. She had woven one for the girl too, because she had a feeling it might be needed. She had not set either of them in motion, but perhaps it was time. For one of them, at least.
Very carefully, so that no one in the Chamber would notice, she slipped her right hand inside the sleeve of her left …
COUNCILLOR TRIGGS
By the time Duckling rejoined Pummel, the buzz of conversation in the Chamber had changed to something else.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Duckling.
‘A visitor, I think,’ whispered Pummel.
Even as he spoke, the doors at the far end of the Great Chamber flew open, and one of the guards bellowed, ‘First Councillor Triggs to see Her Grace the Margravine.’
The grafs, grafines, dogs and children swept to either side of the chamber. A man hurried through the space they had made.
Grandpa and Duckling had seen the members of the Privy Council in the street, soon after they came to Berren. The councillors were all merchants, and they looked so wealthy and well-fed that Grandpa had whistled with envy.
Duckling remembered First Councillor Triggs in particular. He’d been dressed in a rare and expensive slotterfur coat and an even more expensive quignog fur hat, with silver rings on his fingers and a ruby pin in his cravat.
Grandpa had whispered to her, ‘Take note, my dear. There is a man who has used his position to enrich himself to an astonishing degree. A rogue after my own heart!’
Now, however, Councillor Triggs’ clothes were threadbare, as if he couldn’t afford to get them mended. His boots had holes in them, and his thinning hair waved around his face. At the foot of the Faithful Throne, he knelt.
The Margravine glared down at him. ‘Councillor Triggs. We were not expecting you.’
‘No, Your Grace. But I heard disturbing news—’
‘News?’
Triggs creaked upright and glanced towards Pummel and Duckling. ‘These children were not approved visitors, Your Grace. I don’t know how they got past the gate. Probably by lies and bribery—’
The scar on the Margravine’s chin twitched. ‘Then they will fit in well with our court.’
The Heir smirked. The Grafine pretended to chuckle.
‘But Your Grace,’ spluttered Triggs, ‘they were not approved by the Privy Council!’
The Margravine’s finger stroked the blade of her sword. ‘They were approved by us, Councillor. Or is that not good enough for you?’
Triggs blanched. ‘Of course it is good enough, Your Grace! The Privy Council does not question your judgement, no no no, not in the least. We wish to serve you as well as possible, that is all.’
‘And how well are you serving us?’ asked the Margravine. ‘Have you learned anything useful?’
Everyone in the chamber leaned towards the throne, trying to catch the councillor’s reply. The eyes of the bears gleamed.
Pummel and Duckling leaned forward too, though they weren’t sure what the Margravine was talking about.
‘Not yet, Your Grace, but not for want of trying.’ Triggs lowered his voice, but the shape of the Great Chamber meant that the two children could still hear him. ‘We are beggaring the whole country, Your Grace – nine-tenths of our budget is devoted to releasing you from the Strong-hold. My fellow councillors and I have not taken our salaries for months; there are no new roads or buildings, though half the city is falling down—’
The Heir interrupted him. ‘Five hundred years. Five. Hundred. Years. How can it take so long to solve a simple problem of sabotage?’
‘A good question,’ growled the Margravine. Her hand tapped her sword. ‘We ask ourselves, Councillor, if you are truly serious in your endeavours.’
Before the councillor could reply, the Grafine put her hand on the back of the throne. ‘Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps we could encourage the Privy Council to be more serious.’
‘I don’t know how we could be more serious,’ protested Triggs. ‘Why, we would give our lives to have you walking among us. I stand before you
a poor man, Your Grace, but I do not resent it, because my salary goes towards this very problem. And when we have solved it, what a glorious day that will be, Your Grace! The liberation of the Stronghold. You and the Heir, riding through the city with the crowds weeping and cheering—’
‘Perhaps, instead of their lives, they might give their wives,’ said the Grafine.
Duckling had thought Councillor Triggs was pale before. Now he turned as white as a fish belly. He was gulping like a fish, too. ‘Ah – wives, Grafine? I don’t understand.’
‘It is very simple, Councillor,’ murmured the Grafine. ‘The wives or husbands of the Privy Councillors come to live in the Strong-hold. When we get out, so do they.’
A rustle of interest ran through the Great Chamber. The Grafine stroked the scar that made her look as if she was smiling. ‘Though perhaps not your wife, Councillor Triggs. I have heard that you do not like each other. Perhaps your son would be a better choice.’
Triggs put his hand to his throat, as though he couldn’t breathe.
The Margravine’s face gave away nothing. ‘We will not take your son, Councillor.’
‘Your Grace,’ croaked Triggs, ‘is most gracious—’
‘But we will be watching your efforts with great interest. If there is nothing else, you may go.’
Councillor Triggs panted a little. His eyes flickered towards Duckling and Pummel. ‘Thank you, Your Grace! Ah – may I congratulate the new companions on my way out? And apologise for doubting them?’
‘You have our permission,’ said the Margravine.
The councillor made a knee-clicking bow, backed away from the throne and hurried over to where Duckling and Pummel stood.
‘My dear children.’ He spoke loudly and pompously, as if he was trying to get his dignity back. ‘I hope you are serving the Heir to the best of your youthful abilities?’
‘Yes, Herro.’ Pummel’s face was puzzled. ‘But what did you mean about half the city falling—’
Duckling elbowed him, but she was too late. Triggs’ pompous expression vanished, and he hissed under his breath, ‘It is not your place to ask questions, boy. These are important matters of state that you know nothing about.’
‘But the city isn’t—’
‘And if you interfere with them, your life will be worth less than a rasher of bacon. Do you understand me?’
Pummel looked as if he might be going to protest again, so Duckling got in first. ‘We understand, Councillor. We’re to say nothing about these important matters, right? Not to anyone in the Strong-hold?’
‘But—’ began Pummel.
‘Shhh,’ said Duckling. ‘I’ll explain later.’ To Triggs she said, ‘Sorry, Councillor, he’s from the country. But he won’t cause trouble and neither will I. In fact, we could forget the whole thing, with a bit of help.’ She held out her hand, palm upwards.
Triggs scowled, fumbled in his pocket and brought out a couple of miseries.
‘Ooh,’ said Duckling, snatching her hand back. ‘Copper brings me out in a rash. Silver’s better, don’t you think?’
‘And you are too greedy for your own good,’ snapped Triggs. But he returned the miseries to his pocket and handed over a couple of gloats instead. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Make sure your friend keeps his mouth shut.’
And he stalked away.
NONE OF OUR BUSINESS
‘But half the city isn’t falling down,’ said Pummel, when the noise in the Great Chamber had risen again. ‘And there are new roads – I’ve seen them.’
‘Hang on,’ said Duckling. ‘What’s he doing?’
The Young Margrave had stepped down from the throne platform, and was gesturing to someone. Pummel craned his neck and saw Adelheide and several other children hurrying to join him.
‘Whatever it is,’ said Pummel, ‘we’d better tag along.’
They waited until the Strong-hold children were filing out one of the side doors, then followed. There was no procession this time; the Young Margrave jogged down a flight of stairs and out into the first bailey with his friends laughing and chattering behind him.
As they hurried around the corner of the Keep, Pummel said, ‘Shouldn’t Councillor Triggs know about the new roads?’
‘Maybe he does,’ said Duckling. ‘What then?’
‘But that’d mean he was lying …’
‘People do lie to one another, you know. In fact, there’s quite a lot of it about.’
‘Not the councillor,’ said Pummel. ‘He wouldn’t lie.’
‘You can’t have it both ways. Either there are no new roads, or the councillor is telling fibs.’
Pummel dodged a couple of chickens, opened his mouth, and shut it again.
‘Anyway,’ said Duckling, ‘it’s none of our business. We should be thinking about how we’re going to protect the Young Margrave. We’ll have to take it in turns standing guard tonight.’
But Pummel had no intention of being distracted. ‘It is our business. We should tell someone.’
‘Didn’t you hear what Triggs said about bacon?’
‘We can’t let that stop us. Duckling, he lied to the Margravine!’
Duckling sighed. ‘In a place like this everyone lies to everyone else. Besides, he gave us a silver gloat each to keep quiet.’
‘He gave them to you, not to me. I didn’t agree to anything. And I don’t understand why you asked for money in the first place.’
‘Because he wouldn’t have believed me unless there was coin involved,’ said Duckling.
When they reached the training yard, the Young Margrave hung his bearskin over the fence, then he and his friends took wooden swords and shields from the racks.
Somewhere above Pummel’s head, the whispering had started again.
Pummel glanced up, knowing that all he would see was gargoyles. And it couldn’t be them whispering, because that would be witchery and there was no such thing.
Except there was.
The Harshman is real. I saw him, and so did the cat. Ghosts are real too. Captain Rabid was wrong.
It was such a dreadful thing to think that he half-expected Arms-mistress Krieg to come running out of the Keep with her soldiers, and lock him up on the spot.
But the only person to approach him was Adelheide. ‘Clodhopper,’ she said, ‘we will fight this morning, you and I. You will use your staff, yes?’
Pummel looked at Duckling, who said, ‘Don’t mind me, everyone knows I can’t fight.’ She leaned against the wall of the Keep and crossed her arms. ‘I’ll stand here and watch.’
Adelheide laughed. ‘Maybe you will learn something.’ The staff Pummel had used yesterday was lying against the wall where he had dropped it. He picked it up and turned back to Adelheide.
She leaped at him with a shout, and the fight was on.
For the next few minutes, Pummel tried very hard not to notice the whispering. His cheek still ached, and the last thing he wanted was another wound.
But the sound was growing louder and louder.
Pummel blocked a blow and glanced up again. It was coming from the gargoyles. They were chanting to each other, and the chant stirred his blood so that he had to struggle for control. All around him the other children were howling at each other and fighting more savagely.
But then the words began to change.
At first Pummel thought it was just more nastiness. But the voices seemed to be growing more gleeful, as if they were building up to something. As if—
He looked up a third time, and Adelheide nearly swiped his ear from his head. But even as he dived away from her, he knew what he had seen.
The gargoyles were staring downwards at a particular spot. And their words had changed again.
Pummel was running almost before he realised it. Behind him, Adelheide shrieked with triumph. ‘He is afraid! Look, he is trying to get away from me!’
Duckling turned to stare at Pummel. He shouted as he ran, ‘Move! Duckling, move!’
‘What?’ she said.
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But by then he was close enough to grab her arm and drag her away from the wall of the Keep, while she struggled against him, crying, ‘What are you doing? Pummel, let go—’
Behind her, with a sound like thunder, one of the gargoyles crashed to the ground.
Duckling was trembling from head to toe. I was standing right there. That thing would’ve flattened me!
Hardly anyone else seemed to care that she’d come so close to dying. Adelheide and the Young Margrave were quizzing Pummel, demanding to know how he’d guessed that the gargoyle would fall. Everyone else was picking up bits of shattered stone and throwing them at each other, or pretending to be a squashed Outsider.
Most of them seemed to think it was hilarious.
‘I – er – heard it creaking,’ said Pummel. ‘It sounded dangerous.’ He looked at Duckling. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, though she wasn’t. Not at all.
Pummel must have seen it in her face, because he took her arm and pulled her further away from the Keep. ‘Do you want to go inside?’
‘We c-can’t.’
‘Why not?’
The other children had lost interest by then, and drifted back to sword practice. The gargoyles had fallen silent.
Duckling said, in a wobbly voice, ‘Th-that was another assassination attempt. D-don’t know why it nearly hit m-me instead of the Young Margrave, b-but—’
‘No,’ said Pummel.
‘What do you mean, no? D-do you think it was an accident?’
‘No.’
‘Then—’
‘It was you,’ said Pummel. ‘They were trying to kill you. I heard them.’
Duckling blinked at him. ‘Who’s they?’
‘The—’ Pummel stopped.
‘The what? Tell me.’
‘You wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Pummel, after last night I’d believe anything.’
‘I’m not disloyal—’
‘Tell me!’
