by Farr, Cathy;
‘NO!’
The branch bounced again – this time much more violently. There was a terrified shout and twigs, pine needles and cones cascaded down over their heads.
‘I’ll come down. Don’t shoot! I... I was only messing around!’
Seth kept the bow trained into the tree. They waited. After a lot more falling leaves, pine cones and twigs, a body, dressed entirely in black, crashed through the lower branches and landed with a dull thud between Wil and Mortimer – the body was followed almost immediately by a black hat.
‘Elegant!’ observed Mortimer.
First to approach the crumpled heap now lying on the ground with his hands over his head was Phinn. Wil opened his mouth to call the hound back but Mortimer held up his palm and Wil stayed quiet. The heap let out a pathetic cry.
‘Oowee! Nooo, don’t let it eat me!’ it squealed. ‘Please! I gave you my stuff. Pleeeease… call it off!’
But before Wil even contemplated saying anything, Phinn lost interest. He padded over to the crumpled hat, sniffed it and gave it an experimental nudge with his huge nose. The hat rolled away in a half-circle on its brim. Phinn took a surprised step back and stretched his head as far forward as he could without moving his feet. He sniffed again and opened his mouth to investigate further.
‘Leave it!’
The sharpness of Mortimer’s voice made the hound look up. The boy on the ground hugged his head and whimpered. Seth lowered his bow.
‘Down!’ ordered Mortimer. To Wil’s absolute amazement, Phinn obeyed immediately – so did Farrow and Mia. Wil felt a twinge of envy; Mortimer was just so good with the hounds – he could make them do just about anything – even Phinn!
Clearly not quite as impressed, the boy started to sob.
‘For goodness sake, stop that whingeing and get up,’ said Mortimer. ‘But be warned – there’s still a bolt and a knife aimed directly at your heart!’
The boy sobbed louder than ever.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Jackal
‘Right, my friends here and I are in a hurry and you are seriously holding us up, so shut up,’ said Mortimer, not even trying to hide his exasperation. ‘I’m going to ask you some questions and it’s my advice that your answers are brief and truthful – if I like what I hear I won’t give my friends permission to kill you. OK?’
The sobbing stopped. The boy rolled over and raised his filthy hands, showing equally grubby palms. His pinched face was also filthy except where his tears had carved clean rivers down both cheeks. He fixed Mortimer with a wary stare.
Mortimer smiled dangerously and Seth took aim again. Wil echoed the gesture by flicking his thumb across the point of his blade. Gisella stood a little way off with the horses and rolled her eyes skywards.
Taking slow, deliberate steps, Mortimer strode around the quaking boy.
‘Who are you?’
The boy looked barely as old as Seth. He took a deep shuddering breath and swallowed.
‘I…I’m the… I’m The Jackal.’
‘Really!’ said Mortimer raising an eyebrow. Wil saw the corner of his mouth twitch.
‘Yer!’ said the boy, shoulders back and chin set. But then his shoulders dropped slightly. ‘Er… but, well, er, my real name’s Colin.’
His eyes flashed quickly to Seth’s bow, ‘I prefer The Jackal though!’
‘Is that what your friends call you?’ asked Mortimer. ‘And what about your parents – I bet your mother just loves shouting, “Come on, The Jackal, your supper’s ready”!’
Seth chuckled.
‘I don’t have any parents.’
Seth stopped chuckling.
Mortimer frowned.
‘Oh, what, er… what happened to them?’
‘Dunno. I… um… well, apparently the cook, y’know, at the castle – the old one – she died last year – she found me among some sacks of flour when I was a baby. She called me Colin… Colin Miller.’ The Jackal nodded then frowned and added. ‘Don’t know why though?’ Then he shook his head as if to dismiss the question and went on. ‘Anyway, I grew up in the castle – scavenging, y’know, in the kitchens. Oh, and I helped with the pigs, too, y’know, for my keep.’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Gisella. ‘That’s terrible. Didn’t anyone come forward to claim you?’
‘Why should they? You know what it’s like in the city!’
‘No, not really,’ said Gisella quietly.
‘Oh, well, y’know, it’s bad enough trying to feed yourself – impossible if you’re poor! Reckon I was lucky – least I never went hungry! There’s always stuff to steal, y’know, in the castle kitchen and the staff hardly ever notice!’
Gisella looked aghast. She stepped in front of Mortimer who had just opened his mouth and then seemed to think better of it.
‘What! You mean no one actually looked after you there?’
The Jackal sat up. He tucked his skinny knees under his chin and hugged his long shins. His once black, pointed boots were scuffed and grey from lack of polish. Wil could see a hole in one of the soles.
‘Well, no – I mean, yer! Y’know, they taught me right an’ wrong. They cared about me… I mean, cook used to hit me with a wooden spoon, y’know, if she caught me stealing stuff… and, er… the baker clipped me round the ear once ‘cos I nicked a bowl of raisins that were supposed to go in some cake he was making!’
He smiled at the memory and hugged his knees closer.
‘How does being beaten show that someone cares about you?’ asked Gisella.
The Jackal looked surprised.
‘’Cos if they hadn’t cared they would have sent me to Rexmoore. And he would have flogged me for stealing and then, y’ know, he… he would have thrown me out on the street!’
He gave a definite nod to confirm this fact and then reached into his long, grubby jacket. In one sweeping movement Mortimer drew his sword; Seth, who had lowered his bow, took direct aim again and Wil raked back his arm ready to throw his knife. All eyes were fixed on the boy’s concealed hand. The Jackal froze.
‘What!’ he said, wide-eyed, and very slowly drew a golden pear from his tattered pocket. ‘Oh, sorry, I’ve only got this. Never take more than you can eat in one go. Y’know, small amounts – less likely to be noticed. Then, if you do get caught, running away’s easier!’
With another sage-like nod The Jackal bit the top off the fruit, complete with stalk and munched. Without needing to be told, Seth lowered his bow and Wil slid his knife back into his boot.
‘Yes, Wil, but he’s a half-starved urchin from the kitchen of that castle,’ said Gisella. ‘Did you see the way he put away the piece of pie I gave him!’
Mortimer had quizzed The Jackal while they all tucked into huge slices of chicken pie, once again supplied by Martha, and now he, Wil and Gisella were standing at the edge of the copse in whispered debate about what to do with the boy.
Seth meanwhile had found the slingshot. He had already smacked Phinn on the bottom with a lump of mud – Phinn, clearly deeply offended, was now at a safe distance with his bottom firmly on the floor.
‘Well, I’m not sure I believe that story,’ said Wil in a low voice. ‘I mean, if he’d stolen a horse to come up here surely someone would have come after him?’
‘Well, he did say that it ran away when he climbed the tree, Wil,’ said Gisella, her face full of sympathy. ‘He’s stranded – we can’t just leave him here!’
‘And he could prove useful if he knows his way around the castle, Wil,’ said Mortimer. Wil couldn’t disagree but he couldn’t shake the unease that tickled at the back of his mind. He was also deeply concerned that the moons were once again on the rise and they still hadn’t reached Armelia.
‘Look, I don’t know why, but I just don’t think we should trust him,’ he argued, absently watching Seth rake the slingshot back. It was loaded with another lump of dry earth. ‘I just don’t understand what’s he doing this far out of Armelia – and as for that horse – has anyone spotted it wan
dering anywhere?’
He turned and peered through the trees as if to emphasise his point. Seth glanced around, too. The loaded sling slipped out of his fingers and thwacked its missile into a branch above their heads. Soil rained down on them.
‘Oops!’ said Seth and surreptitiously pushed the sling into his boot.
‘Well, I think we should give him a chance,’ said Gisella combing earth out of her hair with her fingers. ‘We certainly can’t just leave him here. After all, Wil, we’ve got the hounds, the horses and the weapons. And I’ve got a feeling that getting into the city might be a challenge – let alone the castle. At least if he’s with us, we can keep an eye on him!’
‘You’ve got to admit it, Wil,’ added Mortimer. ‘He might have a stupid name but he could be pretty handy if he knows his way around Armelia! Might even know where they’re keeping Tally.’
‘I just think it’s all a bit too convenient,’ admitted Wil. ‘What if it’s some sort of trap?’
‘Na,’ said Mortimer flicking a tiny fragment of Seth’s missile back at him. Seth raised his arm and batted it away. ‘We could have killed that boy in a second – Rexmoore would know that.’ He looked around at The Jackal, who seemed to have overcome his fear of the Fellhounds and was nestled against Farrow’s back – both were dozing peacefully. ‘Na, he’s just a kid with a tin whistle and a slingshot. Probably comes up here to hide the stuff he’s stolen and to keep away from that cook’s wooden spoon! I bet he knows the Fells – and the city – like the back of his hand.’
So, Wil was outvoted. They had, however, agreed that The Jackal would not be told about their need to get into the castle until they had no other option. After all, as Mortimer had pointed out, they didn’t yet know if Tally was there.
What The Jackal was told was that as long as he got them into Armelia, Mortimer would hold back on the order for the Fellhounds to rip him apart.
‘But that’s right into the city, mind,’ warned Mortimer in a voice that would have chilled ice.
‘Well that’s not going to be too difficult,’ called Seth before The Jackal could speak. ‘I think there’s a gate, look, over there!’
Mortimer had sent him to keep a look-out – in case anyone did come searching for a stolen horse. Seth had stationed himself on top of a stack of huge oval stones on the edge of the trees. He seemed oblivious that the stones were balanced precariously one on top of the other – Wil counted seven in all. The stack marked the tip of a sweeping valley through which was etched the road to Armelia. The only thing between them and the city was a solid wall, behind which a great heap of buildings rose above the parapet as if clawing their way to freedom. In the middle of the wall, almost taunting the attempt to escape, Wil could see the outline of a huge gate.
‘Wonder if that’s to keep people out?’ said Gisella.
‘Or in!’ said Mortimer.
Armelia didn’t get any more appealing as they got closer – and the road didn’t get any easier. The stark drift of the Fells gave way to the craggy valley, riven between equally craggy hills that seemed to tumble towards Mort Craggs like desperate infants following an older sibling. Old snow lurked in crevices. Odd-shaped boulders sat abandoned in the path casting weird shapes that made Wil feel like they were being watched. As the group picked their way along the base of yet another unkempt gully, smaller rocks embedded in the frozen ground made the horses stumble.
Mortimer had insisted that The Jackal ride with him.
‘Best place to keep an eye on him,’ he had said. So Gisella volunteered to walk with Wil – a proposition that Wil had certainly not objected to. But when Shadow lost his footing and slid down a bank on his rump, Mortimer insisted that they all walk – a proposition that Seth certainly did object to.
The going was hard and slow and they made their way in silence. Taking care where he put his feet at every step, Wil wondered how Tally and Tanith had coped over this terrible terrain. Bryn had told Wil before the Moon Chase that Tally had the makings of a good Fellman; but he had also told Wil that Lady Élanor would never allow her to try, fearing that something terrible would happen. Did that mean that Tally had never ridden out on the Fells before? And what if she’d never been this far north? Thesker Fell was one thing but the ragged terrain of Tel Harion was a challenge all of its own.
Another nagging thought – louder than the other ones – was also tapping at Wil’s brain; if The Jackal hadn’t known what Fellhounds were, well, did that mean that Armelia didn’t have them? After all, Wil hadn’t seen them before the Moon Chase – Mistlegard was just too poor and Peachley Hills didn’t have too many Wraithe Wolves to worry about. And if Armelia didn’t have Fellhounds, Wil’s thoughts followed, how were they going to get into the city without attracting too much attention with three enormous hounds that each stood shoulder high to a grown man?... And gates meant gate keepers – surely that meant awkward questions–
‘Wil, are you okay?’
Gisella’s voice interrupted his trail of worry.
‘Er, yer, I’m fine.’ He slowed his pace. Gisella slowed, too.
On their left the granite rocks of Mort Craggs were now towering over them like rows of crooked teeth grinning down on them – and certainly impassable to anything without wings. Way off – much further to the right – the peaks of the Eiye Mountains rammed through a huddle of clouds in the ice-blue sky. The only sound was of boots, hooves and paws crunching, slipping and tripping over the frozen ground. Despite being in the company of friends, the whole oppressive scene made Wil feel isolated and inadequate.
As was Phinn’s practice when he and Wil walked out on Peachley Hills, he meandered along, barely two paces ahead of Wil as if forcing his master to slow to a pace that suited him; soon Wil and Gisella were quite some distance from the others. Wil lowered his voice.
‘I was wondering about Tally. Rexmoore’s bound to have her by now. I mean, look at it down there.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean. It isn’t what I expected at all,’ Gisella replied as quietly. Mortimer looked over his shoulder. He halted Shadow and waved for them to catch up.
When Gisella next spoke her voice was its normal volume, for everyone to hear.
‘I don’t know if the light’s playing tricks on my eyes,’ she said squinting into the distance, ‘but as we’re getting closer that tower looks like it’s actually made of gold!’
The Jackal’s face broke into a bright smile.
‘Oh! That’s because it is! Been building it for years! It’s for his wife – she just loves the stuff, y’ know – Imelda’s Golden Tower, that’s what he calls it – Lord Rexmoore, y’know. You should see the rest of the castle – falling down! All the gold that’s collected, y’ know, in taxes – they melt it down for bricks – every scrap!’
‘What?’ gasped Gisella. ‘You mean all the gold our parents hand over to Rexmoore’s henchmen… it’s used for building that!’
Wil suddenly felt quite sick.
‘So what did they do with my father? He couldn’t pay them,’ he said almost to himself.
‘Prob’ly made him work up there,’ answered The Jackal in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Yer. They bring them in all the time, y’know – the ones who can’t – or won’t pay.’ He smirked. ‘Make them work, y’know until, well, until they drop dead… or fall off the wall, y’know.’
‘Oh!’ breathed Gisella.
Wil’s windpipe was suddenly tight. It was all he could do to drag in enough air to stay conscious – his world went red. He grabbed The Jackal and threw him to the ground.
‘No, actually I don’t know.’ Wil’s jaws were so tightly clenched his teeth went numb. ‘But what I do want to know is exactly what they do to them.’
‘Take it easy, Wil,’ said Mortimer carefully. He, Seth and Gisella knew about Wil’s father being taken away by Rexmoore’s men; they also knew that Wil had been told that his father was dead.
Consumed by anger, Wil pressed down on the boy’s throat.
Frantic
, The Jackal clawed at Wil’s arm.
‘Gurnnn!’
‘Come on, you streak of nothing! Tell me! What do they do to them?’
Gisella grabbed Wil’s shoulder.
‘Wil, he’s certainly not going to tell you if you kill him!’
Beside her, Phinn towered over the two boys. The huge hound was barking loudly but Wil was too angry to notice – or care. He put all of his weight on his elbow. Phinn dropped low, ready to spring.
‘No, Phinn, leave!’ shrieked Gisella.
‘No!’
The shout that came from Seth, Mortimer and Gisella echoed around the valley. Phinn opened his huge jaws and lunged.
Wil was never sure what brought him to his senses – it could have been the chorus of three alarmed voices yelling in unison; or it could have been Phinn’s misjudged dive that sent him rolling and winded away from The Jackal – but either way, before Phinn could get his bearings and go in for what undoubtedly would have been a fatal attack, the word, ‘Leave!’ exploded in Wil’s head. Phinn stopped in his tracks.
Once again The Jackal lay whimpering in the dirt.
Phinn stood, poised, his tail wagging to and fro in great sweeps – waiting for his master’s order.
Wil crouched on all fours, trying to catch his breath. His heart was racing.
The others watched – no one moved.
Eventually Wil broke the silence.
‘Just tell me,’ he panted, without raising his head. ‘Just tell me… What happens at the tower?’
The Jackal shuffled awkwardly. He threw Mortimer a pleading glance.
‘Tell him,’ ordered Mortimer.
Fixing his eyes on Mortimer, The Jackal spoke.
‘Well, from what I’ve seen, y’kn-,’ Mortimer raised a warning eyebrow. ‘Er, yer… well, er, they bring them in and set them to work. Some go straight up to the wall and some go to the foundry, y’–, er, that’s where they make the bricks.’
He stopped.
