by Farr, Cathy;
‘Tell you what, Wil. I’ll get in with Mia. Once he sees what she’s doing he’ll get the idea.’
Mortimer plopped into the freezing water beside Wil and called to Mia. Without hesitating, Mia trotted a little further down the bank, found a gentler slope and splashed in. Within seconds she was happily swimming around Wil and Mortimer.
Phinn stayed on the bank.
‘I don’t like to c-complain guys, b-but I’m f-freezing my b-backside off here!’ called The Jackal. He was already swimming towards the gap under the wall. With wide powerful strokes, Mortimer set off in the same direction – Mia followed.
‘It’s OK, Wil,’ Mortimer called over his shoulder. ‘Just follow us, he’ll come.’
Unconvinced, Wil kicked his legs hard and followed. The Jackal was now at the wall, with Mortimer and Mia not far behind. Thanks to the many stolen hours swimming and playing with his friends over on East Lake, Wil was a strong swimmer and he was at Mia’s heels in a few powerful strokes.
The silence from behind him was embarrassing.
‘Don’t worry Wil, he’ll come,’ shouted Mortimer. Wil swam on.
Almost at the culvert Wil could feel the current getting stronger. He grabbed at the slimy stone of the wall to let Mortimer and Mia go through first.
Suddenly something on the other bank caught Wil’s eye – a movement in the shadows. An image flashed across his brain and his blood ran even colder. But then it was gone. Was it an image or a feeling? And what about Gisella and Seth – there on the bank, exposed to… what? It had been so quick Wil wasn’t entirely sure it had been there at all. Treading water, he scoured the hills but in the fading light all he could see was shadows – shadows everywhere. Then came the sound of pounding paws… a very brief silence… then a huge splash. Ice-cold water surged over Wil’s head and into his mouth – his eyeballs felt as though they were going to freeze in the cold.
When he surfaced, Phinn’s nose was the first thing Wil saw – only inches away – and a huge tongue as Phinn gave him a warm lick. On the bank, Gisella and Seth looked like they were trying extremely hard not to laugh.
‘See, I said he could swim,’ said Mortimer and he ducked down and swam under the city wall.
The journey was longer than Wil had expected; although as they progressed he was sure the water was getting warmer. His racing heart slowed and his lungs relaxed, which made breathing a lot easier. It was pitch-black. A long way ahead Wil could see a shaft of light. He fixed his eyes on it and ploughed through the blackness in slow sweeping strokes. Phinn stayed close, moving through the water as if he’d been born to it. The strange feeling that Wil had just before they went into the tunnel was gone completely and Wil quickly persuaded himself that what he must have felt was Phinn’s trepidation as he worked up to getting wet. After all it made sense; Phinn had never swum before, and therefore Wil had never sensed Phinn like that. He certainly knew when the young hound was excited, or cross, or sulking – as that happened nearly every day – but nervous was new. Now all Wil could feel was the serene calm of Phinn’s steady heartbeat and the power of his huge paws pulling through the water. Wil hooked his fingers under Phinn’s iron collar.
‘So, you like swimming after all then, hey?’
Without missing a beat, the huge Fellhound continued to plough through the blackness gently pulling his master in his wake as he swam.
‘You OK, Wil?’ Mortimer called-out in the dark. Wil could see his friend’s bobbing head silhouetted against the little strip of light way off down the tunnel. ‘If you grab Phinn’s neck–’
‘Already worked that one out, Mort. The water’s not as cold now.’
The Jackal’s voice echoed off the walls from somewhere ahead of them.
‘Oh yer, I forgot to say, keep your mouth shut!’
‘Why?’ called Wil.
‘Let’s just say, not everyone uses this water for drinking!’
‘But you said there were wells,’ said Wil, with a sudden and very deep desire not to be in that water any more.
‘Mmm. Well, they’re also used for y’ know, disposal, as well as collection,’ said The Jackal’s disembodied voice.
After that piece of news it was a while before they spoke again. Wil kept his lips pressed firmly together and hoped that no one would be disposing of anything as they neared the light patch which was obviously a ‘well’. But they passed by unscathed and swam on.
With the light from the well behind them, in the distance Wil spotted another source of light – an opening, this time. He also felt the water slow, as if it was suddenly much deeper below them. Wil suddenly felt very vulnerable. His fingers tingled and his legs felt as if they were on fire as he tried to control the fear surging through his body. He could hear every drip, sense every trickle and – unfortunately for Wil – he could feel every heart that beat, fluttered or pounded in the darkness.
‘Er, how much further, d’you think?’ he called as he heard a slithering sound across the tunnel above his head.
‘Not far now, we’ve ju–’
Silence.
‘Sorry, didn’t catch that,’ Wil called. Phinn and Wil suddenly collided with Mia. ‘What the–’
‘That you, Wil? Can you see The Jackal? He was there.’
Wil guessed that Mortimer was pointing towards the light. There was no sign of The Jackal. Mortimer called out, ‘Hey, Jackal … Colin, hey!’
Still silence.
‘I think it’s time we got out of here, Mortimer.’
Something slid between Wil’s feet – something quite large, cold and very slimy.
‘Yep, Phinn, we really need to get out of here.’
Most likely, it was the tone in Wil’s voice rather than the words, but Phinn and Mia suddenly picked up the pace. Feeling very exposed and scared as Wil was, the tunnel was definitely getting lighter, which he hoped meant that they were getting closer to the mill.
They had just passed under the second well hole when, without any warning, something smashed into the water behind them.
‘Whoa!’ shouted Wil before he could stop himself.
The illuminated well dimmed slightly and a voice from above said, ‘D’yer hear that, Ivy. Told you there were ghosts down there – I heard they’ve run out of room behind the tower and they’s just chuckin’ the dead in the canal now.’
The hounds swam on, taking Wil and Mortimer out of earshot – they were long past when the bucket was hoist back out of the well.
Just before the mouth of the tunnel, Wil’s feet hit thick, slimy ground. Goo squeezed between his toes. Within seconds Phinn and Mia were powering through shallower but much faster flowing water. Both Wil and Mortimer clung to the hounds’ collars as they fought against the current to stay on their feet.
‘I think we’re getting near the mill,’ called Mortimer, now wading chest deep. ‘Keep your eyes open for somewhere to get out.’
‘Still looks pretty steep to me,’ Wil called back. They might have been out of the tunnel but the sheer canal walls were narrowing and certainly weren’t offering any way up and out of the water.
‘That’s got to be the mill, look, there.’
Mortimer was pointing towards a huge tower – and attached to it was a mill wheel – a spinning mill wheel.
The sound of crashing water was almost overwhelming now. The wheel squeaked and groaned; its battered buckets seemed to hurl more water back than they carried. Wil could really feel the power of the water. Frantically he scoured the canal sides for a way out. Even Phinn lost his footing. Then Wil noticed something that almost robbed him of what little breath he had left – the wheel was in a vast trough behind the millrace. The water was gathering speed because it was falling.
‘We’ve got to get out of this now,’ he shouted.
‘Yer, I know,’ Mortimer yelled back. He was jabbing his finger towards the narrowing channel. ‘That gap – over there – I think it’s an overflow. That’s our best bet.’
But they were all caught up in
the unstoppable flow. Wil grabbed at the stones that lined the canal but his nails just found thick green slime and slid off. Desperately kicking against the current he slipped and slid in his effort to avoid another crash that might cost them all their lives. It was impossible to concentrate on Phinn and try to communicate with Mia, but to Wil’s relief Mia seemed to have cottoned on to the plan and expertly negotiated the slim gap dragging Mortimer, still clinging to her collar. Once Phinn saw his sister’s manoeuvre, he too headed for the tiny opening. But just as the Fellhound surged through the heavy flow Wil lost his footing. His frozen fingers slipped from Phinn’s collar. Phinn went one way – to join Mortimer and his sister – and Wil went the other, towards the drop at the end of the millrace.
Frantic now, he clawed at the low wall between him and safety, desperately trying to stop himself being dragged over the edge. The rhythmic pound of the rolling wheel filled his ears, water filled his mouth… this was not how it was meant to be!
Lying on the bank of the still pool, Wil forgave Phinn the few tooth marks across his back.
‘Well, now do you see how useful a Fellhound can be, Wil?’ panted Mortimer. ‘Thank the moons that wall was low enough for him to reach! I really thought we were going to be picking bits of you out of that wheel.’
‘Thanks Mortimer – I’m gonna have nightmares as it is!’
Seemingly unperturbed, Phinn was up to his knees, taking great gulps and blubbing water through his nose.
‘You’d think he’d have had enough of that stuff for a while,’ said Wil with an exhausted laugh. He sat up. Away from the boiling mill water, bobbing at the edge in the reeds below Wil spotted a dark shape. A horrible thought crept into his mind.
‘D’you think that’s what happened to The Jackal – look, isn’t that his hat… down there?’
‘Look Wil, he told us he’d come that way before and he seemed pretty confident that we’d get out. We must have just missed a gap earlier that he knew about,’ said Mortimer. ‘I bet you we bump into him again. I bet he’ll be at the gate – probably got the others in already!’
With that Mortimer jumped to his feet and wound the ends of his wet shirt into a tight twist until they stopped dripping.
‘Right, let’s go and find our stuff – we’re not going to have to worry about Mia and Phinn drawing anyone’s attention; people are going to wonder what the hell we’re doing soaking wet in this freezing cold!’
Wading through the crowded streets of Armelia, it very quickly became apparent that Mortimer and Wil had no reason to worry about the Fellhounds or being wet. The Alcama might be a night away but it seemed that the festivities started early in the city.
Everywhere Wil looked there were people dressed – or nearly dressed – in the most outlandish costumes. Bright orange and purple silk seemed to be a recurring theme, as did strange people and even stranger animals; he even spotted a troll drinking in one of the many bars that lined the shabby streets – only the second he’d ever seen in his whole life.
Despite the evening cold, groups were spilling out of dark doorways and gathering around makeshift tables. At one point Wil knocked over a chair. Bending to set it upright, something hissed at him from under the table; a pair of scarlet eyes blinked slowly out of the gloom. Then a bright green forked tongue unfurled and wound around the chair leg. Wil jumped back and banged his head on the table.
‘I do hope you aren’t trying to steal Sebastian?’ asked a velvet voice.
The abandoned chair rose and righted itself.
‘Er, no. No!’ said Wil backing away another step. ‘What is it – he?’
‘Oh, I won’t trouble you with the detail,’ said a woman wrapped from head to toe in orange silk. She flashed him a serene smile. Whatever Sebastian was, he stayed hidden under the table. ‘If you stick around for the competition tomorrow, you might just find out. Are you entering that?’
‘Sorry?’ said Wil. Then he realised that Phinn was standing just behind him. ‘Er.. yer, probably. I, er, haven’t decided yet.’
‘Well, I hope he does tricks then,’ said the woman, casting a disparaging eye over Wil’s shoulder. ‘I mean – a Fellhound… hardly unexpected, even for Armelia.’
Taken aback, Wil was desperately trying to think of a trick that might impress the woman when Mortimer re-appeared in the crowd and gave the woman a stiff smile.
‘Today, Wil!’
Not wanting to seem rude, Wil opened his mouth to wish the woman luck for the competition but the gap between them had already been filled by a couple having a row.
Up ahead, Wil could see a crooked sign hanging from a single hook. The sign read The Olde Mule. Again the doorway to the little inn was spewing people out onto the street. As they got closer a man charged out of the crowd. He ran right up to them and yelled something completely incoherent right into Mortimer’s face. Mortimer stopped but did not react and the man, covered from head to toe in orange and purple tattoos, stuck out his tongue then sprinted back into a cheering group, where, as one, they drained huge jugs of frothy black ale – goblets stood unused and seemingly forgotten on a nearby table.
‘What do you think they’re drinking?’ asked Wil. He was fascinated and horrified at the same time. In Mistlegard, Wil worked in the tiny inn where he swept the floors and occasionally served behind the bar if they were shorthanded. Everyone there drank mead or barley beer, neither of which were anything like the colour of the brew in those jugs – they also drank out of goblets.
‘That’ll be Rat Beer,’ said Mortimer with a knowing grin. ‘Makes you mad and keeps you bad!’
‘Rat Beer! Please tell me it’s not made out of real rats!’
‘They’ve got to do something with them, Wil. Flying rodents – the city’d be over-run otherwise!’
‘Flying – ohh, I’ve heard of them! When I was young my father used to say that if I didn’t go to bed, rats would fly into my room and eat my mattress. I’ve never seen one though and I never thought they made beer out of them – erch! I bet it’s disgusting!’
‘The Fellmen from Little Thesk bring it when they come for the Moon Chases. I tried it once – made me want to fight with everyone,’ said Mortimer with a grimace. ‘You’re right – give me barley beer any day – or Lady Élanor’s elder wine!’
Back at the bar, the orange and purple man had taken delivery of a long pitcher that he was now clutching in both hands. While his companions sang a very rude song he stood swaying – allowing whatever was in the pitcher to slop over the sides; the song came to a raucous end and the tattooed man downed the contents of the pitcher in one. His friends roared and clapped; he ran down the alley at the side of the bar and vomited over his feet.
‘Let’s get out of here, Wil, just in case you’re tempted!’
They walked away from The Olde Mule just as a fight broke out behind them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Plan ‘D’
The two moons were high by the time Wil put his hand on one of the cloth bundles – it was Mortimer’s. They had found the castle’s kitchen garden surprisingly easily – largely because it was the only place around that seemed to have any trees. In the silver moonlight, their silhouettes were easy to spot even from some distance; although, of course, the fact that the garden was below the castle was another giveaway, as Mortimer had been quick to point out.
It was also fortunate that they had found the gate into the garden unlocked. It had creaked loudly when Wil tried it, but when no one came to investigate he had pushed it wide and they had simply walked in.
As they searched for their belongings, the massive, part-built tower above them glistened in the light of hundreds of torches that were now burning across the entire city. The smell of smouldering tallow drifted through the evening air. Higher up, the serene reflection of the converging moons glowed gold – a stark contrast to the dancing torchlight.
‘D’you think Tally’s in that tower?’ Wil whispered, still searching for his own clothes. A moment later he s
potted Phinn, his head in an apple tree, nudging a tightly wrapped bundle with his huge nose. Grateful for the help, as he was now very cold, Wil stretched up and retrieved his cloak and boots. It was then he noticed that despite the lingering winter chill, all of the fruit trees in the garden were laden with blossom. The garden seemed oddly warm, too, and was filled with the gentle hum of bees – again very odd so soon after what had been a very hard winter quarter across the whole of Thesk. The bees were calm but busy – Wil could feel them; for them, here, this day was like all others – it was as though they were telling him – here it was always warm and there was always blossom.
But even in this tranquil garden Wil also knew that there was no point trying to reach Tally with his mind – she had been the one to work out that his mindreading abilities, useful as they were, only extended to animals; and remembering the searing pain that always resulted in Tally’s attempts to read Wil’s mind, he hoped that she wasn’t going to try to reach him! But Wil was sure that Mortimer had no idea about his, or Tally’s, telepathic skills, so he thought it best to keep both his observations and his thoughts to himself.
Hauling on his boots, Mortimer scoured the part-built tower and the crumbling walls that made up the rest of the castle and finally answered Wil’s question.
‘Well, she’s bound to be in there somewhere, Wil,’ he said wrapping his cloak around his shoulders. ‘But with The Jackal gone I haven’t had a chance to come up with a Plan D yet. Look, let’s go find Gisella and Seth. I can’t work out anything until I’ve had something to eat!’
The journey through the city was trying; they had to fend off numerous offers of beer, two attempted fights and a very friendly young lady who took an instant shine to Mortimer. By the time they got to the gate both Wil and Mortimer were hot and very hungry – although they were almost dry.
As Mortimer guessed, Mia and Phinn hadn’t attracted nearly as much attention as Wil had feared – although a group of overly friendly travellers had tried very hard to swap them for two rather tired-looking Bragghounds.
