by Farr, Cathy;
‘Honest, mate, they’re tidy fighters, they are!’ insisted one of the travellers, pressing the chain leash of his own hound into Wil’s hand while he attempted to walk away with Phinn. Fortunately, by way of objecting, Phinn had sat down – and once a Fellhound decides he’s not moving, he is definitely not going anywhere! So, as politely as he could, Wil had pressed the lead back into the man’s hand and set a slow but determined course away towards the gate. Phinn followed.
‘What did you say they were again?’ the man had called after them, amiably waving a tankard of ale.
‘Fellhounds!’ Mortimer and Wil had chimed – and not for the first time during that walk.
‘Big, mind! Gor, bet they can sh–’
But the man’s voice was drowned by a sudden commotion up ahead.
‘Great!’ said Mortimer. ‘That’s all we need – a fight right at the gate. There’ll be guards down here in no time if this gets out of hand!’
Then several people in the crowd nearest to them stepped back looking slightly scared and Wil caught the sound of a familiar, though slightly odd sounding, voice.
‘Get your handsh off me, you… you oaf! I could knock you down with one punsch… and don’t try and stop me!’
A tall, blonde boy put both his hands up and retreated muttering something about a tambourine.
‘Gisella?’ said Wil not quite able to believe the scene in front of him.
Seth’s voice called from somewhere among a sea of people and horses – all swathed in orange and purple.
‘Wil, Mortimer! At last!’
Behind him, a young man who looked a little older than Mortimer was playing a flute – the tune wound through the wandering horde like a playful puppy. Two others plucked at small harps, although their valiant efforts demonstrated more enthusiasm than musical skill; overall, however, the sound was not unpleasant and fitted the chaotic spectacle of the drifting group.
Suddenly Gisella’s eyes found Wil. She shrieked.
‘Wil!’
Seemingly oblivious of all around her, she charged towards him, waving with both hands as if fearing he might not spot her.
‘Wil, Wil, Wil! I’m sooo glad you’ve come! Oh, and Phinney too. Phinney, oooh, look. Theshe are my new friendshsh – well, mine and Seth’sss,’ she slurred and held out her hand to Phinn who backed away. Unperturbed, Gisella twirled back to face Wil and beckoned him closer with a crooked finger. ‘But to be honesht,’ she whispered conspiratorially, ‘he’sh being a big meanie. He took my drink and shaid I couldn’t have any more!’
As she breathed over Wil, all became horribly clear – Gisella was drunk!
Seth forced his way between two harp pluckers, neither of whom took any notice of him, Farrow, or the two horses he was dragging in his wake.
‘They were at the gate when we got back,’ said Seth.
In one hand he held the horses’ reins; in the other he was clutching a tambourine. Every time he waved his hand the tambourine jingled – and in his present agitated state it was jingling a lot.
‘We tried to keep in the shadows like you said, Mortimer, but one of them, that guy over there – Jev – he saw Farrow and his father used to breed Fellhounds over in Grizzledale and he came over to talk to us and the guys on the gate weren’t around so they well, Jev, invited us to join them while they waited to be let in and that’s when they brought out the mead,’ Seth finally took a breath and jingled again.
Gisella stood beside him smiling at anyone who passed and humming as tunelessly as the harpists.
‘So why didn’t you just say no, Seth?’ asked Mortimer. Gisella meandered away, back towards her new friends.
‘Gisella, no, stay here.’
Without taking his eyes off Seth, Mortimer reached for Gisella’s arm and missed. She took the tambourine from Seth’s hand as she went.
‘I did!’ Seth said in answer to Mortimer’s question. ‘But then Gisella said that if we didn’t join in they would get suspicious.’ He looked utterly mortified. ‘So we had a goblet of mead and then Jev gave Gisella some of his drink – I think it was some sort of beer – very dark, smelt awful! And, well, she didn’t seem to like it at first, but Jev kept talking to her and being really friendly–’
‘How friendly?’ demanded Wil. He was trying to keep an eye on Gisella and listen at the same time.
‘Oh, really friendly – she kept giggling – I’ve never seen Gisella like that before – then she had more to drink and then…er, then she started dancing.’
‘What!’ said Mortimer. ‘On her own?’
‘Oh no, they were playing music – it was really good actually and Gisella and Jev were dancing. And then they fell over–’
‘I don’t think I want to hear any more,’ said Wil.
‘Oh no,’ Seth insisted. ‘Once she fell over I managed to get her to sit down with me. I gave her some water and a bit of food but then they opened the gates – just now. We’ve only just got in and … er… as you can see, she’s … er… livened up again.’
Seth’s voice trailed off. All around them people were laughing, singing, or shouting to one another; some were busy bartering with stall holders for bulging pies, or glistening slices of roast boar. The air was full of the smell of smouldering charcoal, burning meat fat and stale beer – Wil caught a whiff of another smell; two men were standing very close to the edge of one of the city wells. He turned away quickly. Gisella was now tottering among her new-found friends as they all headed off into the city. The tambourine had been replaced by a harp. Every now and then Gisella stopped, brushed her fingers over the strings and then tottered on. Wil watched. Jev sidled up and offered Gisella his flask. Beaming, she lifted it to her lips and took a greedy mouthful; at the same time Jev slid his arm around her waist – if Wil had had one last straw at that moment, it wouldn’t have just snapped, he would have ripped it up into a hundred tiny pieces and stamped on it.
‘Right, I’ve had enough of this!’
Wil waded into the crowd. Mortimer made a futile grab for Wil’s arm although he did manage to stop Phinn from following.
Gisella’s face lit up as Wil approached as if seeing him for the first time that evening.
‘Wil! When did you get here? Thish is Jed, my er..’
She swayed slightly and Wil saw Jev tighten his hold.
‘Jev, it’s Jev,’ corrected Jev quietly. He looked directly into Wil’s eyes with an almost-smile, but Gisella gave him a dismissive wave and threw her arms around Wil’s neck.
‘Oh, I’m so happy to see you Wil! When did you get here? I’ve really, really, really, really missed you.’
Jev released his grip and stepped back. Gisella bounced on her toes.
‘Did I ever tell you Wil, I really, really, reeeeeally like you. Did you know that?’
Much as it really was very nice to see the look on Jev’s face and to have Gisella snuggled so close, the smell of beer was overpowering. Wil prized Gisella’s arms from his neck and turned in search of Mortimer and Seth.
‘Oh,’ said Gisella. ‘Wil, you don’t like me!’
‘Look, Giz, of course,’ he turned back, ‘I do.’
But Gisella’s eyes gazed at him unseeing. She swayed again and flopped forwards. Wil bent before she hit the floor and hoisted her unceremoniously over his shoulder. Most of the travellers had moved on by now but a small group of stragglers around them cheered.
‘Nice one!’ said Jev. ‘Was planning to have had a go at that one myself, but after all that rat beer – na, I’ll leave her to you.’ And with an admiring grin he patted Gisella’s bottom. Wil hitched the unconscious Gisella up onto his shoulder, turned and turned back. He punched Jev in the ribs – just once – then waiting just long enough to see his drunken rival double-up and hit the floor, Wil marched out of the crowd into the nearest alley. The stragglers cheered again.
‘Oh dear, this is all my fault,’ wailed Seth. ‘If only we hadn’t spoken to those people. If only I’d stopped her from drinking that beer.’<
br />
‘Much as I do hold you partly responsible, Seth Tanner, Gisella really should have known better,’ said Mortimer, obviously livid.
They had found a quiet corner next to a blacksmith’s forge – closed for the night. Wil had plonked Gisella unceremoniously down onto a pile of hay, where she had already been sick once. She was now fast asleep. Wil had hoped that the first aid bag would have come up with something to bring on instant sobriety but all it had offered was an empty bottle. A tiny label swung from the stopper. Wil’s heart sank at its words:
Their second evening was rapidly running into their second night and they were no nearer finding Tally or Tanith; and now they had to sit and wait for Gisella to sober up. And Wil was trying very hard not to be cross with Gisella for allowing herself to be chatted up by that Jev bloke. Finding an apple and some cheese in his pack, he flopped down into a straw-filled corner and brooded over what Gisella had said – just before she had passed out. Maybe it was just the beer talking, he thought, or did she really care about him? Then he remembered their conversation in the river – she had told Wil that she was only being friendly with Mortimer because she wanted to be a Chaser – but was that really true? Maybe she was only telling Wil that so that he would help her to make up with Mortimer…
A voice as rough as a bucket of gravel rattled above the hubbub of the crowd, waking Wil from what had turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable night’s sleep.
‘NO! You thick or what? I said quail eggs – get them yer now!’
‘I...I’m so sorry Ms Mhaddphat, they told me you would be here before sundown last evening. I, er, I thought you had changed your mind, or gone somewhere else…’ said another, much smaller voice.
‘What!’ yelled Mhaddphat. ‘A hundred and forty I ordered– DON’T tell me you sold ‘em!’
A faint pink light in the east told Wil it was nearly dawn – already the city was humming and Wil was sure that unlike him, Mortimer, Seth and Gisella, it hadn’t slept. Somewhere close by a small child started to snivel.
‘An’ you can be quiet,’ she growled. The child continued to whine incoherently. ‘SHUT UP!’
Mhaddphat’s shout was so loud that Gisella jumped up and peered around through very bleary eyes. Mhaddphat continued to bellow.
‘What am I gonna do now? YOU can tell her ladyship. I ordered them an’ YOU let me down!’
‘I… I can see if Cecil has some… over on Bell Street. If… if you’d like?’ The voice was pleading now.
There was a moment of peace before the voice exploded again.
‘Get over there then! Go on! NOW!’
The child whinged. The yelling did not falter.
‘An’ when you got em, bring ‘em up the castle. I’m no’ wasting any more of my time! I go’ things to do!’
The child mumbled incoherently and then started to sob – the tone was much higher than Mhaddphat’s low growl but no less determined. Mhaddphat was some distance away before she called to the child.
‘Faerydae, GET ‘ERE!’
And then all that remained was the crowd as before; singing, shouting, fighting and drinking. Gisella slumped back on to her makeshift bed and instantly went back to sleep. Mortimer’s head popped up from a pile of hay at Wil’s feet.
‘That’s it!’
‘That’s what?’ said Seth, with a wide yawn.
‘Plan D!’ said Mortimer.
‘Plan D?’ echoed Seth, but Wil was catching up fast.
‘We buy some quail eggs and deliver them to the castle?’
‘Not quite, Wil – but not far off. We go find that guy and offer to deliver the quail eggs he’s going to buy,’ said Mortimer. ‘I mean, he’s hardly going to want to go himself, not after the pasting that woman’s just given him!’
‘And do delivery boys usually take their animals with them in the city?’ Wil couldn’t help asking.
Mortimer glanced over at Rhoani and Shadow happily munching on a mound of hay that Gisella hadn’t been sick on.
‘No, Wil. Seth can stay here with Gisella. Mia, Farrow and Phinn need to be fed anyway. We’ll deliver the eggs, get into the castle and find Tally.’
Wil wasn’t entirely convinced such a simple plan would work but, unable to think of anything better, he kept his mouth shut and nodded.
‘And Seth,’ Mortimer added looking at Gisella, ‘If Gisella wakes up and can stop being sick for long enough, you need to find Tanith. You might want to start with the castle stables if you can find them.’
‘And what happens if anyone asks any awkward questions?’ asked Seth.
Mortimer studied Mia, Farrow and Phinn for a few seconds and then said, ‘Tell them you’re here for the competition. Tell them,’ he nodded towards the Fellhounds, ‘Tell them they’re a herd!’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Special Delivery
Despite the early hour Bell Street was even busier than the market around the city gate. Rickety stalls selling honey, cheese and delicious smelling hams were jammed next to tables overflowing with jewellery made of anything from brightly coloured gem stones to carved bone. One table was groaning under the weight of sheep skulls, their hollow eyes staring out at all who passed.
‘You want to buy a lantern, boy?’ breathed a scruffy little man. ‘Put one in your window tonight, boy. Keep the Alcama evils at bay when the moons cross.’
Behind the temporary stalls dowdy shops sat silent – their weather-beaten shutters framing empty windows. Except for the orange glow of illuminated bone, each one was as dark and gloomy as the next; it appeared that the Alcama came early in Armelia.
‘Er, no thanks,’ said Wil, wondering what Armelia looked like when it wasn’t the Alcama. ‘I, er, I haven’t got a window.’
‘Well, evil be upon your soul, boy!’ hissed the man and turned away. Beside Wil, a woman picked up one of the skulls. ‘You want to buy a lantern, lady?’
Wil moved on. The stall next door boasted the biggest selection of knives he had ever seen; and next to that was another very ornate display, this time of cream-coloured daggers. A glint of red caught Wil’s eye. He leant forward. For a dagger, it was very odd. Like a stretched ‘S’, its rounded edges tapered to a deadly point. Mounted close to the tip Wil could see what looked remarkably like a drop of blood; although Wil had never seen one before, he assumed it to be a ruby.
‘Dragon’s tooth,’ said a bright voice from behind the table. ‘Giant Redback – left that in my Dad’s favourite bull – absolutely no fear, your Redback. If you ever get chased by one, best thing to do – throw yourself off something high and hope you hit the ground before it plucks you out of the air. Once a Redback’s got your scent, believe me, you’re a goner!’
The girl pulled a knobbly woollen shawl around her shoulders and, with her bottom lip curled down, nodded. Another ruby sparkled in her nose – a similar, but much shorter tooth dangled from her left ear.
Wil picked up the tooth dagger and turned it over in his hand.
‘So what happened to the bull?’
‘Managed to stitch it up. It’s fathered fifteen calves since!’ she beamed proudly.
‘Gosh, I bet your father’s pleased!’
The tooth was easily twice the length of Wil’s hand. It felt surprisingly rough – like it was covered in the tiniest of scales.
‘Dunno,’ said the girl, looking up into the night sky. ‘Redback swallowed him in one. He’s up there somewhere – the dragon, not my Dad.’
Wil hastily returned the tooth to its place in the fan-like display. ‘Oh, I... I’m sorry,’ he stammered and, lost for anything else to say, moved away from the table. Up ahead, Mortimer was standing outside a shop – one of very few that was brightly lit and open for business – and if Wil’s ears were not deceiving him, the shop was definitely clucking.
‘…needs them urgently, you see,’ Mortimer was saying to a tiny man as Wil joined them.
‘W-well, yes, I could see that,’ answered the man. As he spoke he jerked his head back and f
orth, eying the boys suspiciously. ‘She really was very cross, wasn’t she,’ he added casting a nervous glance at their nearest neighbours.
‘Yes,’ said Mortimer, oozing a confidence that even drew in Wil – and he knew Mortimer was lying! ‘She’s making quail egg soufflé. Absolutely delicious. It’s a new dish for the festival – a surprise for Lord and Lady Rexmoore. Cook really must have them as soon as possible.’
Mouse-like, the man twitched his head upwards.
‘Oh, dear, this really is awful. I can only get eighty – they’ve gone off lay. It’s the moons.’ He seemed to be talking more to himself than to Mortimer. ‘Everyone knows, quail go off lay when the moons cross – just like the cows won’t give any milk. Even moonpig meat can be a bit iffy during Alcama. Oh dear!’
He ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair.
‘Mmm, sounds like you’ve got a problem – and you know what Mhaddphat’s like,’ said Mortimer crossing his arms over his chest.
‘Oh, don’t,’ said the little man covering his face with his hands. ‘I just can’t face her. She’ll roast me alive!’
‘Look, tell you what,’ said Mortimer with a conspiratorial wink. ‘How about we deliver them for you? We’ll say that Wil here dropped some on the way.’ He leant closer and whispered, ‘She’s got a bit of a soft spot for my friend,’ Mortimer tapped his nose, ‘treats him like the son she never had.’ He winked again.
‘Oh!’ gasped the man. ‘But what about Galorian? I know he’s a little brat, but surely she hasn’t given up on him already? He’s only three!’
Mortimer didn’t miss a beat.
‘Older son, of course! I mean, a three-year-old’s hardly going to be a help around the kitchen now is it? No, Wil here is her right-hand man.’ Mortimer threw his arm around Wil’s shoulder and drew him close, ‘Fetching, carrying, peeling, plucking – she hates plucking, did you know that–’
‘Mort!’ interrupted Wil out of the corner of his mouth. Mortimer dropped his arm.
‘Well, anyway,’ he said, throwing his shoulders back so he looked even taller than usual. ‘We are here offering to take those eggs up to the castle but if you want to do it yourself, we’ll be off.’
