by Farr, Cathy;
‘Wow!’ said Seth, wide-eyed. ‘What does it – you – eat?’
But the woman melted into the crowd, carrying the little Fayarie away without giving an answer. Two elderly men, deep in conversation, bustled through the gap she had left.
‘Well, I’m sorry to argue, Twyford, but that cry was unmistakable. That cat-like caw – classic,’ said one. ‘And the livid underbelly – a mature male, I’ve no doubt.’
‘Yes, Meldon, the Lesser Crested Ridge Creeper is ……’
They passed by and their voices drifted out of earshot.
A little further on, the produce stalls gave way to animal pens. Seth was already peering into the first pen. Wil caught up and looked over Seth’s shoulder. Inside, half-buried under a mound of straw, he could see two dogs. They were munching on a long marrow bone and, by the size of their heads, Wil guessed that they were quite a lot smaller than Phinn.
‘Well, I can’t see anything unexpected about them,’ he said. One of the dogs grabbed the bone from the other and started to growl. Two shabby men who stood at the edge of the stall stopped talking.
‘Torris, be’ave! Share or I’ll ‘ave that orff you!’ snarled the man nearest to Wil.
Torris abandoned the bone and got to his feet. Both heads rose together – attached to one muscle-packed body.
‘Yep,’ said Wil with a nod. ‘That was definitely unexpected!’
‘What’s that?’ Seth asked the men.
‘A Drangfell Pinscher,’ answered the man without looking round.
‘How old is it?
‘Three.’
‘Are they easy to train?’
‘No.’
‘What do they eat?’
The man turned slowly and looked Seth up and down. ‘Inquisitive boys,’ he said and turned back to his friend. A little way ahead, Mortimer called out over the crowd.
‘Wil, Seth! I can see Gisella. She’s over there.’
Mortimer was jabbing his finger towards the corner of the square but all Wil could see was a long-legged animal with the head and horns of an antelope that was happily munching on a net stuffed with holly leaves.
Wil and Seth had a great deal of difficulty keeping up with Mortimer as he strode off in the direction he had just been pointing. There were people and animals everywhere.
‘’Scuse me,’ said a dishevelled man. Wil stepped backwards and felt a painful jab in his back. Someone else stood on his toe.
‘Don’t these people sleep?’
Seth was oblivious. His wide eyes shone as he took in the sights around him.
‘Wow! Did you see that?’ he said pointing back over his shoulder as he battled towards Mortimer, who was waiting not very patiently. ‘It was like a massive deer but with a bull’s head. Did you see the sign? Beware of the poo!’
‘A bonacuss!’ exclaimed Mortimer with a look of genuine horror. ‘Who thought it was a good idea to bring one of those? Everyone knows their dung is highly dangerous!’
‘I didn’t!’ said Seth.
‘Oh, I did,’ said Wil. He stepped out of the way of a frazzled-looking woman who was trying very hard to keep control of two rodents, both the size of a Peachley sheep, that Wil recognised as pranxies. ‘Bonacuss can shoot their dung quite long distances and it burns like fire if you get it on your skin. Apparently, it’s really difficult to get off, too. So if you ever see a bonacuss lift its tail, run – and whatever you do, don’t look back!’
‘Blimey!’ said Seth. ‘And I thought some of Farrow’s poo could be a bit unpleasant!’
The pranxies were now fighting and, spooked by the commotion, Rhoani lashed out with his back leg. One of the pranxies dropped to the ground.
‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry,’ exclaimed Seth.
The creature lay stone still but the weary woman beamed.
‘No, really, thank you!’ she said wiping a trickle of sweat from her forehead. ‘They’ve been squabbling over that dead dwhykely for ages. It’s the smell! I made the mistake of letting them have a run off their leads over there,’ she pointed to the ruins of a building at the end of the street. ‘But rather too late I realised it’s infested and you know what dwhykelies are like – take over anything that’s not been lived in for a full moon and wreck it in two. I should’ve known by the stink – they say their breath is the worst,’ she wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘And judging by the smell of that thing, I hope I never get close enough to find out! Yech!’
‘Yes, but is it alright – the pranxie, I mean?’ asked Seth.
‘Oh yes, dear,’ said the woman with a dismissive wave. ‘No sense, no feeling, pranxies. Love ‘em dearly, but they do take some work.’
In the brief time they had been talking, the other pranxie had ripped the dead dwhykely in two. Wil just caught sight of a scaly tail dangling from its mouth before it swallowed and the tail disappeared. The woman scooped up the other half of the little corpse. The pranxie looked up at her expectantly.
‘No, Sissey,’ said the woman firmly. ‘We’ll save this for your sister.’
She dropped the end of the two chain leads she had been clutching and stuffed the ragged remains of the unfortunate dwhykely into a bag under her cloak. ‘And it’s no good giving me that hard done-by look. Kibbles will be very upset if you eat it all!’
She wrinkled her nose and gave a little shrug.
‘Oh, aren’t they just gorgeous. I’d have another in a heartbeat if I had the space. See, dear, Kibbles is back on her feet. Told you. No sense, no feeling!’
The woman chuckled affectionately.
‘Have you seen the dragon yet?’ she asked, watching the two pranxies – they were fighting again.
‘Er, no, not yet. We knew there was one here though,’ said Seth, eagerly looking about.
‘Oh, you must go and see it. It’s smaller than I would have expected – but then that’s what makes it unexpected, I suppose! It really is very cute!’
Mortimer had pushed back again through a sea of now very familiar orange and purple and his expression did not suggest he was about to go and admire a dragon – cute or not.
‘Wil, Seth! Get a move on!’
‘Oops, looks like I’ve got you into trouble with your brother!’ chuckled the woman. She gathered up the leads and dragged the squabbling pranxies off towards Bell Street. ‘Right, come on Kibbles, give it a rest or I’ll get that horse to shut you up again!’
Draped in an orange and purple tunic that was far too big for her, Gisella was standing in front of two stalls only a short distance from the fenced stage. Wil could see that her face was etched with worry. She spotted Wil, Seth and Mortimer elbowing their way past one of the many groups of tuneless musicians and waved frantically. Phinn’s head appeared over the top of one of the stalls.
‘Where did you get that, Giz?’ asked Seth looking her up and down.
‘It was all I could find – they’d sold out of my size. Anyway, I’ve just heard something terrible!’
‘What?’ demanded Mortimer.
Gisella shook her head and nodded towards an exceptionally tall woman standing in front of Phinn’s stall. Wound around the woman’s neck was a vivid-red scarf. With a polite nod Wil reached past and stroked Phinn’s nose. The lady looked down and gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. The scarf hissed.
‘Oh, don’t mind Erena. She means no harm.’
Not convinced Wil took a step back.
Gisella and Mortimer ducked into the other stall, leaving Seth to hold the horses. Wil wasn’t sure quite what to do. Head and shoulders above the crowd, the woman continued to smile down at him, the snake’s head crooked in her hands.
‘I think the pegalus has unnerved her. You don’t see many about nowadays, do you?’ she said in little more than a whisper.
Wil was just about to ask what a pegalus was when Mortimer called his name. The woman with the snake slid behind Shadow and drifted away into the throng.
‘Wil!’ Mortimer called again, more sharply this time.
There, standing with Gisella and Mortimer was a beautiful golden horse. Its long mane swept down its thick neck in a curtain of silver and gold threads, all the way down to … a pair of wings.
‘Now that really was unexpected,’ breathed Wil.
A gentle whinny rippled Tanith’s velvety nostrils and a wave of recognition drifted over Wil’s mind.
‘We need to get to Tally now, Mortimer,’ Gisella was saying. ‘Apparently they’re going to be judging the contest first thing this afternoon and I just heard someone saying that Rexmoore’s holding a young girl. They are accusing her of being a witch,’ she looked directly at Wil. ‘I don’t know if they were talking about Tally, but whoever it is, Wil–’
Out in the square a bell chimed. A voice boomed out over the crowd.
‘Oyez, Oyez!’
Whatever Gisella said next was drowned out by a deafening cheer that erupted from the square. Wil turned. A man swathed in a red and black cloak edged with gold braid was standing tall and proud, high above them in the centre of the stage. Behind him, Wil could see a thick wooden pillar surrounded by a mound of smaller logs. In one hand the man gripped a bell; in the other he held a tightly rolled scroll. He rang the bell again and with a well-practiced flourish, he unfurled the scroll and raised it. The square fell silent.
‘Oyez, Oyez, Oyez,’ he called again, his voice echoing off the buildings around the edge of the vast square.
‘Hear ye all.
Lord Rexmoore greets you as his guests.
At noon,
This festival will commence with the Unexpected Pets contest.
A bar of purest gold will be the prize,
So come for the spectacle and feast your eyes.
Bragg hounds, marbussal and a dragon too,
But for those behind the bonacuss, mind that poo!’
The crowd roared with laughter. The town crier held up a finger and waited for quiet before he continued.
‘But don’t wander too far
After the award of the bar –
Lord Rexmoore has a treat in store.
As the moons cross, evil moves through the city this night
But we shall be saved by a fire burned bright –
Here be the pyre and see fingers twitch
When we light the fire for the burning of a… WITCH!’
Wil, Gisella and Mortimer stood as if rooted to the ground. The crowd around them erupted – the excitement in the air was almost palpable.
After a few moments, Seth’s head poked into the silent stall.
‘I’m guessing you heard that then?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Golden Tower
Wil’s mind raced. Was Tally the witch? Was Lady Élanor right – did Imelda really know that Tally had been born at the Alcama? It would certainly give Imelda an awfully good reason to put Tally on that stake – maybe, he thought, it was actually all part of Imelda’s plan to lure Lady Élanor into Armelia as Morten Mortens had suggested? But one thing of which he was sure was that they – he – had to get Tally out of that tower – just in case. With so many people eagerly anticipating a burning, it would be impossible to rescue Tally up there on that stage. Even with a winged horse there were far too many weapons out there in the crowd to make a flight to freedom a realistic possibility.
No, much as Wil’s whole body disagreed with him, their only real chance was to get Tally while she was still at the castle and go out of Armelia the way they had come in – through the gully under the wall – before too many people noticed that she’d gone!
‘Yes, but if we go in right by the castle we won’t have too far to swim,’ argued Wil. Mortimer shook his head.
‘It’s just too risky, Wil. We haven’t got a clue what happened to The Jackal, and when he disappeared we’d only just come under the wall!’
‘But Wil’s right, Mortimer,’ said Gisella. ‘We’ll never get her out from down here – don’t forget, we’ve got to get Tanith out too, and that’ll be far easier if we can walk him out of the gate once the competition is over. I’ve heard that everyone’s betting on the dragon now anyway, so we can just go as gracious losers – I bet no one will try to stop us!’
‘And once they’re both on the other side of that wall, they can fly back to Saran,’ reasoned Wil. Having Gisella’s support buoyed him up immensely. Above, the sky was clouding over but, by the height of the sun Wil could see that they were close to mid-day now. ‘Look Mortimer, it’s the only way they’ve got any hope of getting home before the moon crossing tonight!’
Chin in his hand, Mortimer strode across the stall and back again. Then he tapped a pile of straw with his toe, pinched his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger and strode to the other side of the stall again. He stopped and faced them.
‘Right, this is what we’re going to do.’
‘Yes, Seth, but this way makes sense!’ Mortimer insisted.
Seth was sulking at the prospect of being left behind again and Mortimer’s patience was wearing thin. He took a deep breath.
‘Look Seth, I need you to stay here with Gisella, Rhoani and Farrow. Wil and I will get Tally then Wil can take Tally out of the city via the canal using Phinn and Mia, like we got in. As soon as they’re safely away and not being swept back towards the mill,’ he threw a worried glance at Wil, ‘I’ll meet you by the bonacuss stall with Rhoani. Gisella, you can take care of Tanith – get him out of the city as soon as the bonacuss is loose.’
Gisella nodded but Seth remained stubbornly resistant.
‘But why can’t I go with you to get Tally? Wil could stay here – with Gisella.’ Wil bent to check that his knife was in his boot – Gisella went pink.
‘Because, Seth, Wil can’t ride! And you can’t swim – or had you forgotten that minor detail!’ snapped Mortimer.
‘And anyway, Seth,’ said Gisella. ‘If you and Mortimer are going to let that bonacuss out, you’re going to need a hound that knows what its doing – Mia and Phinn are just too inexperienced.’
Seth kicked the ground with the heel of his boot.
‘Oh, okay, I suppose.’
‘Right,’ said Mortimer before Seth had a chance to change his mind. ‘That’s sorted then. As soon as I’m convinced Wil’s in that water and going the right way, I’ll be back. I’m pretty sure we won’t have very much time before someone notices that Tally’s missing, Seth, so we’re going to have to move fast. I need you over at that bonacuss stall – I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Mortimer sat astride Shadow and offered his hand but Wil shook his head – there were bits of him that were surprisingly tender after the long ride across Tel Harion and he wasn’t looking forward to the ride home already – especially if it meant riding and flying at the same time!
‘Its okay, Mort, I’ll walk, thanks.’
Tanith crooked his head over Gisella’s shoulder. She shielded her eyes from the mid-day sun and looked up at Mortimer.
‘Any suggestions if you get caught?’
‘Get out of the city any way you can and get Tanith back to Saran before the moons cross tonight. You’ve both got your bows?’
Seth swung his bow over his shoulder and opened his jacket – he might still be sulking but by the number of bolts Wil could see, Seth was certainly ready for action. Gisella gave a brief nod towards their packs and her already loaded bow piled in the corner of the stall. Wil was struck by a sudden thought.
‘Hang on a minute Mort.’
The rod that had fallen on his head at the Black Rock and a length of silk rope were still tucked under the now considerably smaller stock of pies at the bottom of his bag. Frowning, Mortimer studied both items.
‘I can sort of see the rope, Wil, but the rod I’m still not getting.’
Then he turned Shadow and headed off out of the square back towards the golden tower.
Gisella watched Wil click the rod into one long length before he wound the rope around his waist.
‘W
here did you get that? And what is it?’
‘Long story and a bit of a mystery,’ answered Wil with a grin and he set off at a jog to catch up with Mortimer.
Away from the square the crowds were much thinner. At the far end of Bell Street Wil and Mortimer took a detour to avoid two shrieking women who were pulling great handfuls of hair from each other’s heads – half empty jugs of black beer sat abandoned in the gutter beside them.
Two more turns and Wil and Mortimer found themselves in near enough silent and deserted streets. They rounded another corner and Wil stopped. In the distance he could hear the sound of running water.
‘I think we must be getting near the mill.’
They headed towards the sound and with one more turn the cobbled road gave way to the grassy track. It ran along the edge of the canal, past the pool that had provided their escape from the mill wheel the previous morning. To Wil’s left, the mill wheel was no longer turning. Wil could see now that it was mounted on the side of a vast stone building, behind which rose a huge chimney. On the far bank a little oval boat bobbed on the shoreline; there was no sign of anyone but a fishing line dangling from the stern suggested its owner may not be far away, and was intending to come back.
Beyond the little craft, heading up the hill towards the incomplete tower, two weary donkeys were hauling a cart up a rutted track. The cart was piled high with gold – lots of bars of gold. Mortimer gave a slow whistle and whispered.
‘Hey Wil, I think we’ve just found where they make those gold bricks.’
The Jackal’s words flooded back into Wil’s ears. A crystal clear vision of a man’s gnarled hand carving Wil’s father’s name onto a headstone crashed into Wil’s mind. It hit him with such force that he nearly toppled into the canal. He saw Mortimer’s arm reach to stop his fall. The image vanished. Then he heard – or felt – a scream. Was it pain… fear? No, it was laughter – cruel, shrieking laughter. It lasted only the briefest moment before the sound of gently trickling water once more filled the air.
‘Wil, Wil, are you OK?’ Mortimer was still gripping hold of Wil’s arm. Leaning heavily on the staff, Wil shook his head and listened again. His hands were clammy and he felt sick.
