by Farr, Cathy;
Her mouth smiled but her eyes blazed.
‘I am sorry, my lady,’ said The Jackal, with a curt bow. ‘Mother is extremely upset.’ He threw Wil a look of deepest loathing, ‘Snuffy met with an unfortunate accident earlier which forced my mother to withdraw from the competition.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Accident?’ asked Imelda, her whole being void of emotion. She ignored the black eye.
‘Master Calloway killed him!’ said The Jackal simply. ‘Mother is not happy!’
‘And it has taken until now to console her? Did you not think to inform us sooner?’ Imelda’s eyes flashed to her husband, who hastily nodded his agreement. She flicked the trigger on Wil’s bow.
The Jackal looked suddenly uncomfortable.
‘I… er, I was… er… held up,’ he said at last.
‘Yer,’ said Wil, unable to contain himself. ‘A pressing matter!’
‘Colin?’ said Imelda, raising her eyebrows.
‘They took me by surprise!’ Colin burst out. ‘That dog down there. They knocked me out! They killed Snuffy, knocked me out and left me for dead. And mother missed the competition, and… and..’ The Jackal whirled around and pointed first at Tally and then Wil, ‘And she isn’t going to tell us where the legacy is, so I’ve come here to help make sure he does!’
Rexmoore’s face lit up, but Imelda was less convinced.
‘And what makes you think you can be any more effective than me? After all Colin, it has not gone unnoticed that you have so far completely failed to get any information out of my niece, and, correct me if I’m wrong,’ she said in a voice that warned that any attempt to correct her would be a very big mistake, ‘your father completely failed to get any information about the legacy despite his rather lengthy stay in Saran some time ago!’
The expression of triumph on The Jackal’s face threw Wil completely.
‘Because,’ he said, ‘I know where Master Calloway can find his father!’
‘What!’ gasped Wil. ‘You mean you knew he was alive and you didn’t say anything!’
Wil wriggled frantically, desperate to get his hands around The Jackal’s throat, but the knife-like shackles cut deep into his arm. The Jackal chuckled. His confidence seemed to be growing with every word now.
‘Well… you know… didn’t seem particularly useful at the time! So, let’s see… we’ve got your father, the lovely Gisella,’ he waved his fingers towards the corral while, in his other hand, he used the burning torch as a pointer, ‘that flying nag, both your dogs, am I forgetting anyone… oh, yes, and Tally here.’
He walked to the front of the stage and pretended to search the crowd that almost to a man had completely lost interest by now. Then he returned to stand right in front of Wil.
‘And, Wil, I know that Seth and Mortimer are out there too. But, well, as they won’t want anything to happen to any of you, wherever they are, I’m sure they won’t do anything foolish.’
The town crier edged onto the stage.
‘Ah, hem.’ He bowed and, with his hand in his bell to keep it silent, spoke in little more than a whisper as he addressed Lord Rexmoore directly. ‘My lord, with all due respect these people all wait, as was promised on this due date. The burning of the witch the party will make, but I fear more delay a foul mood they will take.’
The crier finished his rather hasty rhyme and gave an apologetic bow.
‘Bell…’ thought Wil; the hint of an idea danced on the very edge of his powers of reason…
Rexmoore frowned.
‘Yes, but the moons are nowhere near to rising,’ he said searching the cloud-dotted sky with a frown. ‘They’re just going to have to wait. Bring on the jugglers and drop the price of rat beer by a groat, that’ll keep them happy!’
The town crier looked as though he was going to speak again, but he backed away in silence.
‘So, what d’you think, Wil,’ snarled Tinniswood. ‘Your father – in exchange for the location of the legacy? Oh, and we might even let your friends and your pets live!’
Unable to do what he really wanted to do at that moment, Wil didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.
‘But I don’t know where, or even what, the legacy is!’
Imelda laughed.
‘Oh, but you do, Wil Calloway. I know you do. You see, Sir Jerad sent word. I know you are a seer and you will lead us to the legacy whether you want to or not.’
‘And to make sure you do,’ Imelda added in a honeyed voice ‘we will kill each of those you hold dear, one by one, and not terribly quickly… until you see that, no matter how long it takes, really, the only way that you will be able to stop the killing… is to do as we ask.’
Listening to her words, it dawned on Wil that Imelda and Rexmoore had no idea that the legacy was linked to the Alcama… neither did Tally.
The Jackal danced inches from Wil’s face.
‘So, Calloway, what’s it to be?’
‘You know, Colin,’ interrupted Imelda, her tone still sugary. ‘As we have the lovely Tally all ready and waiting… and a crowd dying to see Armelia’s first witch burning in… ooh, quite a long time.’ She turned defiantly towards her husband but the band had started to play again and, tapping his feet to another tune, he didn’t seem to notice. She turned back – her expression impossible to read. ‘Let’s keep Master Calloway in the wings, as it were, and see if the smell of smoke will make him talk.’
The Jackal bowed so low his nose almost touched his knees.
‘Be my guest, my lady. I am sure Wil’s father, at least, can wait a little longer.’
The anger that Wil was trying so hard to fight down flared at these words and it took a supreme effort to hold his tongue; the idea he was formulating was just starting to take shape and he needed a clear head if he was to have even the slightest chance of making it work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Burning of the Witch
‘No! I’m sorry my love but I absolutely forbid it!’ said Rexmoore with a little stamp of his foot. ‘It’s not even dark! We won’t get the full effect – I mean, people at the back won’t see the flames!’
‘Or hear the screaming,’ sneered The Jackal.
‘I can see that, my Lord,’ said Imelda in the same patient tone that Wil had heard Lady Élanor use when Tally was being difficult, ‘But the crowd is getting restless. Once they’re occupied we can take the others back to the tower for a bit of peace… and persuasion!’
The Jackal surveyed the mass of purple and orange below them and added, ‘They’ll all be running around scaring each other to death once the moons cross anyway, my Lord, so we don’t want to leave the burning until too late. It’ll spoil the impact,’
But Rexmoore was adamant.
‘Now look here,’ he said, puffing out his chest. ‘I don’t ask for much all year Imelda, but this is my festival...’
…as the debate warmed up Wil turned his mind to Phinn. He looked at the darkening sky – time was not on his side. If he could get a message to the Fellhound his plan might just have a bit more of a chance. Timing was everything. He closed his eyes.
‘Phinn, when I say... find Mortimer.’
‘Well, I don’t get much the rest of the year,’ retorted Imelda.
‘Get ready, Phinn. Get ready.’
‘Agh! I can’t believe you said that. I give you everything! Why do you think the castle is a hovel – to pay for your precious golden tower!’
‘Get ready, Phinn. Get ready.’
‘What, that half built effort! You told me it would be ready by this Alcama – just like you did last Alcama and the Alcama before that!’
‘Get ready, Phinn’
‘I think you’ll find, if you think for a moment – you can do that, can’t you? – that it wasn’t even started then!’ blustered Rexmoore.
The effort to concentrate through the blazing row was making Wil feel physically sick. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. In the corral below, Phinn was rubbing his head up and down G
isella’s back – and by the look of it, he was pushing quite hard. In an effort not to fall over, Gisella leant against the Fellhound’s weight. Phinn pushed back. Wil watched – of course! Phinn was trying to get the halter off!
Gisella, trying her best to stay on her feet, threw Wil a questioning glance. He’d managed to work his hand free just enough to straighten his fingers with his palm down praying that she would understand and stay still. But poor Gisella was really getting pushed about and didn’t look at all happy; even so, when two guards moved forward she gave an apologetic shake of her head and whatever she said prompted a hasty retreat.
On the stage Rexmoore planted his hands on his hips.
‘Me! Selfish! For all these months I’ve had to put up with that cousin of yours… and her hats! Eccentric, you said! I can think of at least one other name for it!’
‘That is my family you are insulting!’ hissed Imelda. ‘Colin, light the bonfire!’
The Jackal disappeared out of Wil’s line of vision and Tally shrieked.
‘NO! Get that thing away from me. You… NO! I will rip your entrails out with my teeth when I get free!’
The Jackal’s spiteful giggle rang out over the now rapt audience. All eyes were on the bonfire – ‘Perfect,’ thought Wil.
Below him, Phinn was still battling with the halter but it refused to budge.
‘Phinn, let Gisella help.’
Phinn lowered his head immediately. Gisella hooked her finger into the rope and very slowly the Fellhound backed away. The rope slid over Phinn’s ears.
‘Wait!’ thought Wil.
Phinn stood and watched.
Although Wil could not see her, Tally’s language suggested things were not going well. Smoke was now billowing across the stage. The crowd were a haze of frenzied excitement and amidst the chaos Imelda and Colin were dancing and laughing like children. He couldn’t see Rexmoore but, by the shouting, Wil could tell his Lordship was absolutely furious. It was time.
‘Phinn, find Mortimer. Release the bonacuss!’
The words had hardly left Wil’s mind when, in one arcing bound, Phinn leapt over the corral fence scattering unsuspecting revellers as he landed and sped away. But to Wil’s amazement the crowd simply closed back in; no one gave chase. One of the guards pointed up at the fire and several people laughed; the action was on the stage – the witch was burning!
With Phinn on his way, Wil had to move fast. He tried to block out the sound of Tally, still screaming obscenities – which at least meant she was still alive – and tried to fix another image in his mind–
‘So Calloway, any ideas yet?’ Imelda’s voice broke his concentration. She and The Jackal glided past.
‘Yer, untie me and I’ll show you!’ snarled Wil.
‘Now, now, boy, there’s no need for threats,’ said Rexmoore, his eyes following his dancing wife. ‘You could help yourself – and your friends – by telling us where the legacy– oh no, oh, goodness...’
Mid-spin, The Jackal stopped dancing.
‘Mother!’
Imelda tripped over The Jackal’s booted foot.
From behind Wil a childlike voice drifted through the smoke.
‘A hat! Look Colin, Mommy’s got a new hat. Ooh, so warm. A pretty new hat for Mommy…’
Someone in the front of the crowd screamed and The Jackal, Imelda and Rexmoore all charged out of Wil’s very restricted line of sight. A woman – The Jackal’s mother, Wil guessed – started shrieking, ‘No, not my hat. You can’t have it! Get your own. No! Don’t do that! Aarrgh!’
Doing his best to ignore the unseen commotion, Wil shut his eyes tight and made one final effort.
‘Wil, do something,’ yelled Tally. ‘This wood’s wet but it’s drying fast. Wil, please, you’ve got to do something!’
But it was no good, he couldn’t to it. He couldn’t get them to come.
Desperate now, Wil tried to drag his hands through the shackles, ignoring the razor edges that cut deep into his wrists with every move. Behind him, over Tally’s frantic pleas for help, Wil could hear The Jackal’s mother – whatever was going on back there, she was not happy!
Then another noise – a faint buzzing... the chains around Wil’s hands and feet sprang apart. He clawed at the binding around his head. In seconds he was free. The buzzing got louder. Something tickled his hand – he looked down. The healing burn was covered with bees; bees were crawling across the padlock at his feet and out of the key hole of the lock that had fallen from his wrists.
‘Wil, bees! There’s a swarm of bees!’ yelled Tally.
But Wil grinned. ‘Thank you’.
It took him a moment to locate Gisella through the haze of smoke. As his eyes finally picked her out, the little dragon once more found its voice. Wil pictured the chains around Gisella’s wrists. A black buzzing cloud trailed down into the corral.
‘Wil, anytime today!’ yelled the voice behind him.
Bright orange flames were licking around Tally’s feet. Wil plunged his hand into his boot – to his amazement his knife was still there. He began to hack at ropes that held Tally to the stake–
‘Look, he’s freeing the witch,’ called a voice from the crowd.
‘Stop ‘im,’ cried another.
‘Call this a burning?’
People started to boo and something soft and squidgy hit Wil on the back of the head. A rotten tomato plopped to the floor.
‘Oh, no you don’t!’ The Jackal came from nowhere – and with such force that he took Wil clean off his feet and away from the bonfire.
Tally screamed. The crowd roared. Shouts of encouragement boomed from everywhere. The little dragon wailed.
‘This is more like it!’
‘Go, my son!’
‘Let her burn, let her burn, let her bu-urn,’ they sang.
Wil and The Jackal crashed to the floor. Wil’s hand hit a stray log and his knife disappeared.
‘Guards!’ yelled The Jackal. ‘Guards!’
Wil punched out and caught the boy hard across the cheek, just missing his black eye; but for all Wil was the bigger of the two, The Jackal was on top, with his knee planted firmly on Wil’s other arm.
‘Guards!’ screamed the boy. ‘Can I have a hand up here!’
But no one came. The Jackal punched and punched. Wil felt his cheekbone crack. There was uproar all around them. Then suddenly – a blur of grey; the sound of air being knocked out of a pair of lungs and The Jackal flew high into the air. He landed somewhere past the edge of the stage. Phinn followed.
‘Phinn, No!’ yelled Wil. If Phinn caught The Jackal now he was sure to finish him off and Wil needed the boy alive – Wil needed to find his father.
On all fours, Wil fought to catch his breath. The fire crackled greedily; the crowd were beyond frenzy. An acrid smell filled his nose and with a deafening crack, the stake collapsed and gave in to the flames.
Wil sank into a crouch and wept – it had all been for nothing. Tally was dead.
How was he going to tell Lady Élanor? In a flash Wil’s grief turned to rage. He had come all this way and risked so much, and she was gone. He had tried so hard… and failed … well, maybe there was still time to honour half of his promise. If he could just get Tanith home, back to Lovage Hall. Of course Lady Élanor would never forgive him, but–
‘Are you going to stay there all night,’ asked a cross voice. ‘I mean, it wasn’t even a real fight, Phinn saved you almost as soon as it started. Ooh, that cheek looks a bit painful mind–’
‘Tally!’ Wil was on his feet before she’d finished speaking. ‘How?’
Tally grinned.
‘You forget that I brought those hounds into this world, Wil. I was the first person they saw and I made sure their mother didn’t crush them to death when they suckled. If I was in trouble, do you honestly think they’d just sit there panting?’
‘But what did he do – Phinn – to get you out of the fire?’
‘He’s a Fellhound, Wil – what do you th
ink he did! He’s a bit singed though, but nothing that won’t grow back!’
‘Oh, so that’s what I can smell – burning hair,’ said Wil. Phinn certainly was looking a bit sizzled around the eyebrows.
‘Er, no actually,’ Tally walked to the edge of the deserted stage. Beyond her, the square was half-full and emptying rapidly. There were overturned carts, wrecked stalls and the smouldering remains of campfires everywhere. The little Ridge Creeper was wandering loose, abandoned and by the sound of it, deeply unhappy. ‘Someone let a bonacuss loose.’
Despite the fact that Tally was alive and that his plan for Phinn to find Mortimer must have worked, Wil felt an odd sadness wash over him; it was exactly like the day Rexmoore’s men had taken his father, and the pitiful cry of the Ridge Creeper wasn’t helping one bit!
‘So where are they – Gisella, Mortimer and Seth?’ Wil said, trying to ignore his sinking mood.
‘Well, Tanith is down there with Mia and... Oh… oh, dear. That looks like Gisella.’
Tally stared down into the demolished corral with wide, unblinking eyes.
‘Wil,...it was the bonacuss… she couldn’t get out of the way…No… Imelda… Imelda grabbed her…Wil, Imelda used Gisella as a shield!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Bonacuss Poo
Without stopping to consider the height of the stage, Wil kicked the macabre skull lanterns out of the way and jumped. Phinn followed in an easy leap.
‘Don’t worry,’ Tally called after him. ‘I’ll find my own way down.’
But her pithy tone went unnoticed.
Gisella was lying face down; Mia was nudging her with her huge nose but despite the Fellhound’s best efforts, Gisella didn’t move a muscle. Wil’s throat was so tight speech failed him and unsure of what to do – but knowing he needed to do something – he gently lifted her hair from her face. Her normally tanned cheek was pale as stone but her neck was spattered with green liquid. Carefully lifting her shoulder, Wil could see that Gisella’s orange and purple tunic was green with thick slime. The smell was overpowering.
