“Patterns? Wait, what about my pattern of not doing anything unless I have to do it? Why didn’t you notice that? That’s not a very Queenly trait.”
“I’d stop wriggling, if I were you,” Rorkin advised. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”
Annabel made a face at him and plopped her chin into her palms.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” Rorkin said. “Your subjects will think you’re odd.”
“You’re the only one around, and you’re odder than I am.”
“That’s rude and more than slightly true.”
“Wait, does that mean the castle thought I was being noble when I went to offer myself to Mordion in exchange for Peter?”
“Oh, no,” said Rorkin. “You failed that bit. The impact of your capture would have been far greater than the impact of one person’s death. The Two Monarchies wouldn’t have suffered alone: the repercussions would have been felt all the way to Lacuna and Calipha. You were supposed to consider how the outcome would affect the whole country, not you personally. But it was close enough, so I let it slide.”
“Are you allowed to do that?” Annabel said doubtfully.
“Why not? I made the rules, after all.”
“Who put you in charge, anyway?”
“Oh, that. I did that. Well, it was me and– enough of that. You passed! Aren’t you happy?”
“Happy? Why? I don’t care about your stupid tests! I don’t want to be the Queen Heir!”
“A sense of a satisfaction is a great thing,” said Rorkin. “Don’t go sniffing at it.”
“You– wait, what was that?”
“What?”
Annabel, certain that she had heard something drop, and someone swear, looked accusingly at Rorkin. “There’s someone in your cupboard.”
“Can’t be,” said Rorkin promptly. “I don’t keep people in that cupboard.”
From the cupboard came the distinct sound of something being hit, and another voice.
Annabel’s eyes narrowed on Rorkin. “There’s someone in there.”
“Can’t be.” Rorkin’s eyes looked away and back at her again.
Annabel let her face go blank and slack again by way of unsettling him, and saw him twitch. “Are you lying to me?”
“Maybe.”
“Did I draw them back in, too?”
“What, them?” Rorkin giggled. “No one draws them anywhere! They just show up and make a space for themselves. All through the length and breadth of history, there they are, making changes and leaving clues. You can be sure that whenever they turn up, something is going to happen. Even in their younger incarnations, they tend to pull the timeline out of skew. Well, look at how quickly the castle came back! You don’t think you did that all by you– well, now, look at the time! It’s past your bedtime.”
Annabel took in a slow, meditative breath through her nose, considering whether or not it was worth pushing him on the subject. She looked up to find that Rorkin was watching her with bright eyes, entirely unapologetic, and decided that in this, as in quite a few other things, she would simply wait and find out what he meant by it.
“Thanks,” she said, surprising herself again because she found that she was thankful. She leaned up and kissed Rorkin’s cheek, and he went as dark red as it was possible for someone of his skin colour to go. “I’ll remember that.”
“Are you quite finished, Nan?” said Melchior’s voice. He was leaning elegantly in the open doorway of Rorkin’s room—since when had it been open? She was sure she had closed it—and it was impossible to tell how long he’d been there. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow, as soon as the warding comes down. You should be sleeping.”
Rorkin, his eyes still bright and a little mad, gurgled with laughter. “Heard about you! Wondered what you looked like!”
“Is that so?” Melchior’s gaze wandered over Rorkin, as if he, too, had been curious to know what Rorkin looked like, and Annabel had the sense that there was another thing she would learn about in due course.
“I’ll come down soon,” she said. “You don’t have to wait for me.”
“It’s no trouble,” Melchior said, with an insincere smile. “I’ll be in the hall.”
“Think he wants you to go with him,” pointed out Rorkin, as the door closed behind Melchior.
“I suppose so.” Annabel looked around the room one last time, and having done so, understood something else. The cobwebs and the general mess might be back in Rorkin’s quarters, but it wasn’t as messy as it had been. That, she was quite certain, was because several things were missing: she was also quite certain that those things were in the small, bumpy bag currently sitting next to the cupboard. “Are you leaving? Is that why there are people in the cupboard?”
“Got to,” Rorkin said. “I’m not supposed to be here yet.”
“Yet?”
“And your little friend can’t go home: make sure you tell him. Mind you, he might not need to be told, if it comes to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“And you– you stop wriggling. You can’t go home, either.”
“But you said–”
Rorkin put his fingers in his ears. “Told you before about quoting me to me. It gives me a nasty shiver.”
“That’s because you lie so much.”
“Probably.”
“Will I see you again?”
Rorkin looked a little surprised. “Hm. Don’t actually know that. I know what I’m meant to do, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it. Think I’ve come to the end of my knowing. Mind the gap when you leave the castle, won’t you? It won’t be quite so big when you get back.”
He pushed her toward the door as he spoke, and Annabel, who wanted to ask about quite a few more things, was expelled from the room, still protesting.
“I need my beauty rest, too,” said Rorkin, and closed the door.
16
Annabel woke to the disrupting motion of Peter bouncing on her bed. Last night, it had made sense for them all to find rooms to sleep in: now, with Peter’s energetic bouncing, she wasn’t so sure.
“Ann, get up! The warding has gone down! We can leave whenever we’re ready!”
Annabel groaned and rolled over, wrapping her arms around her head to block out Peter’s exuberance and the bright light of morning alike. “Go away!”
She didn’t have any hope that he actually would go away. With Peter, bouncing ignored usually turned to being pinned beneath the covers while he merrily poked fingers in her ears and cold cogs down the neck of her night-dress. So when there was a brief scuffle and Peter’s weight abruptly lifted from the covers above her, Annabel sat up, fuzzily confused.
“All right, all right, I’m off!” said Peter’s voice, rather annoyed. Annabel rubbed her eyes and found that he was now standing by the doorway with his collar pulled up at one side, flustered and untidy. Beside him, Melchior was fresh and neat, with a distinctly sardonic gleam to his hazel eyes.
“Come along, Nan,” he said. “The triad is well up and the barrier is indeed gone. We should be getting along now.”
“Getting along?” Annabel spluttered. She hadn’t meant to speak to him at all—she was still angry with him—but despite what both he and Rorkin said, she had thought, somehow, that now everything was all over, she would simply go home with Peter. If she had thought any further, it would only have been to decide that after a while, she might like to clean out Grenna’s cottage and live there. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll recall, Nan, that I told you about my missions?”
“I remember,” said Annabel, rather grimly. “What about them?”
“There are a lot of people in the Capital who will be very happy to meet you. If it comes to that, there are quite a few people you’ll need to meet before you can even think about being officially named heir, Rorkin or no Rorkin. On the bright side, you have the staff, so that should smooth most things over.”
Annabel hunched her shoulders. “I d
on’t want to meet anyone. I don’t want to go to the Capital. I want to go back with Peter and live with him.”
“Who invited you?” demanded Peter. “If we’re going to have emissaries and couriers knocking at the gate all the time, wanting to speak with the Heir–”
“You won’t!” Annabel flashed. “Because I’m not going to be the Queen!”
Peter snorted rudely. “I bet a few people will have something to say about that!”
“More than a few, if I know anything about it,” Melchior said. “Nan, it’s no use staying here: when it gets out that the Queen Heir is staying at a country estate near the castle, there’ll be a veritable stampede to curry favour. What else will you do?”
“There’s the cottage,” Annabel muttered, but couldn’t bring herself to voice the nebulous idea she’d had of turning Grenna’s cottage into her own quiet, comfortable little world.
“We’d best be going soon,” said Melchior, as if she hadn’t spoken. To Peter, he said: “You’ll go home now, I suppose?”
“What?” Peter sounded as taken-aback as Annabel had been at the thought of leaving. “Home– well– I suppose– No, of course not! I should go with Ann.”
Melchior raised one brow, his lips particularly sarcastic. “Oh, you should, should you? I suppose we’d best begin, then.”
Peter hesitated. “What about the castle?”
“What about it?”
“Well, can we leave it empty like this? Won’t people notice it?”
“I should hope so,” said Melchior. “It is rather large, after all. I’d be disappointed in Mr. Pennicott if he didn’t notice.”
“But is it all right just to leave it here?”
“We can’t pick it up and take it with us,” Annabel said snidely. “Of course we’re just going to leave it here!”
“Actually,” said Peter, willing for an argument, “I bet if we asked Rorkin, he could do it.”
“We can’t ask him,” Annabel said. “He’s gone.”
“What?” said Peter and Melchior together.
Annabel, pleased to know something they didn’t, said: “He went last night while you were sleeping.”
“You–”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Nan?”
“Why should I?” demanded Annabel. “You lied to me this whole time. I just didn’t tell you all the truth. Anyway, he has other things he needs to do: he said he’s finished what he was meant to do here.”
“I’ll say,” muttered Peter. “Bother! I wanted him to teach me magic!”
“Maybe that’s why he left without telling you,” said Annabel, even more snidely. “Go away, both of you. I need to get dressed.”
“I don’t see why you’re worried about that now,” Peter said, much disgruntled. “It’s not as though we haven’t gone swimming and run about in our underwear together for the last– ow! All right! I’m going! Don’t tear my collar out!”
Still protesting the misuse of his collar, he was dragged out by Melchior, who closed the door behind him. Annabel made a face at the closed door, refusing to feel grateful to Melchior, and took a leisurely half hour dressing as a quiet sort of rebellion. It was a wasted effort: Peter had already gone down to the courtyard by the time she emerged, and Melchior, who was waiting for her, only pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and enquired affably if she was ready to go down now.
Annabel murmured something that could have been yes, and followed him down through the castle silently. Melchior didn’t comment, but his eyes were thoughtful and maybe a little bit sorry. Annabel saw it, but hardened her heart and stomped out into the courtyard ahead of him.
Peter rolled his eyes at her. “Took you long enough, didn’t it? What were you doing, sewing a whole new frock? All of the suns are up now. It’s going to be hot, so it’s your own fault if you get too sweaty walking.”
“I won’t be walking very far,” Annabel said grimly, and went on ahead of them through the courtyard gate.
Rorkin had said to mind the gap, but although she was very careful about how she stepped over the stone-paved gateway, Annabel didn’t notice anything particularly dangerous. It wasn’t until she turned around and saw that Peter and Melchior were gazing around in wonder with the ruins of the castle behind them that she felt the first stirring of dread.
“What–” she said. “What happened? It’s all in ruins again!”
Peter blinked a little and woke from his trance. “Ann,” he said. “I think you might have done something a bit odd when you drew the castle back in.”
Melchior, who had been gazing around in the same, stupefied sort of way, smiled a slow smile. “Nothing to do with the castle,” he said. “At my guess, we’ve gone back by about three years. No, don’t go that way: it’s not a good idea to meet a younger version of yourself face to face.”
“What do you know about meeting your younger self face to face?” Peter demanded, his eyes bright.
“It’s more what I know about meeting someone else’s younger self face to face,” said Melchior. “And don’t ask me any more about it, because I won’t tell you.”
“But–”
Annabel swallowed hard. “What do you mean, we’ve gone back by three years? How can we have gone back three years? I drew– I drew the castle back the same way the second time!”
“Well, just look at that!” Peter said exuberantly. “I felt the change as soon as we got past the gate. Actually, I should have noticed the triad was in a different place, but I didn’t even think about it.”
“We’ll get Rorkin to fix it,” Annabel said, rather blindly. It was only now that she knew there was nothing she could do about it that she realised how very badly she had wanted to be able to slip away and go back to Grenna’s cottage by herself. “He’ll help me erase it all and bring it back into the right time.”
“Rorkin’s gone, remember? And really, Ann, I don’t think he’d be able to do much about it. Melchior’s right: it’s not the castle that’s gone back in time. It’s us.”
“Well, what about your tickerbox, then?”
“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” remarked Peter. “If I’m right—and I am—I can’t go back to see my mother for another three years. And I’ll have to find somewhere to live in the meantime.”
“I would be very much surprised if Rorkin didn’t have a hand in this somewhere, Nan. That being the case, I very much doubt there’s anything you or I can do about it.”
“That wizard!” muttered Annabel. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Melchior was right. Not content with causing her to run around and take tests that were as varied as they were dangerous, Rorkin had, for reasons entirely his own, plumped Annabel, the castle, and all those it contained, squarely back in time by three years. “It probably didn’t have anything to do with me at all! I’m sure I drew the castle back the same way the second time. He must have put a spell on the gate. What is he up to now?”
Peter shrugged. “Maybe there’s something you need to do in the next three years. Maybe there’s someone you need to meet. Don’t I wish I could have asked him a bit about time-travel!”
“He should have asked us!”
“I don’t think Rorkin makes a habit of asking, Nan. I’ve found that wizards who are more than two hundred years old very rarely ask permission to do the things they do.”
“I suppose you’re more than two hundred years old, then,” Annabel said. “You don’t ask permission to do things, either.”
“There’s no use complaining about it,” Melchior said gently. “We’ll just have to go on to the Capital and keep things very, very quiet until three years have passed.”
“Where exactly are we going?” Annabel demanded, since there was no point in refusing to go with Melchior now that she couldn’t go back to the cottage. She still felt decidedly off-balance with human Blackfoot: his voice was familiar but everything else was completely alien. Worse, she had become used to hearing his voice at the back of her
mind. Now that she couldn’t, it left an uncomfortable space that was horribly similar to the core of blackness still remaining at the centre of the castle.
“I told you that, Nan,” said Melchior’s familiarly unfamiliar voice. “There are people who will want to meet you.”
Annabel stared up at his face, searching for anything recognisable as Blackfoot, and felt a sharp pain in her chest when she couldn’t find it. “Yes, but that doesn’t actually tell me anything. Who wants to meet me? Where are they?”
Melchior sighed. “A great many people, Nan. But most importantly, Mr. Pennicott will need to meet you. His office is…well, it’s in the Capital, but not quite. He’ll want to talk to you and set things in order in a legal sort of a way. He’ll also be very useful when it comes to making arrangements to keep you out of sight for the next three years. Then, of course, you’ll need to be taught how to act and speak, and you’ll need to take more lessons than you’ve ever imagined in your worst nightmares.”
“That’ll take longer than three years!” Peter said brutally. “And don’t expect me to stay around for all that, either, Ann! I don’t want to be in the same classroom as you. It’s embarrassing.”
“You,” said Melchior, “are welcome to go away whenever it seems good to you. I’m not remotely interested in making sure that you get lessons.”
“Hey!” Peter protested. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that! I’m just a kid: you can’t tell me to go away when I haven’t got anywhere to go! I might starve!”
Melchior muttered something that sounded like: “One can only hope,” and added more loudly: “It’s no use wasting time here, at any rate.”
He reinforced these words by opening a tunnel without warning in the biggest available piece of castle wall. Annabel jumped and scuttled away from the swirling darkness.
“Sure that’s a good idea?” enquired Peter. “What with the castle being stuffed full of shifted temporal remnant and the time shift?”
Blackfoot Page 26
