“Hang on, Ann!” protested Peter. “You can’t just say you won’t be Queen! The staff chose you.”
Melchior said, quite amiably, “Be quiet, Peter,” and to Annabel’s surprise, Peter was quiet. To Annabel, Melchior said once more: “I see. Then do you have any objections if we make a stop somewhere along the way?”
“Somewhere along the way to what?” Annabel asked suspiciously.
“Along the way to being Queen. You don’t have to make a decision right now: that’s why I took you away from the office. There’s somewhere safe—well, moderately safe—where you can spend these three years before making any important decisions.”
Annabel looked at him even more suspiciously. “What if you don’t like the decision I make?”
“Then I suppose I’ll try to change your mind,” said Melchior. “And unless you have the faintest idea where you’re walking, may I suggest that we use my tunnel spell again?”
That made Annabel stop and take stock of where the earlier tunnel spell had brought them. They were walking in an open field with the first sun of the triad quite high in the sky, and for the first time, it occurred to her that it was quite a nice day. “Why did you bring us here, then?” she demanded.
“That was your fault, Nan!” protested Peter. “You can’t blame Melchior for that!”
“Yes, I can!” instantly replied Annabel. “Whose fault is it that I’m so angry I didn’t want to hold his hand? Whose fault is it that–”
“Undoubtedly mine,” Melchior agreed. “Nan, do you think you can bear to hold my hand for another few minutes? You’re free, of course, to keep walking for another two weeks to get to the same place that will take us only a minute or two by tunnel spell: no doubt you have your reasons.”
Annabel glared at him but took the hand he offered, and on Melchior’s other side Peter did the same.
“How are you going to do a tunnel spell without a solid wall to burrow into?” he asked.
“I don’t need a wall,” said Melchior. “My tunnel spell is somewhat different from the traditional model. I’ll explain it to you later when I can do justice to my cleverness. For now, all you need to know is that I can tunnel through anything and almost any spell.”
“Through castle wards, as well,” Annabel said pointedly. “I know.”
Melchior cleared his throat. “Are we quarrelling again, Nan? Do mind your step: you might find yourself a little dizzy, but it’s nothing to worry about. Here we go–”
The ground before them swirled and turned to darkness as Annabel, all unsuspecting, took her next step. She gasped and grasped Melchior’s hand with both of hers, the world tilting around her and realigning as she found her feet in the tunnel spell.
“Brilliant!” crowed Peter, gurgling with laughter. “Never seen anything like it! Even that one in the castle didn’t do this!”
“I should think not!” said Melchior. “Nan, this is all very affecting, but do you need to hold my hand quite so tightly?”
Annabel muttered and released her death-hold on his hand, forcing one of her hands to drop away altogether and the other to curl loosely within his fingers. “You’re not as clever as all that,” she said aloud.
“Of course I am,” Melchior said. “I’m the only person in the whole of the Two Monarchies who can do that spell.”
“Only until I find out how to do it,” said Peter, with relish. “You’ll have to teach me how.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort!” Melchior said. “What, give up my notoriety?”
“Notoriety?” spluttered Annabel. “Hah! The little man in the office didn’t even know who you were!”
“That’s hurtful, Nan. I’ll have you know that–”
“Anyway,” interrupted Annabel, who didn’t care to be chivvied into a conversation with Melchior again, “where exactly are we going?”
“That’s what I’d like to know, too,” said another voice. It sounded quite inoffensive and curious, but Annabel felt Melchior’s fingers suddenly grip hers, and on his other side, Peter’s breath hissed through his teeth. “It’s not that I’m nosy, but it is my house, after all.”
They emerged, blinking, into the light interior of a decidedly odd room. Annabel, edging slightly behind Melchior, saw three people through the gap between his waist and his arm. There was an older man with green—or were they gold?—eyes, and a lady whose dark hair was intermingled with beads, colourful glass, and feathers. That dark hair was also, if Annabel wasn’t wrong, moving of its own accord.
When she saw them the lady’s face grew bright, and Annabel thought there was a sparkle of tears to her eyes. “Melchior!”
“It’s good to see you again, Poly,” said Melchior, smiling at her in a way that made the wizard step between them.
“I won’t have you flirting with her,” said the wizard. “There was enough of that sort of thing last time.”
“Don’t worry,” Melchior said. “I’m here for another reason.”
“Good grief!” said Peter, who had been staring around at the room. “The floor is grass!”
Poly looked at him in the same bright way she had looked at Melchior, much to Annabel’s interest. There might even have been the slightest suggestion of a laugh in her voice when she said: “Peter! It’s good to see you, too.”
The wizard muttered something under his breath that could have been: “Huh. I thought it was too quiet to last,” and went back to what he had been doing before Melchior’s tunnel spell opened the wall in his home. It must have been something distinctly strong, because Peter instantly stopped staring at Poly and turned his head to see what it was.
“Is that why the floor is grass?” he asked, pointing at the tangle of root and brick that the wizard seemed to be weaving together.
“The floor is grass because the dog likes it,” said the wizard.
Since the only other occupant of the room was a young boy, this confused Annabel. Annoyed at that, and at life in general, she muttered: “That’s just silly. How do you sweep up, anyway?”
The wizard looked at her with bright eyes. “That’s the joy of it,” he said. “You don’t.”
Annabel tore her gaze away from his compelling green one and found that the lady was now looking at her thoughtfully. “You’re the heir,” she said. “So you completed your last directive, Melchior! What’s your name, darling?”
“Annabel,” said Annabel. Her hand was still in Melchior’s, and she tugged it away in annoyance. “I’m not going to be Queen.”
“I see,” said Poly, her grey eyes flicking up at Melchior and then back to Annabel. “You can come into the kitchen with me, if you like: it’s time for Onepiece’s lunch, so we might as well eat. You’ll want to wash your face as well, I expect. They’ll be busy talking about politics and confidential informants for hours, anyway.”
Annabel straightened hopefully, and shot Peter a narrow look when he snickered aloud.
Melchior said: “There still a lot to discuss, Poly–”
“I’m not going to discuss anything,” said Annabel. “You don’t tell the truth anyway. I’m going to eat. You can talk all you want.”
Melchior started after them. “Nan–”
“Not you,” said Poly, quite firmly. “Talk out here with Luck, if you’re going to talk. Annabel and I want to eat.”
“I will also have eating,” said the young boy, who had been watching Annabel intently. “There is never enough eating. This girl has dirt on her face. I like dirt.”
Peter, grinning, said: “You’ve found a kindred spirit, Ann!”
“You go and eat as well,” Melchior said to him, as Annabel was tugged away into the kitchen by the little boy. He called after her: “Nan, we’ll talk later.”
“But I wanted to ask about the not-magic thing!” protested Peter’s fading voice.
“That, much later!”
Peter stomped out into the kitchen a moment later, his face sulky. “Your cat’s getting a bit much, isn’t he, Ann?”
&nb
sp; Poly, watching them both from the other side of the table, dusted the table with a little flour and said: “I hope you both like scones. Luck does, so I learnt how to cook them, but it’s about all I can make.”
“I am liking scones,” said the young boy. “I’m like scones?”
“I like scones, darling,” Poly said. “Or I’m fond of scones.”
“Because contractions,” said the boy. To Annabel, seriously, he said: “I’m fond of contractions. I’m Onepiece. What are you? My magic likes you.”
“I’m Annabel,” said Annabel cautiously.
“Heard that. But what thing are you?”
“She’s not a thing, she’s a girl,” said Poly. More pointedly still, she said: “People are not things, and you need to ask permission if you want to play with her.”
“Oh,” said Onepiece. “Can’t do just a little bit of magic?”
“Not without asking.”
“Oh,” said Onepiece again. “I’m stopping spell?”
“Unless you want me to tie up your magic for the rest of the day,” agreed Poly.
Very much confused, Annabel asked: “Was he doing a spell?”
“Yes,” said Poly. “Sorry about that. We’re still learning about asking permission first. Luck has a habit of forgetting things like that, so I’m trying to make sure Onepiece remembers. You’re such a bright little beacon that he forgot his manners.”
“I’m a beacon?”
Poly nodded, kneading her dough while Onepiece wriggled his fingers at the flour that floated in the air and turned it into different shapes. “Even my magic is trying to get closer to you, and I’ve usually got it under pretty good control these days. Do you see how my hair is wafting toward you?”
“I thought it was moving!” said Peter in triumph. “That’s– I haven’t ever seen anything like that! I can’t even tell what sort of magic yours is: it’s got too many different facets.”
“Ah, yes. Remind me to show you my anti-magic arm later.”
Peter sat up very straight in excitement. “Is that what that is? I didn’t know it could be found in people!”
“It can’t,” said Poly. “Technically, that is. Annabel, if you want to wash your face, there’s a basin over there. It fills and empties itself, so don’t be alarmed.”
Annabel left her seat and inspected the basin with some caution, but it wasn’t so very frightening, after all: it filled itself in a smooth flow from a small, pumpless faucet, and then seemed to wait patiently for her to begin.
“Baths,” said Onepiece, who had followed her over to the sink, “is necessary and evil.”
“A necessary evil, darling,” said Poly, as Annabel dipped the fingers of one hand in the basin. “Now, I quite understand you, Annabel, but why is Peter travelling with you?”
“That’s Rorkin’s fault,” Annabel said grumpily, splashing water over her dirty, swollen face. It was pleasantly cool without being too cold.
“Rorkin,” said Poly thoughtfully. “How interesting.”
“Ann’s just annoyed because he put us back three years into the past. Well, three years into our past, anyway.”
“Thought I felt something odd this morning,” said Luck’s voice, from the doorway. “Poly, I was promised scones, and there are no scones.”
“If you’re in that much of a hurry, you can magic them yourself.”
“Can’t,” Luck said. “They taste wrong. Yours are the best scones, Poly.”
Annabel was wiping her face, but she saw the pleased flush that rose in Poly’s face. Poly said: “It’s no good buttering me up. They still have to cook. Ten minutes.”
“We’ll come back in ten minutes, then,” said Luck, but Melchior was already pushing into the room to inspect Annabel’s face.
“Much better,” he said. “You don’t look like a snotty little girl any longer.”
“You can find a couple of rooms for Annabel and Peter to stay in, then,” Poly told Luck. “Not ones that will wander off again, either.”
“I don’t mind!” said Peter at once, looking very much interested. “Oh! You mean Ann! I can go and find her if she goes missing, after all.”
“Wait,” said Annabel uncertainly. “I’m to live– I don’t want to live here! I’m going to live with Blackfoot. With Melchior, that is.”
“I thought you were still cross with him,” said Peter impatiently. “Make up your mind, Ann!”
“I am,” Annabel said. “But I know he’s a liar now. I know not to trust him. And if I have to be Queen, I’m going to make sure he’s got to do something nasty, as well.”
“Well,” said Melchior, grinning, “then that’s settled. Annabel’s my ward. I’ll keep her at my place in– what?”
Poly, shaking her head, dusted off her floury hands. “You can’t, Melchior. What would people think?”
“What would they– I’m old enough to be her father!”
“You’re not, you know,” said Luck. “What is she, fourteen, fifteen? Even if you count five years of being a cat—you can’t, by the way, because your human self hasn’t aged and an ancient idiot thought it was a good idea to involve you in a three year time shift—you’re still only…wait, how old is he, Poly?”
“Twenty-four, at my count,” said Poly. “And my count won’t matter, anyway, because people will think you’ve only been gone two years. You can’t, Melchior. You don’t look a day over twenty.”
“Exactly,” said Luck, who didn’t look much older than Melchior himself.
“If we’re going to talk about human selves not aging,” said Melchior, his sarcastic mouth particularly thin, “we might consider this instance a particularly egregious example of the feet telling the nose they smell.”
Annabel coughed a laugh into her collar in spite of herself, and Peter grinned.
“Besides,” said Luck, ignoring both the jibe and the laughter it occasioned, “she’ll have to go to school eventually. It’s no good trying to learn to be a Queen here. She’ll have to go to Trenthams, I should think.”
“I want to stay here,” said Peter unexpectedly. “I can’t go back just yet, anyway. Ann, you can come back to visit on holidays. I want to learn about magic here.”
“I want to see Blackfoot on holidays,” Annabel said, rather more loudly.
“Well, that shouldn’t be a problem,” Poly said thoughtfully. “There’s no need to start at Trenthams until you’re sixteen or seventeen, anyway. If you’re going to visit your guardian with a friend during holidays, there shouldn’t be too many raised brows. You’ll have to clear out your house and get a housekeeper, though, Melchior.”
“And a maid for Nan,” agreed Melchior.
Luck tilted his head and stared at Annabel until she wanted to squirm out of sight. “All right, but what do we do with her until then?”
“I’m here,” she said. “I’m not ‘her’.”
Luck only stared at her for a little longer before he said: “I can’t teach her anything about magic, you know. She won’t understand. What will she do here?”
“I’ll give her lessons,” said Melchior. “I’ll be gone for a while to visit Mr. Pennicott, but after that we’ll begin lessons on foreign policy, statecraft, and how to say things nicely.”
“Yes,” said Annabel, not nicely. “You can teach me how to lie. It’ll probably be very useful.”
“Nan, I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not,” Annabel said. She knew he was sorry, to a certain extent; she was also quite well aware that he was, to a large degree, not sorry. “You’d do the exact same thing again.”
“Yes,” said Melchior. “That’s why you have to forgive me. I’m not sorry, Nan: forgive me.”
“All right,” Annabel said. She saw that he was looking slightly speculative, and added: “Don’t go giving me another cat.”
Melchior choked, and Poly chuckled.
“Nan–”
“I don’t like cats.”
“All right, all right, Nan. I won’t give you another
cat. It simply occurred to me that you might like–”
“Well, I wouldn’t, so don’t.”
“She has dog now,” said Onepiece. He leaned his head worshipfully against Annabel’s hip and grabbed her hand with both of his. “Dogs are better.”
Melchior eyed him with disfavour, but only said: “Very well. I’ll bring you something back from the Capital instead.”
Annabel huffed out a breath. “I suppose I’ll stay here until I have to go to Trenthams, then.”
“That’s very good of you, Nan. I’m sure Poly feels adequately thanked for her hospitality.”
Annabel, who had never learned the niceties of behaviour with Grenna, turned her eyes on Poly and saw that she was looking very much amused. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“That’s quite all right,” Poly said. “Luck still hasn’t learned to be polite yet, and he’s rather older than you.”
Luck gave Annabel a glassy look that she returned with one of her flat, blank looks. It made Melchior choke with laughter, and Poly’s low chuckle curled through the air again.
“Oh, I’m looking forward to this!” she said. “I would have been glad to see you again anyway, Melchior, but this is just wonderful. And now that Isabella has gone to Trenthams for her first year, it’ll be nice to have some company for Onepiece around the house.”
“The little firebrand is grown up, is she?”
“Sixteen,” agreed Poly. “And she’s so stylish, Melchior!”
“When was she anything else?” enquired Melchior, his hazel eyes nearly as fond as Annabel had ever seen them.
Frowning, she asked: “Who is grown up?”
“Isabella Farrah,” Poly said. “She’s the daughter of our ambassador. Goodness, that will be fun, too! We’ll have to arrange a meeting for you– I don’t suppose you particularly love clothes, do you? There’s no need to choke, Melchior. Never mind, Isabella has an adaptive sort of mind: you’ll get along very well, I think.”
“Who knows, Ann?” said Peter, grinning, “Maybe that’s why Rorkin put the castle back in the wrong time. He probably thought it’s the only way you’d make friends.”
Blackfoot Page 28
