by Farr, Cathy;
‘Are you going to eat that?’ asked Tally as Wil pushed a piece of potato around his plate with his fork.
‘Er…No – thanks - I’m not really very hungry – I think I had too much of Martha’s honey cake earlier,’ he lied, and, finally giving up with his food, he put his knife and fork together on the plate and pushed the whole lot away from him.
He sat with his arms folded across the table and stared into the discarded meal.
‘Are you afraid? You know – about tomorrow night?’ Tally asked, studying her hands as she spoke.
Wil didn’t answer. Yes, actually he was absolutely terrified, but he couldn’t see that talking about it was going to help. He was trying so hard to keep control – to ignore the sick feeling that was welling-up inside him – to stop his legs from shaking as he sat there.
‘Do you want some elder wine?’
Tally got up and reached for two glass goblets stored on one of the highest shelves in the kitchen. She stretched-up as tall as she could make herself, but her fingers couldn’t quite touch the glasses. Still brooding Wil didn’t move to help so she grabbed a chair, hitched up her skirt rather higher than was strictly necessary and hopped-up to retrieve the goblets.
After pouring out two glasses of wine she banged the cork back into the flask, put one glass in front of Wil and sat back down opposite him. She cupped her own glass in both hands but didn’t take a drink.
‘Will Lady Élanor let you go on a Moon Chase when you’re older?’ Wil asked and sipped the sweet liquid – this time it soothed and warmed him as it slipped down his throat.
‘She will never let me hunt,’ snapped Tally.
‘But I thought you had your own Fellhound? Bryn told me.’
‘I have, but I think that was just to stop me from pestering her all the time. Pickles is more of a pet really.’
Wil choked on a mouthful of wine.
‘Pickles! What kind of a name is that for a giant hound, capable of ripping-out the throats of vicious Wraithe Wolves and unsuspecting villains?’
‘I was very young when Eli gave him to me – and he was a lot smaller when I first had him. I just thought he was cute,’ she answered defensively and swirled the contents of her glass so that the liquid almost spilled over the edge. Her face was beetroot. ‘It suits him – and anyway – he’s used to it now!’
‘Well I can see why Lady Élanor doesn’t want you to hunt with him – she doesn’t want people to laugh!’
Tally slammed her glass down on the table. Elder wine splashed out over her hand. Wil feared another flounce and spoke quickly to pacify her.
‘Look, I’m sorry – I’m sure Pickles is just great – but you do have to admit that it’s a bit of an odd name for a Fellhound.’
Tally sullenly licked the wine off her hand and then wiped it in her skirt.
‘What’s this legacy that the members of the Order were talking about earlier?’ Wil asked, in an attempt to change the subject away from Fellhounds and Moon Chases altogether. He took another sip. Tally continued to pout – but at least she hadn’t left the room in a cascade of elder wine – which Wil felt, was progress.
‘Who was Lord Lakeston?’ he persisted.
Tally looked up, her eyes suddenly sad.
‘Lord Lakeston ruled Thesk before Rexmoore. He was our father – he’s dead.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. How – when – did he..?’ Wil felt extremely awkward and immediately regretted asking the question.
‘He died when I was young. My mother died giving birth to me. My father never really got over losing her – Eli says she was his world – after she went, he just gave up. He died when I was five, by which time Lord Rexmoore and his wife Imelda, my mother’s sister, had taken all of my father’s land and the power that went with it.’
‘But Saran’s a long way from Rexmoore’s castle in Armelia. How did you end up living here, in Lovage Hall?’ asked Wil.
‘Eli looked after me after my mother died; Father bought Lovage Hall and sent us here to keep us out of Rexmoore and Imelda’s way. He helped Eli to set up the infirmary for the town. Imelda hates Eli because of her power - she doesn’t know about mine.’
‘Was that the legacy – Lovage Hall?’
‘Sort of – I don’t really know but our father made sure that we would always have enough gold to keep the Infirmary going and to live independently. He had to make sure that we never had to ask his sister for anything. She’s selfish and greedy. It’s her extravagant demands that are behind Rexmoore’s ever increasing taxes – she has a very expensive lifestyle and doesn’t care what it might cost the people of Thesk.’
Wil sat for a few minutes and pondered on what she had just told him. A thought struck him.
‘So the legacy is the money that he left you – the gold? You have hidden it and Rexmoore wants it. He sent Tinniswood to try to find out where it is?’
Tally eyed him across the table and took a gulp of wine before she answered.
‘Basically – yes. But only three people know where the gold is … and, before you ask - No, I am not one of them!’
For the first night since he had arrived in Saran, Wil did not sleep well. He tossed and turned, and when he did sleep he dreamed of ferocious wolves that chased him and Tally. Each time the wolves got close to catching them Tally turned into a golden statue. Then, in another, dream Sir Jerad was banging on the bedroom door demanding to know where the gold was kept, then he rushed out into the courtyard, ripped up all of Lady Élanor’s plants and ate them, but Wil couldn’t stop him because the bedroom door was locked.
At the first sign of dawn Wil finally gave up any hope of sleep, got up, dressed in a baggy tunic and a pair of trousers that were clearly made for a rounder figure, and padded downstairs in his bare feet.
Lovage Hall was absolutely silent. He wandered through the living room and sat at the kitchen table not knowing quite what to do - he didn’t want to make any breakfast in case he disturbed the rest of the household as it was still very early.
After a while Wil started to get cold and that familiar fear crept back into his unoccupied mind. He rubbed his eyes and went over to the window to peer out into the morning gloom. A cold gusting wind had picked up during the night – it swirled drizzling rain around the myriads of plants that refused to give-up flowering despite the lateness of the year.
As he gazed out gloomily, a cloaked figure skulked out of the infirmary and pressed right up against the wall. The kitchen was still in relative darkness so Wil was certain he could not be seen where he stood. He watched the figure moving slowly towards the pharmacy; Wil could see that it was too tall to be Tally and even under a cloak he was sure that Lady Élanor’s long silver hair would be noticeable.
The figure reached the corner of the courtyard and disappeared from view. But after a few seconds Wil heard the bolt on the pharmacy door being scraped open. Without thinking Wil grabbed the biggest frying pan that he could lay his hands on and banged it down hard on the range. CLANNGGG!
Then he ran back to the window. The mystery visitor was pelting back towards the infirmary. At that moment Lady Élanor and Tally burst in from the living room. Lady Élanor was fully dressed but Tally was still in her nightshirt; a tangled cloud of silver hair suggested that she had only a short while before been very soundly asleep.
‘Wil, what on earth are you doing?’ demanded Lady Élanor.
Words of explanation tumbled out of Wil’s mouth. ‘There was someone in the garden - going into the pharmacy. Wasn’t Martha - I didn’t know what else to do! Just wanted to let them know I was here – to frighten them off.’
He knew if it had been Martha she would have marched straight into the kitchen and shouted at him for trying to damage one of her precious cooking pans!
‘They ran off – into the infirmary – I was going to follow…’
‘Was it Sir Jerad, Wil?’ demanded Lady Élanor. ‘Did he get into the pharmacy?’
‘No. I don’t know who it was – I o
nly saw Sir Jerad once - in the jail - when he was crouching in the dark swearing at me!’ Wil answered. He was on his tip-toes trying to get a better look across the wet courtyard. ‘Whoever it was, they went back into the Infirmary when I banged the pan. What happened to the Fellmen and the hounds? I thought someone was supposed to be patrolling?’
‘So did I!’ frowned Lady Élanor. ‘Tally, go get dressed – be quick! Then take Wil up to the stables to check everything is alright. I’ll go over to the infirmary to check on Seth and Bryn.’
Before Wil could object to her going alone, Lady Élanor was running across the courtyard towards the infirmary door. Tally also vanished only to re- appear a few minutes later, dressed and carrying a grey woollen bundle that she threw over to Wil.
‘You can use this cloak – I dug it out for you last night to take on the Moon Chase. Get your boots - come on!’
She hopped across the kitchen tugging on a battered leather boot while Wil ran back to get his from the bedroom. Martha’s hand was already on the door handle when they charged out of the kitchen moments later.
‘Goodness me, why is everyone in such a rush? Lady Élanor’s already nearly knocked me off my feet this morning!’
‘Sorry Martha – no time to explain!’ yelled Tally, jumping sideways just in time.
She and Wil sprinted across the courtyard and Tally threw open the Infirmary’s big oak doors. She was about to head for the beech wood when Wil skidded to a halt.
‘That cloak – there – it’s exactly like the one that the man was wearing – the man I saw this morning,’ he said pointing at a long, dark green cloak, dripping from one of the iron hooks in the hallway. ‘Look - its wet – there’s muddy foot prints, too!’
‘I really think we had better go and check the stables, Will!’ said Tally.
Tanith looked out over his stall door and snorted gently when Tally and Wil ran into the stable block. Tally rushed in, gave him a quick pat, apologised for not bringing his breakfast and then sped out to the stock shed. Just as Wil turned on his heels to follow, the sound of ruffling feathers caught his attention; he looked along the stalls and up into the gloom of the rafters but there was no sign of Pricilla; he guessed that a chicken was roosting in one of the stables and went after Tally.
The puppies were once again all knotted together in a snoozing heap and Tally had to count them three times before she was happy that all six were there.
Willow made no attempt to get up or even raise her head; she just followed Tally with her knowing eyes as if she suspected that while all was not well, it was unlikely to concern her or her rotund puppies as they all dozed in the warm straw – Wil guessed that Martha must have made sure they were fed before going down to the Hall.
Tally stood in the middle of the dusty shed and closed her eyes – her arms hung limp at her sides as she took slow, deep breaths. Soft drizzle drifted across the open doorway. Wil watched. A faint prickling sensation tingled behind his ears but it melted away as soon as Tally opened her eyes.
‘I can’t see anyone up here, but we’d better check on the others, too - although they are perfectly capable of looking after themselves,’ said Tally and marched across the yard to another run of stables.
There was no sign of life on that side. Wil could see that each one opened out on to a big field through a second doorway at the rear. Tally walked into the first stable and called out in a high-pitched voice.
‘Pickles! Allana! Look! Look! Come on. Pickles!’
In the distance, Wil could hear the regular pounding of galloping feet getting nearer – a lot of galloping feet!
In another moment the quiet stable burst into life as it filled with Fellhounds. Two huge, fully grown hounds bounded in first, one pure black - the other, a mottled grey and golden-brown; bringing up the rear were six almost black long-legged pups all jostling to get through the doorway at once. They were much larger than Willow’s litter, but far, far smaller than the two adult hounds.
‘This is Pickles!’ Tally announced proudly as the mottled hound nuzzled into her neck. He was altogether bigger than Allana. Tally giggled and struggled to keep her balance as Pickles, delighted to see his mistress, nudged her almost off her feet. ‘The other one is Allana, Eli’s hound. And these little monsters are her latest litter. Go on, out Pickles! You can’t all fit in here together, go on - OUT!’
Pickles, looking crest-fallen, wandered out and back in through the doorway of the next stable, from where he craned his neck over the wooden stall and sniffed his mistress. Allana was not quite as trusting of the stranger in front of her - she stood between Wil and her pups and eyed him warily.
‘It’s alright Ana, this is Wil,’ said Tally in a soothing tone. ‘Come over and pat her, Wil. That’s it - put your hand out so that she can smell you. Give her one of these.’
Tally gave Wil an apple which he held out nervously. Allana stretched as far forward as she could without taking a step and gingerly took the apple from his hand. Then she turned on her haunches and bounded out into the field where she chomped on the fruit. Three of her pups scampered after her and hoovered morsels of crushed apple that she dropped as she munched. Once the apple was gone Allana came back into the stable and nudged Wil’s hand with her huge nose.
‘Oh, a bit braver after some bribery, hey? One’s enough for you, madam!’ scolded Tally, but then she said with a smile, ‘Can we see your pups now?’
As she spoke, Tally stepped forward and stroked the head of a lanky puppy nearest to her. The others, gathering confidence, bundled over one another in search of more apples and a cuddle. Very soon both Tally and Wil were sat in the straw with all six pups clambering over them, nestling into their laps or tugging on any piece of clothing that was within reach. Allana sat sphinx-like watching the mayhem and Pickles wandered in and out of the stable, his nose obviously out of joint because Tally was playing with the puppies. Eventually he lay down right up against her as close as he could get without sitting on her lap, and fell asleep.
‘I have to admit – they don’t seem to be very scary when they’re like this,’ observed Wil. One of the pups was licking his ear and another had hold of the fold of his boot, which it was chewing happily.
‘Well, I did say that Pickles was more of a pet and Allana is retired now – although both of them can hold their own if they need to. The pups haven’t started their training yet, but they’ve certainly got the right instincts – Look!’
Tally nodded towards two pups playing together. They tumbled and growled and took turns to hold each other down by the throat. Images of the rapidly approaching Moon Chase crashed into Wil’s mind - did fully-grown Fellhounds hunt like that? Would they really fight with the wolves? Would the wolves run or fight back? And would he, Wil, be able to tell the difference between a Fellhound and Wraithe Wolf in the dead of night if his life depended on it?
Wil was sat worrying when Bryn appeared in the doorway.
‘Though’ I’d find you ‘ere! No intruders amongst them pups then?’ His eyes twinkled as he looked down at the huddle of people and hounds.
‘Bryn! Did Lady Élanor say that it was OK for you to be up and about?’ Tally’s voice was filled with concern as she and Pickles clambered to their feet - Pickles wagged his long tail lazily.
‘I’ll be fine – Lady E told me about yer myst’ry visitor though. Funny enough me cloak were wet when I put it on to come up ere. Thought one o’ you might a borrowed it? Me boots were muddy too!’ He held his foot up to show the damp, muddy boot below his cloak. There was an apple-sized bruise on the man’s temple.
‘Well neither of us borrowed your cloak, Bryn – it would be miles too big for me and as you can see I found old Monty Barrowman’s for Wil,’ said Tally.
‘Barrowman’s cloak, eh?’ said Bryn. He squinted into the dimly lit stable. ‘Le’s ‘ope i’ brings you more luck than i’ gave ‘im! Ol’ fool - thought ‘e could take on a Wraithe Wolf single-’anded. I ‘ope they cleaned i’. They…’
&
nbsp; Tally interrupted hastily.
‘I think that’s enough of that story Bryn! Wil will wear the cloak tonight, and as you know he will not be on his own.’
‘BRYN! BRYN! Where are you man?’ A young man’s voice echoed around the yard outside. Bryn did not look at all pleased to hear it. He slowly turned his head.
‘Giles Savidge, what ‘r you doin’ up ‘ere?’
Bryn held his position in the stable doorway, his wide frame blocking the view inside.
‘I need some more of those silver-tipped crossbow bolts - I’ve only got a dozen. I’m going on the Moon Chase tonight, so I’ll need more.’
The image of Godwyn Savidge strutting around Lovage Hall the previous night sprang into Wil’s mind as he listened to the voice from behind the stable wall – although the voice was younger, it had the same arrogant, self-important tone. Wil pictured him strutting around the yard like a puffed-up cockerel showing off in front of the hens.
‘A dozen should be plen’y enough! Wha’ ‘r you planning on doing – killing the ‘hole pack on yer own!! You’d never ‘ave time to load ‘em – leave alone fire ‘em!’
‘Look, I’ve been training hard for this and I know I’m going to need more, especially as we’ll have that villain with us – you know, the one who tried to kill Seth Tanner – not that his death would have been any loss to the hunt! Anyway, old man, what do you know! I bet you can’t even remember what being on a Moon Chase is like! Have you got any bolts, or not?’
‘I’ve go’ three you cun ‘ave, bu’ you’ll ‘ave to pay for ‘em now, ‘cos you still owes me fur the las’ lot,’ said Bryn reluctantly. Wil noticed that his voice was suddenly hollow.
‘Huh, that’s typical of your sort – talk money when the town’s livelihood is at risk! You could always ask the fair Lady Élanor to give you some gold from that legacy of hers – unless you know where it is yourself, of course!’ said the boy, his slow drawl full of contempt. ‘Give me the bolts and I’ll send the money up later – or do you want me to go and get my father to sort this out?’
