The Witch of Glenaster

by Jonathan Mills

  I got up from my chair with a yawn, and leaned against the table. In my undergarments, I was not yet properly dressed, and, taking leave of my brother and Stefano, I returned to my room to wash and put on some clean clothes. I dressed quickly, and cleaned my teeth, before going back to the kitchen to find Magnus chuckling at a comic song Stefano was singing, and for a moment I felt a pang of jealousy: when did I last make my brother laugh so freely? But I quickly rebuked myself for being so petty. Such moments of simple happiness were now so rare, and he had earned them several times over.

  I longed to go out into the garden, and, though Stefano seemed unhappy about it – he had clearly received instruction from Thomas not to let us leave the house – I quickly talked him round, praising his cooking, which pleased him greatly, and his hospitality, which made him blush. At last he allowed that we could go into the enclosed courtyard, which lay between his house and the empty one next door, but that we were not to stray outside into the street, or go anywhere we might be seen. Thus agreeing, I clutched Magnus’s hand, and we slipped out across the living room, and through the glass doors, into the walled garden that lay within the courtyard.

  It was cool outside, though not cold, and the garden seemed bigger once you entered it, an effect of the way it had been planted: sweetpeas and salvias furnished its edges, and, as you went further in, a path wound between a series of small ponds and conifer bushes. Not for the first time, I was full of wonder and admiration for Stefano, that he could create such beauty here, in the midst of such a noisy and frightening place.

  Magnus did not seem as entranced as I was; he picked flakes of stone from the walls, and kicked them with his foot when they fell to the ground, until I rebuked him, and he went and sat by one of the ponds, pulling at the reeds with a twig. He was more and more silent with me now, and we were quiet for a good while, he sat by the pond, I on a bench near the wall, and only the murmuring of the wind disturbed our contemplation.

  After a bit, Magnus said, “I’m going inside” - and though I tried to call after him, he did not seem, or wish, to hear, and I was alone. The wind was angrier now, though not so much I felt compelled to go in; and I got up from the bench and wandered down the path a little way, picking heads off the autumn flowers, and sweeping the dust on the ground with my foot.

  Then I heard voices.

  They were faint, but still I could make out most of the words, though the wind carried some of them away. One of them belonged to Thomas Taper, and I knew it straightaway; the other, I supposed, was his companion, whose voice was thicker and slower, as if his throat was full of treacle. They were talking about our escape from the library. I pressed myself gently against the wall, nearest the house; I could not tell if they were in one of the rooms, and had left a window open, or if they had also come into the garden.

  “So the Librarians are in the Witch’s service now. So much the worse for us…” This was Thomas’s companion, the man he had called Will. Then he added, quietly: “Did you find it? What we were looking for…?”

  I did not catch much of Thomas’s reply, for the wind brushed away his words, but heard only:

  “…and I do not think she knows, either. We cannot delay. We must leave the city tonight.”

  There was a pause, then Will said:

  “What about the children? Esther, and her brother?”

  “They can stay here,” said Thomas, though he sounded unsure, as if he doubted his own judgement.

  “Will they be safe?” asked Will.

  Thomas took his time in replying. I could smell cigar smoke now, threading lazily through the air, and I realized he and Will were both smoking, and must be in the garden, and nearby; and so I forced my hands against the wall to keep myself still. The stone felt cold and raw.

  “Safer than with us,” he said at last. “Stefano can look after them till we return. Then I will accompany them back to their own country, make sure they’re safe. There must be people there who can take them in.”

  “You are presuming,” said Will, with a dark laugh, “that we will return…”

  The words floated in the air, as stale as the smoke from the men’s lungs. I heard one of them scrape their boot on the ground, and the sound was sharp and fierce.

  “If we do not, brother,” said Thomas, and he sounded weary but resolved, “then I suppose we will be beyond caring about such things.” And he gave a cough, and yawned slightly. Both of them were silent for several minutes, and I wondered if they had returned indoors. But then Will said:

  “How soon do you want to leave?”

  “Late,” replied Thomas, and his voice was soft, and strangely distant. “A couple of hours before dawn, I’d say. I doubt there’ll be time for sleep, though. Stefano will let us out, and we can meet Fyn, Lukas and the others at the Dragon’s Head. Who knows how many saw us yesterday; even the faintest ghost leaves a trace behind, and we made no small noise, escaping from that library. Curse that girl’s inquisitiveness…! Yet for all that, I admire her. She and her brother have seen much sorrow, I think, and will no doubt see more before their lives are over. It is a bitter world…” And I heard him turn, and cough once more, a harsh shudder at the back of his throat.

  I waited a good many minutes, but no further sound came from either of the men, and it seemed safe to come out from my hiding place and return indoors. Besides, the day was not a warm one, and I needed the comfort of a fire.

  I swung the garden gate shut behind me, and reached out to pull open the glass doors, to step back inside the house. But as I did so, I felt a hand on my arm, and looked up to see Thomas Taper looking hard at me, his face stern, but his eyes more amused than angry.

  “Fresh air?” he asked. I nodded, anxious. Did he know I’d been eavesdropping on him? He released my arm, and nodded also.

  “Well, you’ve been cooped up in bed since yesterday afternoon,” he said. “One should enjoy the sunshine while it’s here.” And his voice had that same faraway tone, as of someone whose mind is settled. We both gazed for a while, through the gate, at the garden Stefano had made, the autumn sun, low in the sky, turning its flowers to bronze and its paths to silver.

  “You wanted to speak to me…?” I ventured, quietly, but Thomas was only half-listening, his head facing the gate; and, though to this day I cannot be sure, I believe he was weeping, and the sun picked out a single lonely tear, fleeing silently down his cheek.

  “It does not really matter,” he replied, softly. “It can wait.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I knew I shouldn’t follow the swordsmen. I knew their mission, whatever it was, would be dangerous. I knew I should wait here, and accept that my parents were dead, and that our best chance for happiness – my brother’s and mine - was to return to what was left of our own people, or perhaps to Calm, and let others bigger and braver than us fight the Witch of Glenaster. This was what I knew I should do. But it was not what I wanted. The Witch had destroyed my family, and for many years before had driven them and countless others to a life of fear and ruin. If the emperor and all his bravest warriors could not or would not rid us of her, then perhaps I might. And if I failed, my failure would not be quite so abject or dishonourable as theirs had been.

  I knew Thomas and his men were heading north, for he had let slip that he had business in the Green Cities, and these were many leagues from Ampar, in the far northern lands. Even my people, far to the south, had heard of the Green Cities. There, it was said, men lived in great tree-houses, and hunted the birds of the air with their bare hands; and they worshipped a strange god, and sang to him by the starlight; and they sent tribute to the emperor, but were not bound by his rule as others were. And visitors were always treated with great respect and courtesy - though there were few enough of those, and the Green folk were left in peace much of the time. Yet their lands were hard by Glenaster, and the Ice Bridge that crosses the freezing waters of the River Soar, and I wondered how they could have fared since the Witch awoke from her long sleep. Had s
he destroyed them? They were once practisers of the High Magic that had been common across the world before the Emperor Richard had forbidden it, and had used their powers for much good, according to the Histories. But those days were further away than the furthest of the stars, and even the ghosts could not now remember them.

  Magnus was asleep in an armchair as I entered the small living room. His legs were tucked up beneath him, and he looked terribly small and vulnerable. I watched him for a moment, then padded past, and out through the door that led to the dining room. At least, I thought it led to the dining room, for Stefano’s house was large and rambling, and even after nearly two weeks there I still got lost. But, after a couple of wrong turnings, I found, to my relief, that I was headed in more or less the right direction, and even Colonel Fredericks, whom I passed on my way, did not say anything, but simply eyed me malevolently from his cage. I smiled sweetly in return.

  There was a large map in the dining room, framed and hung prominently on one wall, that depicted Ampar and its various districts, set out in a bold but formal style. I was hoping that the Dragon’s Head might somehow be pictured on it, though I doubted it: I presumed it to be a hostelry of some kind. Still, Thomas had said it was near the Tower of the Kings, and that was a start: that would surely be marked. I began to trace the air in front of the map with my finger, as if I were running it along the surface of the glass, and I squinted and closed one eye to narrow my vision.

  I soon found Mansion Street, and Retribution Square, with the Compendium on its northern side; and as I followed the map further northward my finger hovered over the vast houses and estates of Ampar’s aristocracy - here pleasingly reduced to miniature drawings - and the outer walls of the Imperial Citadel, with its many buildings and parks, rendered as large gaps of white space where, one supposed, many families could have lived quite happily and still had room to spare. Beyond them was the River Fern, sweeping through the city’s northern suburbs with a grace that looked far more permanent than anything else on the map, and, bisecting the river, like a long needle that lay at an angle over the buildings beneath, was the Bridge of Socus, linking the heights of the Citadel with the peaceful and empty hills of Thyme, where the emperor had his summer retreat. North of the river, the houses started to shrink back from the clouds, and the city fell away and sank again to the earth, its northernmost outreaches populated by small cottages and farm buildings, petering out into the grasslands beyond. But near the north-eastern corner stood the Tower of the Kings, grim as a sentry at the city’s edge. And, as I peered at it, shaded in grey like a finger poking the heavens, I saw nearby, clearly and distinctly picked out in a dark ink, the angry face of a flame-serpent, and the words The Dragon’s Head beside it.

  I nearly fell backwards in my astonishment, and had to look again, to be sure I had it right. But the sign was there, as if for all the world I was meant to find it; and I spent the next hour memorizing the route.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The day dragged, and I soon wearied of the cosy fug of the house, though in other circumstances I might be grateful for it, as the sun went in, and the wind wailed about the windows.

  But I had made up my mind to follow Thomas Taper to the Green Cities, if that was indeed where he was headed, and to keep as close to him as I dared, until we were near Glenaster. I would wait until he and Will had left, and then grab the key I had seen Stefano use to unlock the front door and let myself out. Leaving a note for Magnus, I would set off across the city, with some food from the kitchen, which I hoped to barter in exchange for a cab ride, as far north as I could get. Then I would make my way to the Dragon’s Head – and, I realized, I did not yet know exactly what it was: a building? A statue? – and hide in the shadows, searching for signs of Thomas and his men. They would not, I reasoned, leave immediately, not until they had had some refreshment, and all their number had arrived. I did not feel entirely comfortable at the thought of leaving Magnus behind, but I knew he would be far safer here than with me.

  As the day became old, and the light departed, I settled into a chair by the fireplace, in the quiet living room, with its long red curtains and glass doors that faced out on to the courtyard.

  I listened to the muttering of the fire, and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock out in the hall, and wished for a moment I could remain here, with Magnus and Stefano, and see out the cold weeks of winter in warmth and comfort. But the feeling passed, and I fell into a dark and uncomfortable sleep, in which I dreamt that I was walking in a wide, wooded valley, and someone - or something - was pursuing me through the trees, moving with an inhuman speed, and always gaining, however fast I tried to run…

  I woke suddenly, anxious and afraid; and it was at that moment, as I gazed across the room at nothing in particular, that I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, a shadow pass swiftly down the window outside. I turned my head, but there seemed to be nothing there; I turned back to face the room. And then there was another shadow, and this time I did catch it, and it was unmistakable: a bird, perhaps, or some kind of animal, scrabbling against the glass, and, I thought, peering at me above the bottom of the window-frame.

  I was watching intently now, focused on the shape outside, just a few feet away, when a similar creature joined it, moving with a strange speed to the ground, and I jumped, gasping slightly. There seemed to be two – no, three - pairs of eyes, small grey beady points, gazing into the room. And, as they did so, more of them half-scuttled, half-fell from the roof, slowly at first but then in a rush, until there were many, falling with a plumping sound, and making a nasty crackling, like large insects, clambering over one another to get a better view.

  I do not remember screaming, but I suppose I must have done, for suddenly there were other people in the room - Thomas, and Will, and Stefano, and my brother, all from various parts of the house - and they followed my horrified gaze to the window, and the vile mass of creatures that thronged outside it.

  Thomas and Will drew their swords, and moved quickly forward, as Stefano wrestled clumsily with a box of matches, with which he set about lighting an oil lamp, and some candles. My brother simply stared, mouth agape. But I noticed that the rest of his body was taut, as if he were already preparing to run, and he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

  “Fire-slaves…” muttered Will, and then what sounded like an oath, in a tongue I did not recognize: “Bardák!” Thomas nodded at him, his face set. They took up positions on either side of the glass doors, and I saw that they were frightened.

  “What are they?” I asked, but my voice sounded desperate and far away. Thomas only turned his head briefly to look in my direction.

  “Creatures of the drooj,” he said simply, returning his gaze to the window. “They will be looking for a way in…”

  “All of the windows and doors are bolted,” said Stefano, and I heard the fear in his voice also. Will whispered something to Thomas, who shook his head.

  “Who are the drooj?” asked my brother, trying on this unfamiliar word, and I saw his face start to break, and knew he was about to cry.

  “I will check the rest of the house,” said Will, and he left the room. Thomas backed a little away from the doors, but kept his eyes fixed on them. By now the beetles, if that’s what they were, were making a scraping noise so hideous and shrill it unnerved us all, and I believe I saw one or two of them flexing small, leathery wings.

  “The drooj are the old high priests of the Dark Magic,” said Thomas. “Many had thought them long extinct, but I fear some have survived. These - things are their servants, their familiars. They are extremely dangerous. They must not get in.” And then, more quietly, he said again: “They must not get in…” Stefano made the sign to ward off evil, and all of us moved deeper into the room. I felt the blood flee from my face, and I grasped for my brother, terrified to turn our backs on what lay beyond the window.

  “I want Mum, I want Mum…” said Magnus, weeping, and I tried to comfort him, as the thought spun endlessly
through my head: I have brought this on these people, I have brought this on everyone. It is I the Witch wants, it is I the Witch has always wanted…

  This thought was broken on a sudden by a loud crash, coming from one of the back rooms, as if something heavy had fallen to the floor; but when Stefano moved to investigate, Thomas held him back, and I could see his face was sick with fear. Slowly he advanced into the corridor that led to the back stairs, his sword held in front of him like a talisman, and his other hand on the long dagger, the seax, at his belt. We watched him as he disappeared into the darkness, and a terrible silence fell on us then, that seemed to me to last an age.

  “Will…?” asked Thomas, and I thought his voice seemed to shake. Then he said his friend’s name again, and this time there was a muffled bang, and a creak on the stairs, the way the other man had gone.

  I could just make out Thomas’s boot, a dull gleam in the blackness, and I could see he was standing quite still. With his back to us, he appeared as lifeless as a statue; but then, quite suddenly, he moved, almost stumbling, back into the room, as if startled by something.

  What happened next is still etched upon my mind.

  Thomas was staring at the door, and we did the same, trying to see what he could see. And it became awfully clear then what it was that had frightened him so: for, careering into the room like a drunkard, came Will Bowyer, and he was screaming - screaming in a manner no man should, a kind of wail of pain and sorrow that seemed to creep from the pit of his gut and force its way up through his throat. And as he screamed, he clutched madly at his face, as if he were trying to tear it off; and when he stepped fully into the light, we saw why: for two great beetles, like the ones outside, had somehow attached themselves to it, and another to his leg, and he was fighting to remove them.