The Dragon Queen (Lamb & Castle Book 3)

by J M Sanford

  “You must practice the left-handed technique,” Greyfell insisted, jabbing him in the stomach with the blunt point of his wooden sword.

  “It ain’t natural!” snapped Harold, swatting the sword away.

  “Even if you recover full use of your right hand, you’ll find such a skill invaluable.”

  “Give him five minutes to catch his breath,” called Meg, as Harold stomped off. Amelia watched him worriedly. She didn’t want him fighting anymore, but if he had no choice, then he must have some way of defending himself.

  “Lesson time!” Meg interrupted Amelia’s thoughts to show her how some variants of her enchantable knots could be adapted into embroidery. “This here's a charm to ward off coughs and colds,” she said, pulling a blouse from her bag and showing Amelia a half-finished strip of embroidery along the collar.

  “What are the daisies for?”

  “I like daisies.”

  “Bessie?” Amelia called. “Don’t you want to see this?”

  Bessie had been joining in with some of the lessons too, particularly the ones that covered the obscure uses of various plants, but not today. She stood at the bow, her full attention on the distant butter-yellow walls of an approaching Flying City. Iletia. Her home.

  They’d agreed weeks ago that their first port of call must be Iletia, and not just for Bessie’s sake: Rose had threatened every one of her rescuers with all manner of punishments, from ludicrously large fines, to public execution, until there wasn’t a soul on board who wasn’t heartily sick of her. In the end, she’d spent much of the journey crying in her cabin. With no magic, no dragon prince, and little in the way of intelligence, she caused no real trouble. Meg brought her on deck to see the Flying City drifting towards them, steady and looming as a thundercloud. “See, you’ll be home soon enough.” This thought didn’t cheer Rose up at all. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying; she pouted and glared at the approaching City. Meg stared at her, exasperated. “And anybody there who happens to care for you can thank Amelia Lamb for your safe return,” she said sharply, before stalking off to talk to the captain.

  Rose hung her head, but the look in her eyes was poisonous, and Amelia moved away to stand with Bessie at the railings. Grey clouds had gathered swiftly, covering the sun, and fine flakes of snow fluttered through the skies, dusting the high walls of the City, and making Amelia shiver. She didn’t think she could enjoy another winter ever again, not if she spent every one of them wrapped up warm in the safety of her high tower in Springhaven.

  At this time of year, this far from the biggest nodes, only a few other skyships clustered around the Iletian docks. Visitors from exotic lands, Bessie explained to Amelia, bearing spices and soft bright fruits. They watched the blue-barred hawks and the phoenix birds with trailing crimson tails, swooping among the dragonettes bearing messages; they tried to guess what far-off countries the other ‘ships had come from, by the names along their sides and the clothing of their crews. Sharvesh joined them with casual elegance, and Harold helped Bryn secure her and put down the ramp.

  Rose must have been saving her energy. She came down the ramp meekly enough, but the instant she set foot on Iletian territory, she screamed and screamed at the top of her lungs. Meg hastily cast her silencing spell on the girl, but not before a pair of City guardsmen took notice. Sharvesh had already drawn a few jealous looks from other skysailors, but more of them stopped to watch the beautiful captive who had just disembarked.

  Master Greyfell stepped forward to speak for his companions, and the guardsmen knew him at once. “You recognise Miss Hartwood?” he said.

  The guardsmen did indeed recognise Miss Hartwood. The tragic society beauty, vanished away from her father’s home in the night, and nobody had ever thought to see her again. The Iletian Guard had suffered particularly for her unexplained disappearance, her father had made sure of that.

  “Chin up, Miss Hartwood: let them see your face. She was kidnapped by a cad who wanted her for his wife, and wouldn’t accept a refusal. Fortunately, before the wedding could go ahead, she was rescued by this brave company of witches,” said Greyfell, indicating Amelia, Meg and Scarlet.

  Scarlet looked indignant. “I’m not a –”

  “To be returned to her family, I hope. Are the Hartwoods still resident in Iletia?”

  “Still up in Temple Rings. We can escort the young lady home from here.”

  Master Greyfell nodded. “I’ll accompany you, if I may. Their younger daughters would benefit from an Academy education.”

  Meg nudged Bessie with her elbow. “Fancy that,” she whispered. “You could be going to school with Lady Muck’s little sisters. You could give ‘em hell, get your own back a bit.”

  Bessie shook her head, watching Master Greyfell leave with the guardsmen and the cowed Miss Hartwood. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that.”

  “Going back to the Academy, you mean?” asked Amelia. Bessie might travel with them a bit longer, visit Springhaven, and learn to like a quiet life…

  “Actually, I meant the other thing,” said Bessie. “But… um, I’ve missed a lot of school this year. I can’t just jump back in as if nothing’s happened, can I? And I don’t know how I’d pay tuition, now that I can’t bank on being a queen someday.”

  “Hmm,” said Meg. “I think I’ll be having a word with Master Greyfell when he gets back from hobnobbing with the Hartwoods. In the meantime, we need to see a man about a snail.”

  It was only a small country node, the kind of place where Flying Cities didn’t stay for more than a couple of hours at a time, so Meg had a busy morning with plenty to do there: restocking her supplies; taking Tallulah to an Archmage who could safely unshrink the snail; then getting the restored giant battlesnail aboard Sharvesh; and then marching Master Greyfell off for a private talk. Only in the last few minutes as the Flying City prepared itself to move away did they all re-join at the docks, where Sharvesh waited.

  Bessie hugged Amelia fiercely. “Write to me every month,” she insisted. She kept grinning from ear to ear, having just been given the news that Master Greyfell intended to pay her full tuition. “We can share new spells and all sorts. And you must come to visit if you’re ever in Iletia.”

  “Both of you,” added Greyfell to Meg. “You may be sure of a warm welcome.”

  Scarlet cleared her throat. “Before we go, Sable has something to say. Don’t you, Sable?”

  “Reward,” the black griffin croaked, stubbornly.

  “Sable!” his sister scolded him. ‘Reward’ was the only word he’d had for Bessie ever since their escape, and Scarlet was mortified at it.

  “No, it’s only fair,” said Bessie. “I promised him a reward for his help, and he’s been very patient.” She tossed him a bag of coins (Amelia suspected it was all of the girl’s personal allowance) and he seized it in his beak. Then he shrugged off his satchel and shoved it across the boards to where it shored up against Bessie’s feet. Warily she opened up the satchel. Inside was a small bag… “My rings!” Bessie cried. She threw her arms around the black griffin’s neck. “You found my conjuring rings… Wait, did you have them all along?”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Scarlet. “I only found out today, but better late than never.”

  Bessie let go the griffin and gave a perfect curtsey, still beaming. “Thank you, Sable. Scarlet.”

  The bells began to chime as Amelia, Meg, Scarlet, Percival and Harold turned to board the skyship. The black griffin prowled along the railings, watching the flitting messengers.

  Bessie was still grinning and waving as Sharvesh drifted away. “Don’t forget to write!”

  ~

  From that node, it was less than an afternoon’s flight for Sharvesh to reach Little Whittingby, but almost the rest of the daylight for Meg to find the particular copse that she was looking for.

  “What a thing to lose,” she grumbled to herself as she waded through mounds of ivy and ruffled green ribbons of hart’s-tongue. “Aha! There it is.” The iron ca
stle stood half-hidden by branches flecked with the new year’s first leaves, with creepers twining in the washing line strung from its tower. “Now for the hard part.”

  Amelia lent her magic to unearth the wheels and tracks, half-exhausting herself with the weight of the mud. She was glad when a grassy hummock heaved and the spiked curve of Mimi’s shell began to emerge from the earth under the snail’s own power, apparently at the sound of her mistress’s voice. Judging by the cobwebs at the windows of the snailcastletank, there would be quite a bit of spring-cleaning to do before Meg would be happy to move on, but first she was busy unloading the now full-sized Tallulah from Sharvesh, a task in which she would tolerate no interference. Soon the two battlesnails were reunited, happily munching the greenery as if nothing of consequence had ever happened.

  The two griffins (Amelia still thought of Scarlet as a griffin even though she’d maintained her human form for weeks now) were in conference, off on their own.

  “What about you two?” asked Meg, butting in shamelessly. “Where are you off to next?”

  “We’d like to find our brother,” said Scarlet. “Make amends, if we can.”

  “Well good luck to you with that,” said Meg. Amelia hadn’t been the only one to glimpse the white griffin, pulled along in the worldshift. Disoriented and outnumbered, he must have retreated, and nobody had seen him since.

  “Miss Spinner?” said Bryn. “Sharvesh and I must leave swiftly if we are to make our connection.” His time in the ice world had made the wanderer homesick, and with his duties to his passengers discharged, he meant to travel to the Argea without any further delay. “Is your snail safely disembarked? All your things accounted for?”

  “Yes thank you, Captain.” Meg clasped his hand in hers. “I’m glad to have met you.”

  He bowed. “Thank you, dear lady. I shall tell everyone the story of the fine witch that I once knew. Go safely,” he said gravely, as he bowed to Amelia. “No more of this running around fighting dragons, you must promise me. Please, take up a gentler pastime. May I suggest the ladylike arts of knitting or embroidery, such as your good mother enjoys.”

  Trying hard not to burst out laughing, Amelia nodded as solemnly as she could. “Go safely,” she said back to him. “I wish I could have met your family, and seen your home.” She wished too that they were parting on better terms, but she doubted he’d ever truly forgive her for what had happened to Sharvesh. And, much as she would have liked to see the Argea, she had her own family waiting for her.

  36: SPRING

  Having grown used to swift journeys in skyships and Flying Cities, Amelia found herself disorientated by the length of time it took the giant snails to cover each mile home. The snailcastletank wandered sedately through green hills, fording the streams and rattling along chalk roads, the weeks plodding by. Meg wanted to stop at every ruin, every unusual tree, every reputedly haunted well, continuing her lessons to Amelia as they went, while Percival kept Harold busy with building up his strength. In spite of Meg’s charms and salves, the fingers of his right hand were still stiff and refusing to cooperate fully, but he was managing in most things. Meg had even allowed him to drive the snails. Amelia sat up beside him, watching the features of the landscape grow into something familiar and silently cursing the slowness of the snails. They were so close to home: Harold could point out landmarks he knew well from his childhood, and one afternoon they both recognised a place where the road cut a channel through a hillside. They drove between the steep green sides where the daffodils nodded cheerily. The sun had been baking hot all day and Harold had caught it across his forehead, nose and cheeks.

  “Ma’s going to hit the roof if I come home doing everything left-handed,” he said, not for the first time. “No matter what that devil Greyfell says.”

  “What’s she going to make of your wyvern friend, then?” asked Amelia, glancing up at the ever-present shadow above them, and catching sight of her fire sprite glowing bright green in the lamp holder overhead. What’s she going to make of a witch and familiar?

  They’d just passed a signpost marking a mile to Springhaven (but never trust a country mile) when she was startled from half-dozing by a sound like some mechanical contraption marching down the road behind them. Her heart thumped out of time with the stamp and clash of it. Leaning round so far that she almost fell off the bench, she saw… a band of capering dancers, decked out in colourful ribbons and flowers, shaking their bell sticks, swiftly catching up with the snailcastletank. “Summer’s welcome!” the revellers shouted, giggling and scampering nervously past the snails.

  “Summer’s welcome!” Harold bellowed after them, proving that if nothing else, his lungs hadn’t suffered in his adventures.

  The brightly coloured company soon turned off down another road, the stamping of their feet and the jingling of a thousand bells fading into the distance.

  “Where are they going?” asked Amelia, still leaning half out of her seat. “What’s down that road?”

  “Come in here,” Meg commanded from the interior. “Sit,” as if Amelia was a dog, and Meg pointed to the bench around the games table.

  Reluctantly, Amelia obeyed, resting her chin in her hand as she gazed longingly out of the porthole. The tantalising road where the dancers had disappeared inched away from them with the steady pacing of the snails. White Horse, had the signpost said? She’d have to go there, someday soon.

  Meg, watching too, sighed. “What’s down that road indeed? I dare say we shall have to find out someday. But not now.”

  And then the sea came into view and the tower standing out of it, its draw on Amelia more powerful than the magic of a Keystone: it pinned her heart to home and her world revolved around it. Her longing to explore the road to White Horse dissipated, and she couldn’t remember what had brought it on in the first place.

  Some way down the road they saw a woman out amongst the waving grass and the spring flowers, tending to some shrine or gravestone.

  “Perce!” Meg barked, startling the knight, who had been dozing over a book. “Harold, I mean. Cut across the grass there.” Impatiently, Meg clambered out onto the bench beside Harold, grabbing at the reins and urging the placid snails to a faster pace. “Sincerity!” she hollered, “Hello there, the second Mrs Lamb!”

  The woman turned in response to her name, her expression haughty until she saw the snails and iron castle trundling across the meadow towards her: then she shrieked, and clapped both hands to her mouth. Picking up the hems of her skirts, she picked her way daintily over to meet the snailcastletank. “Meg! Boy! Where’s Amelia?”

  “Here,” said Amelia, climbing out too.

  “Oh, Meg! You've cut her hair!” Sincerity shrilled, as if Meg had lopped off one of her daughter's limbs.

  “No I haven't.”

  “It certainly looks shorter,” said Sincerity, examining it. “Perhaps it’s been falling out. Poor diet and nervous exhaustion, I’ve no doubt.” And she wouldn’t shut her mouth on the subject until Amelia unwound the knot of her braids to show that her golden hair was just as long and thick as ever.

  Meanwhile, Meg had been kicking around in the grass. A knob of rough red granite stood a foot tall out of the ground, and as Meg nudged it with the toe of her boot, a gentle wave of magic rippled out, lapping at their ankles and making Amelia shiver.

  “Pins,” said Meg. She glanced up at Sincerity, “Still looking after Jonathan, then?”

  Sincerity gave a haughty sniff. “I’m looking after all of Springhaven.”

  “Nearly booted us lot right out of Springhaven,” said Meg.

  “Well you are a witch, and with all that magic soaked into your bones, it’s no surprise you’re sensitive to it.”

  Meg nodded. “Better safe than sorry. Got more pins out in the sea, have you? Amelia, pay attention.”

  “But of course,” said Sincerity. “A circle of twelve, precisely spaced, five of which ended up having to be underwater – such a nuisance – but I do try to take the boat ou
t regularly to renew the obfuscation. Speaking of the boat, Jonathan will be worrying if I don’t make a quick return. Why don’t you go on into the village for a while, and give me a chance to dislodge him from his books? It’s Summer’s Welcome Day, don’t you know? Terribly good luck to have visitors today, if you believe in all that.”

  Meg’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, really? Silly superstition, that.”

  Amelia only wanted to see her father. But, she’d waited so long and she thought she could just about stand to wait an hour longer, if her stepmother wanted to whip round the tower with a feather duster before receiving visitors. There was no point in arguing with the second Mrs Lamb, and certainly not when it came to the matter of a clean and tidy house. “Before I forget,” said Amelia, “I have a souvenir for you…” She disappeared into the snailcastletank and a minute later reappeared to present Sincerity with a feather, black as coal and long as her forearm. “From a griffin,” she said.

  Sincerity took it, admiring the smooth coal sheen of it, the deepness of the black. “Thank you, dear. This will look fetching in a hat, don’t you think? Now let me get back to the tower, and we’ll meet again soon.”

  ~

  Summer’s Welcome celebrations were in full swing, the village square filled with dancing, laughing people who welcomed the luck-bearing travellers with open arms, keen to hear the stories they had to tell. A crowd of stocky red-faced people poured out of the gates of a big farm to descend upon Harold, laughing, crying, squeezing him tight as if they would never let him go again. Amelia kept quiet, towards the fringes of the celebrations. Nothing could drag her own father ashore on a day like today, she knew that, and Sincerity was probably keeping the surprise for him.

  A small hand tugged at her skirts – a little girl. A couple of other young ones peeked out shyly from behind the legs of grownups, keeping a safer distance. “Miss! They says you’re a witch, Miss.”