“Well, I will go and get his approval,” Balor snapped. “And to save time I’ll take Will with me.”
They left the sentries staring after them and hastened up the long curve of the main street.
“Will you get in trouble for this?” Will asked.
“The captain of the guard – Captain Thorne – has been much more strict about these things lately,” Balor said, then he winked. “Don’t worry about me. I may be peeling potatoes for a while but it won’t be the first time. And not likely the last.”
The hour was late but even so, Will was surprised at how quiet and empty the streets were. The first time he’d come to Fable the city had been crowded and busy at night, with shops open selling food and drink, mostly to folk who had come to Fable from far away. Tonight he saw only a few people hurrying through the streets, and the occasional messenger wisp zinging overhead. And one other sight that was unfamiliar: sentries on almost every corner.
“Curfew,” Balor explained. “Another of Captain Thorne’s new orders. Strange folk have been seen in and around Fable lately. Storyfolk passing through on their way elsewhere, a lot more than usual. The whole Realm seems to be restless.”
When they neared the gates of Appleyard, Will stopped.
“The toyshop is this way,” he said, nodding towards the narrow lane. “I have to see if Rowen and her grandfather are at home.”
Balor sighed.
“According to the rules, which I do try to follow on occasion, I should take you to my superior officer. But I know you’re worried about your friends. Go on, then.”
“Thank you, Balor.”
“Ah, wait, one more thing.”
He drew a short sword from a scabbard on his belt and held it over Will’s head, then brought the flat of the blade down slowly on one of Will’s shoulders and then the other.
“Will Lightfoot,” the wildman boomed, “for thy valour and skill in the field, I do appoint thee a knight-apprentice of the Errantry.”
Will couldn’t help but laugh at Balor’s jest, despite his troubled thoughts.
“We’ll meet again soon,” the wildman said with a grin, and strode away.
A few moments later Will was at the door of Nicholas Pendrake’s toyshop in Pluvius Lane. The old man was a mage of great power and a master of ancient lore, but his daily living came from making children’s toys. For all that most folk in Fable knew, this was all he did, and that was the way he preferred it. For the loremaster had long kept a secret, even from Rowen, about her ancestry, and her own powers.
Will knocked loudly at the door and after a wait that seemed too long, it was opened by Edweth, Pendrake’s tiny but intimidating housekeeper. She peered out suspiciously at first, then her ruddy face beamed with delight when she recognized Will.
“Bless us, look who it is,” she said, throwing the door open wide. “Will Lightfoot. I wondered if I’d ever see you again, my dear. My goodness, come in, come in.”
“Are they here, Edweth?” Will asked.
“Oh, the Master and Rowen,” she sighed. “How I wish. But come in and sit down. I’ll make you a little something to eat and you can tell me how you got here and what’s brought you all this way.”
Brimming with questions, Will kept silent for the moment and followed the housekeeper through the front hall. The shelves were crowded with toys of all descriptions, just as he remembered. In the spick and span kitchen, Will took a seat at the dining table while Edweth busied herself with cups and plates. She asked him what had brought him back to Fable, but he didn’t want to alarm her straight away, not until he had received some answers himself, so he avoided answering.
“So the loremaster and Rowen haven’t returned yet from the journey we went on?” he asked instead.
“No. I did get a message from them, months ago it was. Brought by Sputter. Plucky fellow. Who knows how many miles he’d flown to bring it to me. Anyway, the message said you’d gone home safely, Will, and that the Master and Rowen were staying with the Hidden Folk for a time and that he didn’t know when they’d be back. I haven’t heard anything from them since. Months. Hmph. That child has been away from home far too long and I’m worried to death about her. Travelling with these Fair Folk is all very well, I suppose, but there’s no better place for Rowen than her own home.”
“And Shade…?”
The housekeeper shook her head.
“I’ve not heard anything about your wolf friend since the day you left here, I’m afraid.”
Will looked down, struggling with his disappointment. He had found his way back to the Realm, to Fable, and as far as he knew, Rowen was safe with the Fair Folk. But still, she wasn’t here, and there was no way to warn her about the shadow’s message. And Shade could be anywhere. When they parted, the wolf had said he was going in search of other Speaking Creatures like himself. Where was he now? A lump formed in Will’s throat. If it hadn’t been for Shade, he would never have made it home. It was the wolf’s keen senses and unerring instinct, he knew, far more than his own gift, that had brought him safely through danger. Shade had saved his life more than once, at the risk of his own. The wolf had become the best friend Will had ever had. Saying goodbye to him had been as difficult as leaving Rowen. How he wished Shade was here with him now.
A friend will fall. He shook his head, banishing terrible thoughts.
“So the message didn’t say where they were or when they’d be back?” he asked Edweth.
“It didn’t say,” the housekeeper said with a frown as she set a tray loaded with cheese, bread and various kinds of cakes on the table. “That was too much caution, to my mind. I’ve never told anyone anything that wasn’t their business, as he well knows. But tale be told, Will, you’re back in Fable and at least you’re safe and sound.”
She shook her head, as if amazed that he was actually here.
“They’ve talked so much about you since you left,” she said, gazing at him with teary eyes, though whether the look was one of admiration or concern, Will could not tell. Neither choice appealed to him.
“Who’s been talking about me?”
“Everyone. The tale of how you defeated that horrible Angel of Malabron and saved Rowen is one of the favourites around the fire at the Golden Goose and every other tavern in town. When I go to market I sometimes see the little urchins playing your adventures with the fetches and the dragon and—”
“My adventures?”
“I’m sure they have it all scrambled and blown up into something far worse than it was. At least I hope so. I don’t need more to worry about.”
“But how did the story get out, Edweth? Who would have told it?”
Edweth shook her head.
“This is the City of Stories, after all. All I know is, Rowen’s young friends in the Errantry have kept the story alive. They come here regularly to see if Rowen is back and all they can talk about is you. They’ve been hoping for your return, too. And now at last here you are.”
“At last,” Will echoed, and took a deep breath. “Balor Gruff says I’ve been gone a year.”
“That’s about right. That’s how your story’s had time to grow while you’ve been away. They’re calling you a great … now what was the word again?”
Will sighed.
“Pathfinder,” he said. But if it was true, he thought now, then maybe there was a chance he could find his friends before it was too late.
…I hear the voices of the fisherfolk calling
singing of the long-lost sea…
– The Kantar
NEAR THE EAVES OF the Forest of Eldark, just inside the Bourne, lies the little village of Molly’s Arm. It looks much the same as any other village in the Bourne, except that on closer inspection it doesn’t. For the cottages and bungalows of Molly’s Arm are all shaped like boats. Some have gangplanks instead of steps leading up to the front doors. A few even have masts, not for sails but for hanging the family washing. Despite the fact that there is no sea anywhere nearby, nor even a good-s
ized lake, a first-time visitor to Molly’s Arm could be forgiven for thinking a giant wave had just swept through the area and tossed an entire fishing fleet onto dry land.
The village sits perched on a high ridge overlooking a vast sweep of the forest. On gusty days the rush of the wind across the miles of the treetops resembles the waves of a great restless body of water, and that is happiness to the people of Molly’s Arm. Long ago they were proud and hardy fisherfolk who lived far away on the shore of a cold, misty sea. In those days the fat gleaming fish filled their nets to the brim, and all was well. But then the fat gleaming fish became thinner, and fewer, and harder to catch, until at last the nets were coming up empty out of the icy, indifferent waves. So the people turned from the sea and packed up their belongings and went in search of another ocean. After many long years of wandering they came to the Perilous Realm, and at last to the quiet woods and fields of the Bourne. They camped one night at the top of a bare ridge pointed like a ship’s prow at the deep dark forest, and when they heard the roar of the wind over the trees like a mighty surf, their weary hearts were filled once more with contentment.
They decided to stay. Why they called the place Molly’s Arm is anyone’s guess.
Rowen, Pendrake and Riddle, in the shape of a cat, arrived in the village on a cold, blustery evening. Rowen was glad to see the lights of the houses glimmering in the dark. Her grandfather had been unable to find a snug for them to take shelter in, and as night fell the forest had seemed unusually dark and foreboding. So she was relieved when he decided they would spend the night in Molly’s Arm, if there was a room to be had at the local inn.
As they approached the village, Rowen glanced often at Riddle. This would be his first time in the presence of other people. They had already warned the cat not to speak or change form, and he had promised to behave, but a quick glance Rowen shared with her grandfather told her he harboured the same doubts she did. They simply didn’t know whether this strange being could really be trusted to keep his word, or his shape.
Pendrake had visited Molly’s Arm before, but Rowen had not. As Briar plodded up the steep main street of the village, she stared in surprise at the squat, cone-shaped lampposts bobbing in tubs of water like buoys, their bells clanging mournfully in the wind. No one seemed to be about, though that was hardly surprising given the weather. Riddle kept close to Rowen and flinched at every unfamiliar sound.
“Is this Rowen’s city?” he asked her, his eerie eyes wider than usual.
“No, we’re not there yet.”
“This is a strange place.”
“I agree.”
They came to an inn that Pendrake knew from his previous visits, a long low building that in the dim light could have easily been mistaken for a barge. They would stop in here to get warm and see if the place had any beds to spare for the night. A sign swinging above the door read The Tipsy Mermaid, under a poorly drawn image of, unsurprisingly, a mermaid tilted at an odd angle and raising a tall tankard of something frothy.
They climbed from the wagon and tied Briar to the hitching rail.
“She’ll be cold out here,” Rowen said, patting the horse.
“They have a stable at the back,” Pendrake said. “We’ll get them to see to her.”
They ducked through a low doorway, along a short, cramped passage and into the common room of the inn. It was filled with a crowd of people that Rowen could not see very well at first, because the air was so smoky it stung her eyes to tears. But the room was warm and there was a cheerful blaze crackling in the fireplace, and the strong smell of things toasting and simmering. All of which would have made Rowen feel cosy and safe if it wasn’t for the fact that when she and her grandfather appeared in the doorway, all conversation died to a murmur. Every eye in the house, it seemed, was on them.
“Nicholas Pendrake!” cried a large, buxom, round-faced woman standing behind a counter cluttered with mugs and glasses. “Stay where you be ’til I come where you’re at!”
She squeezed herself through the countertop flap-door and charged through the throng of drinkers, which parted hastily at her approach. She was a very round woman, Rowen marvelled, half expecting her to break into a roll on the way.
“Bless my days, Nicholas, it’s been a long time.”
“It has, Kate. Far too long.”
“And how are you getting on in the world?”
“Well enough, thank you. And you?”
The woman sighed.
“Near stove in and taking on water, as always. But can’t complain, for all the good it does. And this pretty barnacle sticking close to you…?”
“My granddaughter, Rowen.”
“Granddaughter!” the woman exclaimed, her eyebrows shooting up. “Thundering damp, how the years fly. Well, in you get now and find a seat. I’ll fix you something hot. You know you’re always welcome at the Mermaid, Nicholas.”
She was turning away when she caught sight of Riddle, twined around Rowen’s leg, his eyes fixed on the tavernkeeper with the petrified stare of a cornered rabbit. For a moment Kate’s beaming face was crossed with a look of puzzlement, then she broke into a wide grin.
“A fine pair you three are. I’m sure we can trawl up a saucer of something nice for kitty as well.”
“We have a horse outside, too—” Rowen began.
“To be sure,” Kate said, and in an alarmingly loud voice she bellowed, “Jib! See to their equipage!” A sleepy looking lad bobbed up out of the crowd and hurried out of the door. Kate charged back to the bar, but stopped halfway there, set her hands on her hips and glared around the room. The assembly took the hint. From every corner loud conversations started up again.
Pendrake and Rowen found an empty table and sat down. Riddle crept under the table to settle between Rowen’s feet. One or two grizzled-looking older men nodded to Pendrake, raised their glasses. He nodded back.
“They seem friendly here,” Rowen said cautiously. People had gone back to their talk and drink, but she sensed she and her grandfather were still under scrutiny out of the corners of eyes and the edges of ears.
“They’re warm-hearted folk,” her grandfather said. “It wouldn’t hurt us to be more like them in Fable. But they live at the edge of the forest, and that makes them, well, edgy. Newcomers have to earn their trust.”
Kate returned with mugs of hot cider for Pendrake and Rowen, and a saucer of cream for Riddle. When she placed the saucer on the floor near the cat he sniffed at it, took an exploratory lick, then drew his head back suddenly. For one alarming instant Rowen saw the cat-shape shimmer and thin out, as if he was about to vanish. He solidified again, but stayed away from the cream.
Kate eyed Riddle with a look that said she wasn’t sure what she had just seen, but was pretty certain she didn’t like it.
“Never met a kitty as didn’t love the cream,” she muttered.
“Riddle isn’t used to such things,” Rowen said hurriedly. “Thanks very much, though.”
Someone across the room called for the hostess. After another dubious glance at Riddle, Kate bustled away.
Rowen leaned down to Riddle.
“You mustn’t do that,” she whispered.
“Don’t like it here,” Riddle whined. “Too many others. Too many voices.”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Trust me. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“Riddle wants to go back. Back under the trees.”
“Just keep quiet, all right? And no disappearing.”
“Won’t drink this stuff.”
“Then don’t.”
“What does Rowen get to drink?”
“Sshhh!”
The cat gave a feline whimper but said nothing more. Rowen and her grandfather drank their cider in silence and listened to the conversations around them, which were mostly about the weather, the crops, and how the forest looked today. The general consensus about that was unsettled. After a while Rowen felt the warmth working on her. Her eyelids drooped and she began to slide do
wn by degrees in her chair. She shook herself awake, then looked across the table to see that her grandfather, too, was nodding off.
She remembered the hill of the sleeping giant. Sometimes a story withers and dies…
“Grandfather,” she whispered urgently.
Pendrake stirred and looked around in surprise.
“I must have dozed off,” he said, frowning. Then he eyed his mug and gave a soft laugh. “I wonder what Kate put in this cider…”
“I’d like to hear more about Grandmother,” Rowen said. “You told me she went into the Weaving, but you didn’t say what happened to her.”
Pendrake nodded.
“It’s something all loremasters must do, sooner or later. The Weaving is the source of our power and the storehouse of all wisdom. Maya, your grandmother, hoped to recover the ancient lore of the Stewards. To restore at least some of what was lost in the Great Unweaving.”
He gazed down at the table and drew a deep breath.
“I begged her not to try,” he said. “But she was determined. This was after Gildred – after your mother and father died, and you were still a little child, but Maya knew, somehow she knew that you were … different. That your Untold heritage would be a gift and a burden no loremaster had known before. She wanted you to have all the knowledge you might need some day. So she went. But she never returned.”
Rowen swallowed. Tears stung her eyes.
“But she didn’t die…”
Pendrake looked at her a long moment before answering. She could see how much he wished to tell her something hopeful.
“I searched the Weaving myself,” he said slowly, “as deeply as I dared, but I never found her. The longer one stays there, the more difficult it is to come back.”
“But what is the Weaving, Grandfather? I still don’t understand.”
“That’s one of the reasons we’re going home, Rowen. You have to see for yourself, and Fable is the only place you can do that.”
“You want me to go into the Weaving?”
The Fathomless Fire Page 6
