Spindle (Two Monarchies Sequence Book 1)

by W. R. Gingell

  “This way!”

  They ploughed through a group of silent, watchful men some way down a darkened back street. Luck didn’t notice, intent on his prize. Despite their lingering gaze, Poly couldn’t help grinning as she was dragged mercilessly in Luck’s wake: she wondered exactly how much Luck could miss when he was concentrating on something else.

  Poly thought she had almost worked out their course by the time they stopped briefly at a dubious old wood and metal staircase. It ran up the outside of a building, barely held against the rotting woodwork by a few rusted brackets, and shaking in the light breeze. For an unsettled moment Poly thought Luck would drag her up that as well, and while they dithered, a small cannonball shot out of the shadows and artfully careened into Luck. Poly saw the dirty little hand that slipped into Luck’s waistcoat pocket and opened her mouth in warning, but it wasn’t needed. The thief, attempting to pull out his hand again, had quickly discovered that he couldn’t. A look of horror spread over his pinched little face and he tried again to free his hand, this time with more desperation and less stealth.

  Poly saw the glimmer of gold thread and gave a sudden, delighted chuckle. There was magic lining the pocket: Luck had thief-proofed it.

  The urchin looked up at her desperately, his eyes pleading, but Luck darted off again obliviously, dragging both Poly and the urchin behind him.

  Poly gave herself up to the irresistible pull, giggling madly, and the urchin stumbled along with her, his eyes wide with panic and by no means sharing her enjoyment of the situation.

  At last they tumbled into a blind alley where Luck skidded to a stop, spinning in a tight circle that towed Poly and the urchin helplessly behind him.

  He looked distinctly offended, as if the walls had moved to spite him, and said: “No, this can’t be right.”

  Poly threw an amused look around, taking in the few doors of disreputable appearance and the one small, likewise disreputable puppy that was tied by a piece of thin rope to a dirty drain-pipe. She disengaged her hand from Luck’s while he was distractedly turning in another circle, and wandered a little further, charmed by the puppy.

  It was a caramel-coloured mongrel with a cheerful, wiry little beard of fur on its tiny chin, and it stood on its hind legs for her. Poly crouched beside it, offering a friendly hand, and heard the sounds of a scuffle from Luck’s end of the alley. She looked up, discovering to her delight that Luck had finally noticed the pickpocket, and was chasing him in a tight circle as the boy scampered close to Luck’s coat in a vain attempt to evade capture. It was rather like watching a dog chase its own tail.

  “Poly! Poly, what is this?” Luck seized the child by the scruff of the neck at last, and tugged his hand free from the waistcoat pocket.

  “It’s a little boy,” Poly told him. “A pickpocket. You picked him up several streets back.”

  “Did I?” Luck gazed down at the child in bemusement. “I thought my coat felt a bit heavier. Well, I suppose you won’t do that again in a hurry, will you?”

  The pickpocket shook his head soundlessly, desperately. Luck dropped his hand and made a vague shooing motion.

  “Off you go, then,” he said mildly. The pickpocket took to his heels without waiting to be told a second time and Luck turned his attention to the walled alley.

  “It’s gone. Poly, can you see anything?”

  Poly tore her gaze away from the wriggling bundle of muddy fur that was attempting, with great determination, to lick her face, and threw a cursory look around.

  “No. It’s all gone. Even the threads are gone.”

  “Huh. That’s what I thought. What is that?”

  “It’s a puppy. I think it likes me.”

  “It looks like a dirty mop-head,” opined Luck, eyeing it with disfavour. His horrified gaze fell on a lock of Poly’s hair that the puppy was gleefully chewing on, and to Poly’s great amusement, looked as if he were about to be sick. “Make it stop!”

  Poly gave the puppy’s lean little stomach a brisk rub, ignoring Luck. She was surprised that the puppy was still attached to its lead: this little scrap of doghood was still coming into its first, sharp teeth. By this stage it should have been chewing everything around it to ribbons, including the thin black rope that tethered it to the drain-pipe.

  “One of the doors has something on it,” she told Luck, to distract him from his fascinated horror.

  He blinked. “Hmm? Oh, that’s just a sigil. It means the owner sells spells.”

  “Journey spells and such?”

  “Yes,” said Luck. “Convenient, isn’t it?” He had begun to look thoughtful, which worried Poly slightly.

  The puppy, annoyed by her preoccupation, uttered a shrill little bark and leapt up to lick her face, trailing its string lead over her arm. Poly felt the pull of savage cold where it touched her, and gasped in pain, tumbling the puppy from her lap. It barked at her again, the cock of its ears offended, and Luck’s eyes flicked to them both for a vague moment before he raised his hand to knock on the marked door.

  There were a few minutes of silent waiting, while Poly tentatively reached out to the puppy again and Luck traced the sigil on the door thoughtfully. Then a shuffling and clanking of locks announced the arrival of the proprietor, who cracked the door open just enough to display a scowl.

  “Wot?”

  “Spells,” said Luck, just as much to the point. “I want one. A long distance Journey spell with the capacity for two. And your dog. I want to buy it.”

  Poly looked suspiciously at Luck, but not so suspiciously as the proprietor.

  “Wot d’you want the mongrel for?”

  “My wife likes it,” said Luck, unblinking. “It’s her birthday.”

  The proprietor sent a doubtful look in Poly’s direction and she gave him a wide, sunny smile in return. She didn’t know what Luck was up to, but if it meant that she would have the puppy it was worth going along with. She cuddled it closer, aware of the man’s eyes on her, and the puppy took this opportunity to lick her face thoroughly.

  “Why should I sell you my dog?”

  “Because I’ll give you a gold covey for it,” said Luck reasonably. “And another for the travel spell, if it’s a good one.”

  The proprietor glared at them both suspiciously for another long moment, but at last grudgingly nodded, as if he were doing them a great favour. Poly had to bite the inside of her cheek to check the laugh that wanted to come out. She didn’t know what a covey was, but if it was gold it was worth far more than a draggled little puppy, no matter how wildly prices had inflated in three hundred years. The proprietor of this particular establishment must have been more than passingly familiar with the principle that what sounded too good to be true probably was, because he kept one, suspicious eye on Luck as he ushered him into the dingy hall. Poly smiled blandly and stayed where she was; and the man, with a last dubious glance at her, followed Luck.

  It was peaceful, if somewhat dirty, in the alley. Poly, who wasn’t really used to grimy little alleys, looked around with some interest, absent-mindedly patting the puppy. There were odd little scuffling noises from the other side of one wall, but since it seemed likely that this was a perfectly normal occurrence for disreputable back alleys, Poly didn’t allow herself to be frightened.

  When she turned her attention back to her new puppy, Poly found that it was thoughtfully chewing on the stiff front point of her bodice. She sighed and gently disengaged its mouth, careful to avoid catching the tiny white teeth in a stray thread, and found that it had chewed a small hole right through the bodice.

  “What a nasty little piece of mischief you are,” she told it. She found that she was rubbing the arm that had come into contact with the puppy’s lead and stopped herself with a frown. The skin of her arm was unblemished, and it was only when she wasn’t thinking about it particularly that she seemed to feel the burning cold arc across her skin again. She had been around enough magic to know that the residual burn wasn’t necessarily a pertinent development; but sh
e thought, with a small, sour smile, that it might be just as well to get Luck to untie the puppy when it came right down to it. Let him have a taste of his own medicine.

  Poly was still meditating on that particular idea with no small amount of satisfaction when Luck returned and surprised her at it. She scrambled to her feet, hastily arranging her expression into something less obviously bloodthirsty, but Luck gave her a clear, green look anyway.

  He wiggled a rolled scroll at her and said: “Come along, Poly. Untie the dog: he’ll change his mind in a minute.”

  Poly opened her mouth to protest, but Luck was already halfway back down the alley. She sighed to herself. Of course Luck would get out of it.

  She set her teeth and yanked at the slipknot, flinching away when the thin rope slithered to the cobbles– a normal, harmless piece of string. Poly gazed at her unhurt fingers for a moment and then picked up the end of the string again, feeling silly. The puppy, pulled up mid-frolic, yapped shrilly and raced in a bumbling circle.

  Poly giggled, but said: “Save your energy. You’ll need it.”

  Luck had already disappeared, which meant more running. Poly huffed out a breath and tugged the puppy into an unenthusiastic trot, hoping that Luck would be in sight when she reached the next intersection. Colliding with a warm body just around the corner, she thought for a relieved second that Luck had made another of his sudden, inexplicable stops.

  Unfortunately, the face that was looking down at her was dashingly bearded and completely unfamiliar.

  “Hello darling,” said the stranger.

  Poly recognised the tone in one cold blink, and the level calculation of the devastating smile in another. There were a hundred courtiers just like him on any given day at the castle, surrounding Persephone with their practised smiles and carefully concealed motives.

  This was one of the carefully dashing ones that liked to steal kisses in the stairwells, and his hands were already on her shoulders. Poly kicked him in the shins and wrenched her shoulders away, ready to run when she could. The puppy was growling; a low, guttural sound that didn’t match its diminutive size, but heroically refrained from either tangling her ankles in its lead or snapping ridiculously at the stranger’s heels.

  The smile hadn’t gone from the stranger’s face, which worried Poly slightly. What worried her more, however, was that he had moved to block her way, and that five other men had unaccountably segued from the brickwork around them. Last time something like this happened, she had only escaped because Gwyn had found her, and because everyone knew that you didn’t gainsay Gwyn and his very large, very sharp hoe. Where was Luck?

  The stranger sauntered toward her again, still with the faint smile on his face, and Poly found that she had been backed neatly against an unyielding brick wall. When had that happened? She had a moment’s sick recollection of the impact, and the stranger swinging her by the forearms, ostensibly to lessen the force. It was more likely that he’d done it to propel her into the street behind him, where he would more easily be able to box her in. That meant he’d been waiting for her– or perhaps for Luck.

  “That wasn’t very nice, darling,” said the stranger. He stood too close, amused at her stiff discomfort, and cupped one cheek in his palm, caressing it with his thumb. “You’re a mite stiff and old fashioned, but that’s a fine gown. I’m sure you’ve got some pretty flim-flams tucked away in those big pockets of yours. Out with ‘em.”

  The puppy, Poly was absolutely determined not to part with. On the other hand, she was just as little inclined to be robbed of her mother’s books. She tugged on the puppy’s string unobtrusively, trying to hide it in her skirts, but it had stopped growling and was frantically whining instead, pulling with such force on the lead that it had almost freed itself from the collar.

  “And the dog,” said the stranger softly, his smile warm while his eyes were cold.

  Ah. It wasn’t about her after all. Whatever Luck had recognised in this little puppy, someone else had also recognised. There was an unfamiliar hum buzzing through her head, and Poly found that her hair had begun a slow, whispering movement around her shoulders.

  “You’d better let me go now,” she told the man, pleased to find her voice clear and steady. Strands of her hair were already snaking up and over her shoulder, and as she watched a few tendrils coiled around his wrist.

  The stranger saw it too, with a curious, half-cocked smile, and said over his shoulder: “I think she likes me, boys.”

  It was because of this remark that Poly didn’t feel sorry for him when he began to scream.

  She thought, distantly, that her hair must be tightening around his wrist quite nastily; but she had a feeling that it was also doing something else–that she was making it do something else–that wasn’t quite nice.

  “Make it stop!” he gasped. “Lady, mercy!”

  Poly hesitated, and in her hesitation was lost. She saw the dirty gleam of light on a blade just as the man slashed desperately at the coil of hair around his wrist. A shaft of agony and loss pierced through her, tearing a scream from her throat. It was a short, staccato sound, and before it had time to echo against the surrounding buildings there was a warm, golden presence between herself and the stranger.

  Luck’s voice said, in sharp, icy fragments: “Did you cut. Her. Hair?”

  Poly, choking on fiercely suppressed sobs, clutched at his arm and sent the stranger a murderous glare.

  He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes, very wide and wary, were fixed on Luck. Poly couldn’t see Luck’s eyes, but she knew that by now they would be eddying molten gold if the searing heat of magic at present emanating from him was anything to judge by.

  “Your pardon,” said the stranger, and he said the words carefully, dropping them delicately into the air like an artist tinting paint with small, perfect drops of colour. The other men had already melted away into the back streets. “I mistook the lady for someone else.”

  “Give her the hair,” said Luck, still very softly.

  The stranger did so, and Poly saw on his wrist deep, bleeding punctures that certainly hadn’t been there before. Had she done that?

  She took the limp hank of hair with cold fingers and tucked it away in her pocket, where it curled around something confusingly wooden and curved. Poly uncomprehendingly felt the outline of it with her fingers. It was a spindle. She released it, and a whisper of thought slipped away.

  Distantly she heard Luck say: “You can go now,” and saw the stranger slip away, his desire for haste fighting against his habitual swagger to produce an uneven quickstep.

  Someone said: “Poly.”

  Poly looked at Luck blankly, static buzzing in her ears. She could feel the shorn lock of hair in a thin strand of pure ice from the hair tip to her toes, and gradually became aware that the tingle of warmth in her hand was because Luck was holding it.

  She blinked, and Luck said: “Oh, you are in there. Hold the dog, Poly. Things are going to get blurry.”

  Chapter Four

  Luck led her by the hand through a vague oil-painting of scenery that seemed to smear the lines of the town’s dingy grey with the fresh green of grass and the vague outline of a mountain.

  Poly only remembered four steps, but when Luck dropped her hand and said: “I think that’s about it for me,” the town was nowhere in sight, and a mountain had sprung up behind them.

  Poly, still trance-like, wondered if it was possible that she had walked through walls and perhaps a mountain as well. She was dimly aware that the thought wasn’t carrying the weight it should carry, but the aching loss of that single hank of hair was still dragging at her mind with leaden fingers.

  Someone was digging through her pocket and she murmured a protest, then there were fingers in her hair and Luck’s face swam into view again. He was plaiting the cut piece of hair back into the rest, strands of gold glowing momentarily and then fading to black as the hair re-joined. Poly closed her eyes, feeling the comfortable warmth seep into her numb limbs, and when
she opened them the world was in focus once again.

  “You disappeared,” said Luck. “Don’t do it again. People notice and try to take advantage.”

  “I didn’t disappear,” Poly told him wearily. She was beginning to feel as though she’d walked through a mountain. “You ran too fast, and those men were waiting for us.”

  “Huh,” said Luck, cocking his head. “Were they, though?”

  His eyes lost focus, and Poly, wanting to catch him while she still could, asked: “Did we walk through a mountain?”

  “You need to take better care of your hair,” advised Luck, his gaze narrowed for a brief moment. “Binding your magic into it was reasonably clever, but it has its drawbacks.”

  “Luck.” Poly waited until he was looking at her, and said very clearly: “I do not have magic. Any magic in my hair is from you.”

  Luck observed her in unblinking silence, said, “Huh,” again, and promptly lost interest in her. Poly thought, wearily, that he still didn’t believe her.

  She found that she was still clutching the puppy to her chest, and put it down gently on the grass. Luck was lost in his own thoughts–and, for a wonder, standing still–so Poly had time to observe her surroundings a little more precisely. Her observation brought her to the conclusion that Luck was planning on stopping for the day. Hard by the mountain, set against a rocky outcrop, was a wooden three-sided arbour with a roof that was old but serviceable, and a crude, well-used stone fireplace.

  Rest for the weary traveller, or a trap? wondered the sceptical side of Poly’s mind, but she wandered toward the shelter anyway. Behind it, and very far in the distance was a mountain range, scraggled and uneven against horizon– the one they had walked through, if Poly’s memory served her correctly.