Queen of the Wolves

by Tanith Lee

  Bemused, I was reading these, when I heard a door open behind me.

  I turned round quickly. It was a man. He and I let out a yell.

  Then, he yelled over his shoulder. ‘Hey, man. Come and see what’s in here!’

  Then the other one stepped through.

  Framed in carpet and ravens, there they stood, gazing at me.

  Hrald and Yazkool. My first abductors.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I tried not to scream at them.

  ‘Might say the same,’ droned Yazkool.

  They looked sick-makingly elegant. Spotless finery, all in icy whites. Even their hair – Hrald’s tinted greenish pale and Yazkool’s palest blue. I just knew they had matched themselves in colour to the Cold North. A fashion in Chylomba?

  I’d last seen them at the Rise. Then they’d vanished suddenly from a terrace, leaving their breakfast, broken plates and toppled chairs. And later Venn told me how he thought they must have been grabbed by some sort of gigantic preying swooping bird. Venn’s favourite servant, Heepo, had vanished like that too, he said, when Venn was about seven. One second there – then a flick of shadow, and gone.

  But H and Y are so unreasonable. It had always been hopeless trying to find out anything at all useful from them.

  So now I tried to look casual. Thought I succeeded.

  ‘Well, it’s fascinating to meet you both again.’

  ‘Likewise,’ said Hrald.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ said Yaz.

  ‘Ssh,’ said Hrald loudly, ‘look how hard she’s trying to be cool.’

  ‘Bird that carried you off not eat you then?’ I asked. ‘Didn’t think you were tasty enough? Might give its kids food-poisoning?’

  ‘Bird!’ They both howled. They both went into fits of laughter, holding each other up. ‘Bird – bird – she thinks it was a bird – well she would think that – wouldn’t you have thought that, Yaz? Oh yes, Hrald, I would—’

  They fell into chairs by the raven-carved hearth.

  Don’t say anything, just wait.

  But they went on and on laughing.

  Finally Hrald surfaced. He stood up again.

  ‘How do you find it here, Claidissa? They treat their compulsory guests well, don’t they? Every luxury. I’ve even taken up the mandolin again.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ I said.

  He waved me into a chair, wouldn’t sit down again till I had, though Yaz sprawled there.

  Hrald took out a tobacco beetle from a beetle-box. Yaz produced a long blue tobacco pipe. Clouds of fragrant smoke coiled round the ravens.

  ‘Oh yes, no expense spared,’ said Hrald.

  They rightly thought I too was a ‘compulsory guest’.

  ‘Have you seen the town?’ asked Hrald.

  He was always deadly keen on travel and sightseeing. I said, ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Let’s go out then. They do a splendid meal at the Raven Tea-House. And there’s the Winter Gardens – and all the Hills.’

  ‘Primrose Hill,’ put in Yaz, ‘Red Hill—’

  ‘How can you resist?’ Hrald.

  How could I?

  So I said I’d go and put on my coat and gloves.

  ‘Oh, and maybe not those clothes – a dress?’ asked Hrald, not wanting to be publicly embarrassed by me.

  I’d realized why they have, as I do, the run of the town. No one can escape here. Chylomba has those watcher things, those machines that watch – I’ve seen them on the upper parts of buildings. Also, the walls of Chylomba are high and the gates guarded. Outside, the snow.

  Upstairs I changed. Sweetly put on a dress for them. Brushed my hair, powdered my face and did my eyes.

  Then I went mad and flung things at the wall, cushions, some crockery. The crockery didn’t break. It wasn’t even satisfying. (Though I’m glad in a way, it wasn’t the cup and saucer’s fault.)

  Ah – there’s the knock.

  ‘Be right out!’ I twinkle.

  AN EVENING WITH ENEMIES

  The man with red hair pointed at the orchestra. Seven trumpeters stood up and played a fanfare. The vast room-full of people rose to their feet, clapping, cheering, raising glasses and cups. All those smiling, glad faces.

  We, all three of us, looked round to see who had come in.

  It was us.

  ‘Too kind – oh, well, too, too … No, no, really—’

  Hrald and Yaz bowing and preening.

  I was too startled to do anything much. Why was the whole of Raven Tea-House making such a fuss????

  We were led by a smart servant woman up to a high platform at the Tea-House’s centre.

  Here we were placed at a table with red plush cloth, and flowers in a vase so tall they went up six feet taller than we did when seated.

  ‘What are the flowers?’ I confusedly asked.

  ‘Orchids,’ replied the woman.

  ‘They’re good …’

  ‘Some shall be sent at once to your room.’

  ‘No – er – it’s all right—’

  She’d gone.

  Hrald and Yaz looked properly impressed.

  ‘We’ve never had treatment like this before,’ said Hrald. ‘It must be because of you, Claidissa.’

  The fanfare was still ringing in my ears.

  Everyone in the Tea-House had settled down, gone back to their food and drink and friends. But now and then, someone would catch my eye, raise a glass again. To me.

  Me?

  Why?

  What did we eat?

  H and Y had some roast thing, a hippopotamus it looked like (hope it wasn’t) from the size, as it rested by the table on a dish longer than the table. I had – what did I have? Tomatoes on toast, I think.

  Yaz became very loving to me, in an untrustworthy way. Hrald seemed actually in awe, kept saying, ‘Shut up, Yaz. Can’t you see she really is important here?’ But Yaz only said, ‘Give us a kissy, Claidissy-wissy.’

  They drank a lot of wine.

  Then the orchestra came up on the platform with us, and played a song just for me. It was in some language I didn’t understand, though everyone else seemed to. I was so self-conscious I poured tea in my glass of wine.

  Then, to my utter disbelieving horror, everyone in the Tea-House started doing it. Tea into wine, or wine into tea. Servants were rushing everywhere with extra bottles and tea-pots.

  ‘A new fashion,’ warbled Hrald. He did it too.

  Only Yaz wouldn’t.

  I began to prefer Yaz.

  ‘Perhaps we could go on somewhere,’ I said, as they began to tire of the roast, and the chocolate thing they’d had after (which was nearly as big as the roast, or had been before they ate most of it).

  ‘Yes, up the Lavender Hill,’ said Yaz. ‘Romantic place. Might even be a moon tonight.’ He smiled grimly.

  Hrald, the sightseer, said, ‘The terraces of Lavender Hill are laid with amethysts and planted with lavender trees.’

  ‘Or the Gold Hill,’ said Yaz, ‘pure gold hardened by silver. A long hard drop to the ground.’

  Someone else was walking over.

  What now?

  ‘Oh, Ngarbo!’ yodelled H and Y in happy voices, ‘Come and have some of this chocolate-cream giraffe.’ (It wasn’t, was it?)

  Ngarbo flung himself marvellously into a seat, which started to look more attractive itself, simply because he was in it. He wore his splendid Raven uniform, black and gold. His face, though, was rather spoiled by a nastily-split lip and half-closed right eye.

  ‘Is it war?’ said Yaz. ‘Has Ironel sent Wolf Troops to rescue us and take us back?’

  ‘Why would she want you back?’ asked Ngarbo. He shot a (half) look at me. Then back at Y and H. ‘There’s been some trouble though.’

  ‘Nothing to do with us,’ said Hrald. ‘We try to be good.’

  ‘No, it’s her friend, Jelly,’ said Ngarbo. He helped himself to wine, as a servant quickly carved him a great slice of the roast, with vegetables.

  ‘Jelly isn’t,’ I said
, ‘any friend of—’

  ‘Escaped,’ said Ngarbo. Then forked food into his damaged mouth with care.

  I am of course mental.

  When I heard him say Jelly had escaped, it was as if I lit up inside. Jelly. He is yukkily terrifying and evil. And from the Wolf Tower.

  But the way they had treated him—

  ‘Was this,’ I mildly asked, ‘before or after you, um, questioned him?’

  ‘ ’Fore,’ said Ngarbo. ‘We were taking him to Raven Tower, and the umblosh’ (some new rude word?) ‘suddenly got free of his bonds, thumped Vilk out cold, bashed Beaky on the nose – it’s an easy target with Beaky – and smashed me, as you see. Then he was off and away. We fired,’ he added. ‘Missed.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said.

  ‘Madam wasn’t pleased,’ said Ngarbo, gloomy.

  ‘That’s the fair Lady Winter, is it?’ asked Hrald.

  ‘Yeah, she didn’t like it. Nor the lady Princess Twilight.’

  At her name – Twilight’s name – I got hiccups.

  Oh, wonderful, Claidi. Up on a high platform in front of three hundred people, after a fanfare and so on, and hiccupping.

  Surprising me, Ngarbo leaned over and slapped me on the back, which stopped it.

  ‘He’s one brave bod,’ said Ngarbo, ‘that Jelly. And clever. I’ll give him that.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ I wondered.

  ‘Up in the mountains, no doubt,’ said Ngarbo. ‘We were on the mountain road when he got loose, going to the Tower. Search parties are still combing the snow.’

  ‘What does umblosh mean?’

  Ngarbo thought. ‘Prisoner,’ he replied.

  About twenty other people, complete strangers, went with us, H and Y and N and I, around Chylomba.

  We went up Lavender Hill, where the lavender grows in warmed tubs among the amethysts. And also up Red Hill (rubies, garnets), Copper Hill (copper), and Primrose Hill – which is topazes and primroses. Are all these precious stones real? They look as if they are. In the end, you just get used to it, treading over slabs and pebbles that are jewels.

  The Winter Gardens are at the top of Silver Hill (silver). Our twenty-four footsteps clanked and clanged on the steps.

  By then the moon had risen in a half-clear sky.

  The Gardens are partly heated and partly not. The snow lies on the ground, thick and white, and some of the trees are hung in snow like lacy blossom. Other trees, evergreens, yew, eucalyptus, are cut in globes, arches, fountains, or animal shapes such as bears. And, big shock, ravens. There are holly trees loaded with scarlet berries. A heated fountain plays, a jet of liquid silver – like the Hill – but the edges of the pool are frozen, silver which has set.

  There are ice statues too, that look like tall people of milky glass.

  The crowd which had followed us (me?) wandered about. Everyone pointed at the moon, which, like the sun, in the North isn’t often seen. It too was an ice-sculpture.

  ‘So, it wasn’t a giant bird which carried you off at the Rise, Yaz?’ I asked.

  ‘No. It was —’ Yaz smiled, ‘a raven.’

  ‘A monster raven?’ I probed.

  ‘No. Just a raven. Really two ravens. Another two got Hrald. At breakfast, you see. And then – up and away.’

  We were sitting in a warm arbour. Hrald and Ngarbo had gone off like old friends. But none of us are friends, are we? Enemies, old enemies.

  Yaz seemed more relaxed. I let him put his arm about me, and tried to get some sense from him.

  ‘So – ravens carried you off, these two – four – and brought you both here.’

  ‘We stopped a couple of places on the way. But about right, Claidissa-kissa.’

  He kissed me, but I managed to move, and he kissed the side of the arbour instead.

  ‘Oops,’ said Yaz, not really put out, well, it was quite a nice arbour.

  ‘Are you the only ones?’ I said.

  ‘For you? Of course I’m the only one.’

  ‘Yes, Yaz. But I meant are you and Hrald the only ones to have been carried off – by ravens – and brought here?’

  ‘Nah,’ said Yaz. ‘You know,’ he added, ‘I play the harp.’

  ‘Do you? How sensational. Could you have seen an old servant man who was also carried off? And were these ravens a little bit not usual …?’ His head leaned over on mine. He had fallen asleep.

  I eased away and left him lying on the arbour cushions.

  Outside, a white-haired girl came up.

  ‘Would you sign this?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘The hem of my dress. I’ll keep it to honour.’

  ‘Honour what?’

  ‘You!’ she enthused.

  ‘Er. Sorry, I don’t think so.’

  Somehow I didn’t dare ask why I was so important.

  Ngarbo and Hrald were peering over into a silver tank full of coloured fish. Then I saw they weren’t fish, but butterflies—

  ‘Are they in water?’

  ‘No. It’s a picture.’

  ‘But it moves.’

  ‘True,’ said Hrald.

  ‘Hrald,’ I said, ‘tell me about kidnapping me, then double-crossing the Wolf Tower, and taking me to the Rise.’

  ‘Oh shush,’ said Hrald. ‘I don’t want to think about the Wolf Tower.’

  ‘You used to LOVE the Wolf Tower.’

  ‘I’ve developed.’

  Ngarbo said, ‘Lady Claidis, just a word.’ He drew me aside.

  We stood under a black palm tree whose bark was encased in silver, and from whose fronds hung icicles. Somehow it was growing, it was strong. The moon sailed over and put on a cloak of cloud.

  Moon in a cloud.

  I thought of that song at Peshamba. I thought of Argul for a second that seemed to last a month.

  Ngarbo said, ‘Tomorrow, she wants to see you at the Tower. We’ll need to start early, it’s a longish journey by road.’

  ‘Who?’ I said.

  ‘Lady Raven, Princess Twilight Star.’

  My head went round. I said, ‘All right. I’ll be ready.’

  ‘The road’s good. Would you prefer a zley, chariot or carriage?’

  ‘My graff.’

  ‘I’ll see it’s arranged.’

  He’s much more respectful now. More friendly too. (These friendly enemies.)

  Someone else came up for me to sign something, his cuff. I wouldn’t.

  Ngarbo grinned. ‘They’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Ngarbo, why are they behaving like this?’

  With the unclosed eye he looked me up and down. ‘You don’t know.’

  ‘I always ask to be told things I already know.’

  ‘Better wait, and have the lady tell you.’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Better not.’

  She is my mother. It must be that. I’m long-lost royalty, refound.

  I don’t know what I think of that. Not much. And yet—

  ‘Actually, I’d like to go back to the Guest House.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  Ngarbo walked me down the terraces. We were silent. The sky was closing over like his eye that Jelly had battered.

  Was Jelly out there in the winter waste? What chance did he have?

  On the street, a servant bowed me into a zley, this one horse-drawn. Ngarbo nodded and walked off in another direction.

  On the pretty buildings, the mechanical watchers turn, watching.

  EXCITEMENT BY WINDOW

  My room had been filled with orchids like rainbows, spotted, flounced and frilled. The scent nearly knocked me out.

  As I was carrying some into the corridor, the old servant man came up with some hot chocolate for me.

  ‘I didn’t ask for—’

  ‘Help you sleep,’ he said.

  ‘You’re very kind.’

  ‘I like to be kind,’ he quietly said. He looked at me. He has such – a face. Not wise, or cunning, but not foolish, or even innocent. A face that has seen and known m
any things, but keeps inside only the memories it likes. Like being kind, and liking to be?

  I sipped the drink. ‘Thanks anyway,’ I said. ‘Really.’

  With the door shut, the room still smelled like the inside of a perfume bottle. Despite the cold, I opened the largest window a crack.

  Now I’m in the comfortable bed. The steady light will fade and go out when I lie down. Tomorrow I shall meet her. Twilight. And then maybe all this tangle can be sorted out.

  I dreamed about Argul. He was galloping on a chestnut horse, then a black horse, then a white horse – over the snow, along the road towards Chylomba’s gate.

  I was up in the air, looking down. Wanting him to get here, but unable to do a thing.

  And somehow, though the ever-altering horse raced on and on, it never reached the town.

  Awake now. But I must sleep. I need to be alert tomorrow.

  Well, I couldn’t sleep again, despite the hot chocolate. The orchids still in the room were giving me a headache. I started to think, were they somehow drugged by someone – anyone of my new, and old, unfriends, who might prefer me not to be very well tomorrow?

  Just as I’d decided to get up and put them all outside the door, I heard this awful soft scrabbling sound.

  It was exactly the type of sound that belongs in a nightmare – or a ghost story.

  Whispery, scratchy – creeping near.

  Was it in the room?

  I sat up slowly, when I would much rather have crawled right down inside the bed-covers. The light came on.

  Then I realized the grisly noise was outside.

  Something was scratching its way over the roof or walls of the building. Probably nothing, only a – wait for it – raven. A real one. Or some other creature, a pet got out of a window—

  Then I recalled my own window, which I’d left ajar.

  I had an immediate idea that something not a pet, but unusual and dangerous and possibly supernatural, was clawing its way up the wall, aiming for my room, and look, there was my now bright-lit, open window, all ready to let it in—

  Would it be more sensible to sprint for the window and slam it shut – or for the door, which looked much nearer—