Escape from Wolfhaven Castle (11 page)

The castle seemed to play tricks with them, though, disappearing from view and then reappearing just as they began to get anxious. But it never seemed to get any closer.

The road began to rise more steeply, the land falling down sharply to a cold black lake below. Darkness closed in, and the rain fell harder.

‘We should have brought the lanterns,’ Tom said, angry with himself for not thinking of it.

‘I’m afraid.’ Elanor’s voice trembled, glancing around the shadows.

‘Don’t be afraid, my lady,’ Sebastian said. ‘I’m here to protect you.’

Tom snorted through his nose, but did not speak.

‘It’s so dark,’ Elanor said. ‘So cold, too.’ She rubbed her hands together and blew on them. Suddenly a small silvery light shone out from her hand. She lifted her hand in amazement, spreading her fingers. The light was shining from her moonstone ring.

‘Stop!’ shouted Sebastian, grabbing Elanor by the arm and hauling her back. By the light of the ring,
Sebastian had seen that they were only a step away from the edge of a cliff.

Elanor clung to his arm with both hands, white with terror, as they listened to the eerie sound of crumbling earth falling into the abyss. ‘Another step and I’d have gone over!’

‘The Traveller’s Stone,’ Quinn said in wonderment. ‘It saved you.’ She put her hand up to touch the wooden medallion that hung around her neck, then glanced at Sebastian’s brooch.

He gave it a rub, suddenly wondering if it was more than just a cloak pin. Perhaps it had magical properties too. The thought gave him both a tingle of excitement and a shiver of fear. Sebastian did not like all these strange and marvellous happenings.

By the new light of the moonstone ring, they walked on, keeping well away from the crumbling edge of the road. All were now wet through, and stumbling with tiredness.

‘Where is this blasted castle?’ Tom muttered, and put his hand on Fergus’s shaggy head for comfort. The wolfhound whined and shook the rain from his coat.
It glittered in the moonstone’s light.

‘It’s sleeting,’ Sebastian said in disbelief. ‘That’s not rain; it’s ice.’

‘But it’s midsummer,’ Elanor cried. ‘How can it possibly be so cold?’

‘We’re in the north now,’ Tom said.

The road began to climb steeply upwards. Great boulders crouched on either side of the road, looking like hungry giants in the timid light of the moonstone ring. Without saying a word, the four children walked close together, Fergus slinking beside them.

The road wound around another bend. A light shone out ahead of them, high on the hill.

‘Frostwick Castle,’ Elanor gasped, and broke into a staggering run.

Sebastian followed just as quickly. His calves ached, his wet boots rubbed his heels raw, and he was cold and hungry. He just wanted to get to shelter.

At last the castle appeared before them, towering high into the night sky. Only the occasional arrow slit broke the vast expanse of granite.

A narrow wooden bridge hung across a dark abyss,
leading to a huge gate. When Elanor shone the light of her moonstone ring over the edge, it showed a sharp drop down to a chasm through which the sea roiled. Sebastian led the way across the bridge, the others crowding nervously behind. Dark patches showed where slats had broken and fallen away. Water thundered far below. Sebastian put out his hand to stop the others stepping too close.

The gate loomed far above their heads, banded with iron. Elanor held up her hand, the light from her ring illuminating small sections of it. Sebastian’s groping hands found a huge iron ring set into the wood. He hammered on it as loudly as he could.

Then they stood, shivering in the rain, waiting. Fergus leaned all his weight on Tom’s leg. He was shivering too.

Nobody came. Sebastian hammered again.

‘There’s no-one here,’ Quinn said in bitter disappointment.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Elanor.

‘We’ll need to search for some kind of shelter,’ Sebastian said. ‘A cave. Or a hut.’

Everyone turned and began to cross the bridge again. The icy rain whipped their faces.

From behind came a long, slow, creaking noise. Sebastian spun in the dark, drawing his sword.

Fergus growled, and strained against Tom’s hand on his collar. Elanor raised her trembling fist and shone the light of the moonstone ring into the yawning crack.

The gate was open. But there was nobody there.

Sebastian stared in astonishment, then took a few slow steps forward, his sword lifted high.

The gate opened wider.

‘Is it an invitation? Shall we go in?’ Elanor whispered.

‘Surely it’s not safe,’ Quinn replied.

‘It’s a trap,’ Tom said.

‘Rubbish. Somebody had to open that gate. They don’t just open by themselves,’ Sebastian answered.

‘Unless it’s magic,’ Quinn said.

The gate creaked open further. Sebastian took a few swift steps forward, looking to see who was pushing it. He stepped back in surprise.

A little girl was standing in the gateway, holding a flickering candle in a brass candlestick. She couldn’t have been much more than seven. Her long black hair looked as if it had not been combed since the day she was born. It stuck out all around her face and body in matted knots and tangles, reaching past her waist.

She was dressed in an oversized black velvet gown that fell off her thin shoulders and pooled on the ground around her. One thumb was in her mouth.

‘Who are you?’ Sebastian asked, squatting down to her level.

She did not answer, just stared at him with solemn black eyes.

‘My name is Sebastian,’ he began. Suddenly he saw something move in the dishevelled nest of her hair. It was a huge black rat, staring at him. Sebastian shouted and scrambled backwards, falling on his backside.

The little girl smiled. She put up her free hand and stroked the rat.

‘Is it some kind of pet?’ Quinn asked, her voice shaking. ‘Is it … tame?’

The girl did not answer.

‘We are travellers, lost in the storm,’ Elanor said. ‘We seek shelter. May we come in?’

The little girl turned and walked away, her velvet gown trailing on the ground behind her. After a few moments, the Wolfhaven four followed her.

The gate swung shut behind them, closing with a hollow boom.

15

THE
LADY
OF
THE
CASTLE

T
he guard-tower was dark, silent and cobwebby.

Doors swung back and forth in the wind. Leaves scuttled over the paving stones. Windows gaped with broken glass.

Tom was beginning to think the whole castle was virtually deserted when he heard the distant neighing of a horse, and the pounding of hooves on stone. He tensed, sliding his hand to his dagger. Beside him, Fergus growled. Fergus did not like this vast, cold, deserted castle any more than Tom did.

The little girl led them through the inner ward, where the neighing and the thumping of hooves were louder.

‘That poor horse,’ Elanor said. ‘It’ll hurt itself.’

Tom looked towards the row of stables. Elanor’s ring was shining brightly, showing the heavy bolts that secured one of the doors. The shrill neighing and pounding of hooves was coming from inside that stable.

‘Come on,’ Sebastian called back over his shoulder. The little girl looked back too, her candle wavering in the gusty wind and almost blowing out. Tom and Elanor hurried to catch up. Behind them, the neighing became more shrill, the thunder of the hooves more emphatic.

‘I don’t like this place,’ Quinn said. ‘Why is that horse so troubled? And where is everyone?’

Ahead was another great arched doorway. The little girl opened one half of the door and led them inside the hall. It was a vast, shadowy space, with a high vaulted ceiling supported by oaken beams. A huge table ran down the centre, its wooden top scarred from years of rough use. Iron candelabras hung above it, dripping icicles of wax nearly as large as those stone structures in the underground cave. Hanging on
the wall were hundreds of animal skulls, many with antlers, tusks or horns.

At the far end was the grandest fireplace Tom had ever seen. It was large enough to roast a dragon, if such things existed. A small fire smouldered within, hardly big enough to roast a sparrow. It cast a faint orange light over the floor, which was carpeted with animal hides. Many hundreds of them were spread down the length of the hall, overlapping each other. Tom saw thick black bear skins, deer hides, wolf pelts, the fur of foxes, beaver, rabbits and sables, plus many more he could not identify.

‘Someone likes hunting,’ said Sebastian.

Quinn’s bare toes curled. She looked a little sick.

The wolf pelts reminded Tom of the wild man and the warning he had given. He had been right. Danger had come, and the castle had been invaded. Tom’s mother and all his friends were prisoners. If only Tom had made more effort to warn the lord … If only he had insisted on delivering the message. Perhaps the castle could have been saved. Tom gripped his longbow and swore he would not fail in this quest. He
had to find the four magical beasts and awaken the sleeping heroes!

‘I do not like this place, either,’ Elanor said, looking around her, timidly.

The little girl crossed the hall, leading to a door that showed steps leading up. She turned to them and beckoned, and reluctantly the four followed.

The little girl took her thumb out of her mouth so she could lift the heavy folds of her dress as she climbed the stairs. On her feet were high-heeled satin shoes, also far too big for her. Her legs were stick-thin and ice-white. Sebastian followed close behind, his hand on his sword-hilt. Tom brought up the rear, looking around warily. On all sides were bare, empty rooms. There were no carpets or tapestries, no side-tables or brass bowls, no chairs, chests or beds. Fergus’s toenails clicked loudly on the stone.

Up and up they climbed, into the tower. At last the little girl opened a doorway and led the way into a room that blazed with warmth and light.

A fire blazed on the hearth. Silver candelabras filled with candles glimmered from the mantelpiece
and table, and red velvet curtains shut out the sound of the wind and the rain. A chaise lounge in the same colour was drawn up by the fire, and the most beautiful lady Tom had ever seen reclined upon it. Her hair and eyes were black, her skin was white, and she was dressed in a gown of red silk, embroidered with golden roses and pale lilies. Her sleeves were long and flowing, showing golden silk beneath. She wore ropes of golden pearls, and a huge ring flashed red fire on her left hand.

She stood up as the children came into the room and held out her hands. ‘Why, how lovely. Visitors! Welcome to Frostwick Castle. I am Lady Mortlake.’

‘
Lady
, my foot,’ muttered a low voice from the corner. ‘My son found you starving on a street-corner. You are no more a lady than I am a maiden.’

Tom craned his head and saw a skinny old woman sitting on a low stool, bent before a spinning-wheel. She was dressed in what looked like a sack. A large hooked nose jutted through grey hair that straggled around her bony face. She was spinning dirty-grey wool into lumpy thread.

Lady Mortlake drew herself up, her eyes flashing with fury. ‘How dare you? One day you will regret how you speak to me—’

She cut herself short, rearranging her face into a sweet smile. ‘Please don’t mind my mother-in-law, she’s so old she doesn’t know where she is, or what she does.’

‘I know enough to recognise a bloodsucking leech when I see one,’ the old woman mumbled, through stumps of teeth.

Lady Mortlake’s smile stiffened. She beckoned the children towards the fire, away from the old woman at her spinning-wheel. ‘Now, who are you, dear children, and what can I do to assist you?’

Elanor swept a graceful curtsey. ‘I am Lady Elanor of Wolfhaven Castle. I beg pardon for our intrusion, but we have come to ask for help and shelter.’

For a moment Lady Mortlake stood motionless, as if surprised. Then she smiled and swept forward to embrace Elanor. ‘My dear, sweet child. How lovely to meet you. I have heard so much about you! Heavens, you are even prettier than I had expected.
Come and sit down and let us get acquainted. For, if I am to be your new mama-in-law, we must be friends, mustn’t we?’

Elanor gave a little squeak of distress. ‘Oh, no … I’m sorry, my lady, but there’s some kind of misunderstanding. There is no betrothal … your son Cedric and I are not to be married … My father wants me to marry for love, as he did. But not for some time.’

‘I see,’ the lady of the castle said slowly, her hands dropping from Elanor’s shoulders. She sat down again, arranging her skirts more becomingly. ‘Why then are you here?’

‘Our castle has been attacked, and my father taken prisoner. We had to escape in the dead of the night. Oh, we have walked so far and we are so tired and hungry. Please will you help us?’

‘Of course,’ Lady Mortlake smiled. ‘Are we not friends and allies?’

‘How do you plan to help anyone but yourself, you greedy fool?’ said the old woman malevolently. ‘There’s not a man left in the place, nor a sword that’s not as blunt as a butter knife. As for food and
shelter? The barrel is empty, have you forgotten? There’s not a crumb in the house, not a heel of dry bread, not a sausage.’

Fergus beat his tail on the carpet and whined hopefully at the last word.

‘Good heavens!’ Lady Mortlake said, pressing one hand against her nose. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘He’s a dog,’ Tom replied shortly.

‘A dog,’ the lady replied, her nostrils wrinkling. ‘How … how …
lovely
. Does he eat much? Because I’m afraid my dear, sweet mother-in-law is right. We were not expecting visitors, and our larder is rather bare …’

‘So it has been for years, ever since you married my poor son and spent all his coin,’ the old woman snapped.

‘Enough!’ Lady Mortlake shrieked. She took a few deep breaths, then smiled again. ‘Please forgive my poor, dear mother-in-law. She is getting more scatterbrained every day.’

‘Scatterbrained! I’ll have you know my wit is sharp as a blade. So is your tongue, worst luck.’