Hunter's Moon (21 page)

The lift doors closed. I stayed behind the trolley for a moment longer, for I did not want to run the risk of running into that creature downstairs. Just as well I did, for very soon Dr Nord came hurrying down the corridor. Instead of going to the lift, however, he headed for the stairs, close by. Clearly, he, too, did not want to risk running into the policeman again.

An idea seized me. My Ruvenyan friends were clearly not with Dr Nord. I had no way of knowing where they were, but my next-best chance of finding them was to follow Dr Nord. What if he was heading out to meet them?

I had to follow him.

For a gentleman of his age, Dr Nord certainly moved fast. Just as I arrived breathless on the ground floor, he'd already trotted out the front door. I missed seeing which direction he'd gone in and thought I had lost him. Thank heavens for Verakina who, having successfully escaped from the furious doorman, was able to track Dr Nord's scent after I told her which man we were following.

Dr Nord didn't walk for long. Hailing a cab in the next street, he got in. What was I to do now? Could I trust Dr Nord? I made up my mind.

‘Verakina, follow us,' I said, and before the driver slammed shut the door of the cab, I jumped in nimbly.

‘What on earth …!' Dr Nord exclaimed. ‘This cab is already taken, you can't just –'

‘Please, Dr Nord. It's a matter of life or death. You must help me.'

He stared at me. ‘What? Who are –' He broke off with a little gasp. ‘You're the girl from the coach.'

‘Yes. I am. But that's not really who I am.'

‘I beg your pardon?' he said, faintly.

‘I'll explain. Please, just tell the driver to go, or we might attract attention.'

He looked at me and nodded, then tapped on the side of the cab. As the vehicle lurched to a start, Dr Nord said, ‘Now you must explain.'

Instead of replying, I handed him the newspaper I'd picked up in the hotel, and showed him the middle page.

‘What –' he began.

‘Have you read it?' I asked.

He looked at me. ‘Yes. This morning. Interesting tale. But what –'

‘I wrote it,' I said.

He stared. ‘But it's signed “Syrena” …'

‘That's me.'

He shot me a hard glance. ‘You mean to say, you have played this little comedy and commandeered this cab just to get an audience with me? I've had some very impertinent approaches from young writers in my time, but this takes the –'

‘Dr Nord,' I broke in, cutting him off. ‘Do you remember how you said, when I first met you, that a story is never just a story?'

He looked at me warily.

‘This is such a story. I am Syrena – but I am also Snow White. In real life.'

There was a stunned silence, in which I thought I'd badly miscalculated my trust of Dr Nord. Why had I chosen this way of telling him? Instinct. But had my instinct been completely wrong?

And then his expression changed. He went pale and gasped. ‘Oh my goodness. I saw a portrait, in that department store. That poor girl – that can't be you … She is dead … And yet you're …'

‘And yet I'm here,' I said.

‘But how …? The drowning … Your stepmother – Lady Dalmatin … It was her?'

‘The drowning never happened.' I tapped the newspaper. ‘The story I wrote is the truth. Everything else the papers have reported on me is a lie. I need help, Dr Nord. I need you to help me.'

‘This is too much,' he said. He was still pale, but there were two spots of red on his cheeks. ‘Too much to take in. Too much to believe.'

‘Mr Nord, you told me you were an author looking for stories. Here I am, telling you a story. I need you to help me find my frie–'

But Dr Nord interrupted me. ‘Tell me what you want. If I can do it, I will.'

I said, slowly, ‘This morning you went to see some people I know. At the Wheat Sheaf Inn.'

His eyes widened, but all he said was, ‘Correct.'

‘It is they who can help me.'

‘But how …? I mean … they're just folklore researchers …'

‘Please. Can I ask you how you know them?'

‘I don't really know them,' he explained. ‘I met them for the first time yesterday. I was at the National Library, looking up certain manuscripts – original manuscripts of ancient tales both from Noricia and other parts of the Faustine Empire, and modern retellings of them. Such
things, as I've mentioned before, are useful background for my own work. While I was there, they came in –'

‘All of them?'

‘The young woman – Olga, is it? And her husband and baby son.'

‘Not the old woman?'

‘No. I didn't know there
was
an old woman. Not until this morning, when I went to the Wheat Sheaf Inn. Olga introduced her as her grandmother. She seemed like an odd body … Anyway, at the library, Olga and her husband requested the very same manuscript I was consulting. We fell into conversation. Olga told me they were researching a particular folktale – a modern one, about a man who had stolen a shaman's secrets and become a powerful and dangerous sorcerer, with a wolf familiar. He had passed on his secrets to an apprentice, from Noricia. I was able to tell them I had not seen such a tale in the manuscript and I was not familiar with that story, but that it was possible it might be mentioned in other documents held in the library.

‘They ended up looking at some other manuscripts, but I don't think they found anything of interest because when they were leaving, Olga asked me if I would be so kind as to let them know if I found anything. Anything, she said, any kind of reference – even a slight one. Well, the story intrigued me, and I was going to spend the rest of the day in the library anyway, so I said yes. I found nothing in the end, but this morning, on waking, I remembered that extraordinary story that chatterbox Tomzin woman told us on the coach – about a witch's curse on a Norician family – and remembered that had something to do with
a wolf. It was a tenuous link, but worth mentioning. So I went to see them.'

‘And how did they react?'

‘They were very kind, but only mildly interested. It was clear that wasn't quite what they'd been looking for. But then, this afternoon …' He broke off. ‘Wait a moment. You haven't told me. How do
you
know them? And how can they help you?'

‘I know they will help me because they have already helped me once. They saved me from the black wolf,' I said, simply.

‘The black wolf?' he repeated, staring at me.

‘That policeman at your door –'

‘Oh, I see! The man from the Special Police. A Norician term for them, I suppose. But I don't understand. Why is he after you?'

‘He's working for my enemy. And it's not a Norician term. He really
is
a wolf. A werewolf, that is.'

‘A werewolf! Oh my goodness!' His writer's eyes were full of an expression that mixed excitement with fear. ‘I've never met a werewolf in the flesh before.'

‘I believe you have,' I said. ‘Olga. I'm pretty sure she's one of them.'

His eyes bulged. Before he could speak, I added, ‘And look out the window. There is another one following us.'

He gave me a startled glance, then looked out the window. Turning back in, he breathed, ‘That grey dog trotting alongside us –'

‘Is not a dog,' I finished. ‘But she is a friend. Unlike the black wolf. And the old woman – she is no ordinary old woman. She's a feya.'

Dr Nord wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘My goodness. I feel as though I've strayed into one of my own stories. Or a dream.'

‘This is no dream, Dr Nord. No made-up story, either.'

‘No … No … Of course not … I'm … I'm sorry.'

‘Tell me, please – what did the black wolf want with you?'

‘He asked if I knew the whereabouts of a young man named Lucian Montresor.'

‘What?' I exclaimed.

‘Of course I knew the name. The family with the witch's curse on them.'

I felt a shiver rippling under my skin. ‘So he must somehow have learnt you had been talking about it?'

‘I don't think he knew who I had been talking to, only that word had reached him that someone had been speaking about the family curse. I explained. Told him that not only had I no way of knowing the man's whereabouts, that I didn't know him from Adam, and had only heard of him in passing. He told me it was much better if it stayed that way. Lucian Montresor was a dangerous spy and a traitor, he said, and anyone who associated with him would soon find themselves in trouble.'

‘The swine!' I said, heatedly.

‘Anyway, I managed to convince him that I had no intention of trying to track down the Montresor boy. My only involvement had been to hear a story from a chatter-box on the coach and retell it to some foreign researchers.'

‘And he believed you?'

‘Yes. I think so. I told him my real name, which he recognised.' He gave me a sideways glance. ‘My books are not altogether unknown in Noricia, after all.'

‘He was not speaking to you in Norician,' I observed, not wanting to be drawn into a diversion about his books.

‘No. He spoke in my own language. In Viklandish. He spoke it well, though with a foreign accent. It didn't really surprise me that he knew the language. The Special Police often get training in foreign languages.'

‘Is that where you were going now? Were you going to warn our friends about him?'

‘Not exactly
warn
them … I just wondered if our mutual friends would be interested in hearing about him; they might be more interested in Lucian Montresor and the wolf if they know that he is sought after.'

At that moment, the cab lurched violently as the driver came to a sudden, jarring stop. We were flung against each other, painfully. As we recovered our balance, we heard loud voices outside, booming in the quiet of night. I poked my head out of the window. There was an accident just ahead, blocking the road. It was a bad one by the looks of it. I could see vehicles twisted together, could hear injured horses screaming.

‘We're not going to get any further by cab,' I said. ‘We'll have to go on foot. Come on, Dr Nord.' I added, because he looked pale and shaky, ‘I'll help you get out.'

‘Thank you,' he said, but grimaced as I helped him out. ‘I think I might have twisted my ankle, though – I don't think I'll get very far on foot.'

I looked around. There was an all-night cafe not far away. ‘Why don't you wait there and rest until your ankle is better? I'll go to the Wheat Sheaf Inn. I need to speak to Olga and her family. The feya – she is the only one who can help me.'

‘After what you've told me, I hardly think it's safe for you to be out on the streets, especially at night – you don't know who could be hiding, or where,' he said, fretfully. ‘What if Lady Dalmatin should find you? Or the black wolf?'

‘They won't,' I said grimly. ‘I'll take great care that they won't. And if they do – why, I have Verakina. They'll not take me easily.' Verakina had kept pace with us, and bared her teeth just then, as if to highlight what I'd said.

Dr Nord winced a little and looked away from the teeth. ‘Of course. Yes. But I am still concerned that –'

‘Don't be concerned for me, Dr Nord. I will be very careful. I promise.'

And so saying, I helped him to a seat in the cafe, and left, Verakina at my heels.

Back at the Wheat Sheaf Inn, however, I was disappointed once again.

‘I'm sorry, but they're out,' said the receptionist. It was a man, this time – the young woman I'd seen before must have finished her shift. ‘No, I don't know where they are.' He had not shown a flicker of recognition of me, which I was grateful for.

‘May I leave them a message? It's very important,' I said, and when he conceded that it was indeed possible, I hurriedly scrawled a note passing on Dr Nord's message about the black wolf, and adding my suspicions about Belladonna's true nature. I pleaded for their help in exposing her, in destroying her. I put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and left it with the receptionist, who promised faithfully that he would give it to them as soon as they came back.

Verakina was clearly tense as we retraced our steps to the cafe where we'd left Dr Nord. Indeed, she had been looking more and more nervous in the last little while, and her fur bristled from time to time as though picking up the scent of danger in the air. As we headed rapidly through the maze of back streets, her nose stayed up, sniffing at smells that were well beyond my feeble human senses.

Just before we reached the cafe, Verakina halted and stood stock-still, her green eyes glowing, her ears pricked, her fur standing on end, as if she had been struck by lightning. Suddenly, she threw back her head and gave an almighty howl that echoed across the square and froze my blood. In the next instant, she sprinted away from me and down the street. What could I do but follow?

The further we ran, the surer I became of our destination. We were heading straight for Moonlight Boulevard, straight for my family home.