Ross Lawhead (21 page)

As they ran across the wide courtyard that separated the Langtorr from the rest of the city, Daniel paused to look at the squat building that protected the Great Carnyx. A body of guards, Breca amongst them, was encircling it on the outside as warriors on the inside ran to take up places around the structure's battlements.

Freya pulled Daniel's arm very hard and he allowed himself to be dragged forward. But in the pushing and jostling of the crowd she lost her grip on him. Springing up the steps, he tried to catch up with her.

Once inside the crowd scattered in confusion. Servants tried to herd the refugees into the banquet hall, but everyone was taking stock of themselves, looking for companions, and staggering in exhaustion. Daniel tried to see through the commotion but couldn't find Freya anywhere. He called out her name but had trouble hearing even his own voice over the din.

He was about to enter the hall with all the others when he saw a swift movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and saw that someone was running up one of the staircases: Freya. She must be headed to her room—but why? He leapt up the stairs after her and ran down the hallway to her door. It was closed but he flipped the latch and threw himself against it, expecting it to be locked or barred, but it swung open easily.

“Freya?” he hissed. There was no answer.

He tried again. “Freya? Where are you?”

A sound came from under the bed. “Shh!”

“Freya, what are you doing under there? Let's get with the others!”

There was no reply. He bent down and stuck his head underneath the bed frame. “Freya, it's safer in the hall.”

“You don't know that.”

“They have weapons to protect us.”

“I don't care! There are too many of those—those—things.

Find someplace to hide or go back to the others, but just get out of here!”

“I'm not going to leave you alo—”

At that instant the door flew open with a bang.

Daniel spun around and let out a shout of surprise. Then his heart froze.

In the doorway crouched a snarling yfelgóp. It wore loose bits of plate armour over its bare skin that was painted with an angry, black zigzag pattern. Its head was inhumanly white as if it had been bleached. The thing brandished a short, crooked, and fearsomely pointed spear in one hand, let out a curdling scream, and leapt.

Daniel dove out of the way and the creature skittered across the covers of the bed. Sinking its fingernails into the mattress, it spun itself around and crouched to leap at him again. Daniel lunged forward and pulled hard on the thick bed sheet, flipping the yfelgóp onto its back. He threw the cover on top of it as the thing spat and writhed.

Rushing to the fireplace, Daniel snatched up a poker, the only weapon he could see to hand, as the sound of ripping cloth came from behind him. He spun around and lofted the heavy, blunt length of iron. The yfelgóp crouched in the middle of a pile of shredded cloth, trying to free itself with a jagged knife—and jerking away the tough threads that were caught on its rough armour.

Daniel saw his opportunity. Yelling, he dashed forward, swinging the poker in a wide arc. The yfelgóp dipped sideways and deflected the blow with an armoured arm, but the blow clipped him on the temple. The momentum in the swing carried Daniel and he felt his feet slip from under him. He landed lengthways on the floor.

Grunting and snorting, the beast tumbled out of the bed and landed on top of him—Daniel felt sharp knees dig into his sides as a claw-like hand gripped his throat. He saw the jagged knife silhouetted against the ceiling and desperately swung the poker against the ugly, snarling face but managed only enough force to bat the yfelgóp's head to the side.

Snarling, the yfelgóp slashed at Daniel with its talon-like fingers. Daniel cried out, his eyes squeezing shut in pain. When he opened them again, he saw the arm once again drawn back to strike. Daniel scrambled for the poker and felt his fingers close around it, but it was too late. The knife sailed through the air—and then clanked to the floor. The yfelgóp choked and glared hatefully at Daniel, its eyes angry and wild. It leant forward slowly and spat a gob of sticky blood against the side of his face and shoulder. Then it slumped heavily against him, letting out a ragged, gurgling sigh as its eyes rolled back in its head.

Daniel looked up and saw Freya standing over him and the body of his attacker. Her face was terrified and tear-streaked. She was holding the yfelgóp's black, crooked spear, still partially entangled in the bed sheet and now also planted between the creature's shoulder blades at the base of its boney neck. She gave the dark metal a sharp twist and the thing against Daniel twitched and lurched.

With a mighty heave, Freya tore the spear from the corpse and Daniel pushed the fetid body off of him. He stared up at Freya, who was huffing through clenched teeth, and he started to cry.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Useful Poetry

1

Now . . .

Freya awoke and tried to remember where she was. First she thought that she was back home, at her parents' house, but then she remembered that she was at university. She pulled the duvet tighter around her shoulders and burrowed into the mattress. It was quiet today. She couldn't hear any cars in the street below. Maybe it was early still.

She turned her head and opened her eyes to see how bright it was and froze. Then, with a sudden lurch, she convulsed upwards.

She wasn't in her dorm or her parents' house. She didn't know where she was.

Morning sunlight shone through the window, falling on a bed that was definitely not hers. It smelled clean, but it wasn't the detergent that she usually used, which she found sickening.

It was a small but serviceable room, clean, and with no ornamentation. Besides the nightstand, there was a little wooden chair, draped with her clothing, and a dresser. The ceiling sloped downwards at one end, where there was a dormer window with a scrolling shade.

And then there was a door. Shut. Leading to somewhere she didn't know.

She rose cautiously, ears keen for any sound at all. She grabbed her jeans and sweatshirt and dressed frantically, her eyes sweeping the room. There was a book on the nightstand—a hardback without a cover. Its spine was imprinted in gold and read HISTORIES VOL. VIII—PORT. There was a bookmark in it and she opened it up. She scanned the page but it didn't seem familiar—not the sort of book she would be reading. She closed it and placed it back on the table.

Trying not to think about the door, she went to the dresser and pulled out the top drawer. She peered into it and bit her lip.

Here were more of her clothes. Socks, underwear—enough changes for several days. All clean and tidy. The next drawer contained a couple more tops and another pair of jeans. In the bottom drawer was a small collapsible suitcase that she often used on short trips.

She ran a hand through her hair and tried to think—where was she, and why? What had she been doing last night?

She sat on the edge of the bed and thought. She looked at the door, afraid of going through it until she knew where she was. She felt like she'd grasp it, if she could just focus . . .

She had been sitting for a few minutes when she heard a knock at the door. She jumped.

“Freya?”

The voice was familiar. “Hello?” she replied.

“I heard you moving around. Breakfast is ready when you want it.” It was Professor Stowe.

“Okay . . . thanks.”

She heard footsteps moving away from the door and waited for a few moments. Something was coming back to her. She had been at the Old Observatory again—but doing what?

She went to the door and opened it. She now stood in a small triangular hallway. There were two other doors, both open, one of which led to the large sitting room that she now remembered from her first night here, and the other leading to the kitchen. There were pleasant smells and the faint sound of a radio coming from within. She edged around the doorway.

“Hello,” said Professor Stowe at the cooker. He was stirring a pan of eggs with a spatula. “I don't have any appointments this morning, so I thought I'd come over and make breakfast. Are you feeling better?”

“I'm not sure.”

“You push yourself quite hard. Maybe you should take today to clear your head—walk around a little. In any case, I hope you'll feel better after this. There's bacon already on the table. Have a seat and I'll get you some coffee.”

Freya sat at a small table with stools arranged around it. Stowe placed a mug of coffee in front of her and she breathed a lungful of it into her. Maybe she
would
take today to relax. It'd been awhile since she'd walked around Oxford.

She gazed into the gently spiraling wisps of steam as they curled into the air, trying to remember exactly when she had last seen the city. She had walked around with her parents when she first arrived, but that seemed like a long time ago. She couldn't even remember what term it was now; either Hilary or Trinity, right?

“There you are, tuck in,” Stowe said, placing a hot plate of scrambled eggs in front of her. “Toast?”

“Yes, please,” she said, helping herself to bacon.

“What were you and the lieutenant going over last night?”

“Um . . . It was Dean's
Ancient Mechanisms
, I think.”

“That's
Mechanisms Ancient
, I think you'll find. Cookham Dean has an interesting perspective—although reading through his prose can be something of a plough these days. Nonetheless, it does bear pearls.”

“Yes,” Freya said, things starting to fall into place now. “I also took some of Dudley Port's
Histories
to bed with me, but I didn't get very far.”

“No, I don't imagine you would have.” He chuckled and then moved forward and took her plate. “Here, I'll clear up, you go get some fresh air. Brent will pop in around noon. Feel free to send him away if you need the day off.”

Freya looked down at her empty plate. She was still hungry. “Thanks,” she said. She went to drain her coffee, but found that she'd already finished it.

She found her shoes by the door and went outside. She saw a black iron gate that led to a green expanse and she followed that.

Freya walked the circuit of University Parks. Maybe she
had
been overdoing it lately. She really should take the day off to relax— she'd work better after relaxing. Then tomorrow she could hit the studies hard again with a fresh mind. She sat down on a bench by the duck pond, put her head in her hands, and started massaging her scalp.

“Am I disturbing you?”

Freya looked up. Mr. Cross was standing in front of her.

“No,” Freya said, sitting up straight and trying to put on a smile. “No, not at all.”

“Felix told me you'd be here.” His voice was abrupt and direct, with strong Northern inflections. “Would you not feel so ill if we had our session out in the open?”

“We could give it a try.”

“Only it
is
important . . .” Mr. Cross sat beside Freya. “Look at those ducks,” he said. “The silly buggers. Where did we leave off?”

“It was . . . I think—”

“Somewhere around Eniol, I believe.” Cross cleared his throat and began.

“Eniol was still young at the time of Riniol's death, and so Isfatel was ruler until Eniol came of age, which was for thirteen years until he was fifty, and the ward of the crown was eighteen. But when he was forty-eight he became ill and had to share power with the Chancellor, Terenifil, who resigned his commission to become ward for the interim years, leaving Intafel, the Vice-Chancellor, in his position. This was Intafel who was Istafel's illegitimate son, by Tenil, the wife of Inhenial, who was also of the house Nerefon and whose other name was Berenon, and was the sister of Nonibere. They were the children of Intragon, whose name is not known, since this name means, simply, ‘go-between.' It could be that this was Onterigon, who was the third son of Birenon's grandfather Grenithone, who was called the father of two houses, those being Gonteroc and Minetoc. Gonteroc was named for Gonithone, son of Grenithone, who had, of sons, five: Rentigon, Mentrigon, Fanigon, Vhanthigon, and Amonigon. Of daughters, there were seven: Gonterri who married Vascan, Gonshari who married Ritiol, Gonbruni who married Rasslon, Gonfortu who married Marthust, Gonpiriri who married Chirithust, Gonchuri who married Jhaltrot, and two more whose names have been lost to us . . .”

Freya, her attention already drifting, felt herself nodding off.

She shook her head gently from side to side.

“. . . but who married sons from the house Roniroc—Venron and Terron. That was house Gonteroc. House Minetoc was named for Minethone son of Grenithone. Of that house, there were sons four: Rommin, Treymin, Oromin, and Yummin. The names of their spouses are not known, but it is recorded that Retiniol, descendant of Oromin, was related to Entefiol by virtue of marriage to his sister. Daughters of the house of Minetoc were six: Minnah who married Tunnik of Artrinon, Mingrini who married Nintner of Grentner, Minotoo who married Dasten of Rocoone, Mindher who married Eleneth of Docrot, Minetee who married and survived Kaejey of Trownon to marry Lorlok of Kolor, and Minkanti, who had no husband. Those were the houses of the sons of Gonteroc and Minetoc, the patriarchs of which married the two sisters Erivah and Inilah, who had no official royal descent but claimed to be from the line of Britune, the mythical hero whose exploits are recorded in the Comeridion, the tales of people of Trisk, who at that time were ruled by Indinah, of the house Hanoc, and so Grenithone became beholden to Hanzhan by virtue of the marriage of his sons to his daughters. Onterigon, the third son of Grenithone, became a member of Gonithone's court and married Elewhine . . .”