Tamlyn (20 page)

I could see again, enough to confirm that I was crammed into a tiny pocket between fallen rock with Ryall almost in my lap and Geran in his. Light came through gaps in the rock around us, and even though it penetrated in only tiny shafts, it was strangely powerful.

‘Do you think it's over?' asked Ryall. ‘My back is going to be permanently bent if we don't move soon.'

Geran pushed against a boulder that was blocking our exit, but barely managed to budge it. ‘If I can get a decent go at it …' she started.

Suddenly the rock rolled away, not because of her efforts, but because it had been tugged free from the other side.

‘Tamlyn!' she called.

His face appeared, staring in at us. ‘You're alive,' he said.

‘Thanks to Ryall,' said Geran as she squeezed herself through the opening Tamlyn had made. ‘He spotted this tiny sanctuary.'

Ryall climbed out, with me last of all. My foot was painful to stand on, but there didn't seem to be any real damage. A little tentative walking would see it as good as new.

I looked at Tamlyn. I should have thrown myself into his arms, but he was holding back and so was I. We both remembered a moment not so long ago when I had
called for help. What else could I do, when the rocks had hold of my leg? He had heard me, had turned his face towards me, and then he had gone after his father, determined to have his revenge. No, I didn't fall into Tamlyn's arms.

I looked behind me at what Geran had called our sanctuary and saw that a broken section from a column had come to rest at an angle, one end held up against a pillar nearby. The space underneath it had saved us.

‘How did you get my foot free from the boulders?' I asked.

‘That was Geran's doing,' said Ryall. ‘She pulled one aside while I lifted your leg.'

And together they had carried me to safety, when it would have been easy to dive straight into the sanctuary and let me fend for myself.

‘Thank you,' I breathed. ‘Thank you both.'

I looked for Lucien, but there was no sign of him.

‘The last I saw of the little boy, he was running after Hallig,' said Geran. ‘That coward abandoned his father and retreated the way they had come.'

‘And Coyle?' I asked.

‘He escaped, too,' said Tamlyn. ‘The falling rock …' He fell silent, no doubt remembering again how he had left me helpless to go after his father.

New sounds came to our ears — human voices, from above. I looked up and there was the blue of the sky and a face, far off and startled. While I stared, another appeared, tentatively, it seemed, then another, all peering over the lip of a hole that let in warm air and daylight.

‘What's happened?' I asked.

‘Do you remember the story Miston told from his childhood?' Geran asked. ‘These columns were holding up the ground above us. We're lucky a house hasn't fallen in on top of us. Those people are looking down through a hole in the road.'

‘No wonder they look surprised,' said Ryall.

The faces above us disappeared to be replaced by others, the number increasing gradually until there were twenty people muttering and pointing. Then a gap appeared between them and a rope was flung down to us. Just as well, because the rockfall had blocked all other ways of escape

‘Lucien,' I said again. ‘Can't we go after him?' I had already taken a few steps when Geran put her hand on my arm.

‘He's gone with his brother, to join their father, no doubt,' she reminded me. ‘So young, but he has a taste for blood, there's no doubt.'

No, I wanted to say. It wasn't like that. He hadn't run to Coyle in the way I'd seen little boys chasing their fathers around the village green in Haywode.

He was still gone, though, when only minutes before I had held him in my arms, and the ache of such loss weighed heavily on me.

By now Rosa had emerged from the alcove where she had sheltered from the falling rock and already tied the rope around her waist. Eyes closed against her fear, she let herself be slowly hauled up to the street. One by one, we followed. By the time we reached the top, Rosa was gone, back to her children, no doubt.

When I emerged into the early morning, I discovered we weren't in a street, as Geran had guessed, but in the very square where she had performed her magic tricks. We couldn't afford to linger; Coyle might be watching from the house.

Tamlyn was the last to come up, and he made no effort to hide his face. What point was there in secrecy now?

Tamlyn led us away into the streets of Vonne, making sure that we weren't followed. Eventually, we reached Miston's house, where he was about to sit down to breakfast.

‘The boy,' he said, when he opened the door to us. ‘Did you find the boy?'

‘Yes,' said Geran, as though he had been speaking directly to her. ‘We found him, we had him in our hands, but we couldn't keep him. We have failed, Master Dessar. The boy ran off to be with his father.'

H
is name was Aben Cornwell, but he used it so rarely these days that even he had almost forgotten it. Instead, he was known as ‘Chamberlain', for the position he had held for many years in the household of Lord Coyle Strongbow. For that reason, those who knew him were careful to stay on his good side and, as often as not, they bowed their heads a little as they said his name. It was one of the things he liked about his job. Fortunately, though, not everyone in Vonne recognised his dark beard and calculating eyes, and this was proving useful today when he needed unguarded answers from trusting souls.

As Chamberlain walked the streets of Vonne, there was only one topic of conversation among its people.
Have you heard? The strangest thing in all of my lifetime — the work of the devil down below.
The townsfolk were surprised, frightened and superstitious — hardly surprising when a hole had suddenly appeared in one of the city's squares, revealing a great chasm beneath.

For Chamberlain, the day had begun in uproar even before the collapse of the cobblestones outside Coyle's house. Just as the sun was struggling to rise above the rooftops, his master had come charging down the stairwell from his bedchamber bellowing his son's name. ‘Hallig, Hallig, get a sword in your hand. There is barking below!'

Chamberlain had not heard the barking until then, but now he put his ear to the floor and picked out the sounds. He knew the terrible dogs once owned by young Lord Tamlyn had been taken into the cellar beneath the house for a reason he hadn't been told. He hadn't heard a growl from them since, and if it wasn't for the meat delivered to the door of the cellar each day he would have forgotten about them. What was odd about this new disturbance was how distant the barking seemed. With dogs of that size directly below, their barking should be echoing through every room in the house.

There had been no explanation, of course. Coyle and Hallig had descended quickly into the cellar and for a time there had been nothing to hear at
all. Then came the rumble of violence beneath the house, followed by the sudden shock and shiver of an earthquake. Only fear of his master had stopped him from fleeing the building altogether when part of the square near the house collapsed into a gaping chasm.

It was just as well he had remained, for, soon after, first Hallig emerged from the cellar and then Coyle himself, his clothing coated in dust, and choking on more that had invaded his throat. Strangely, a third figure had appeared: a boy no more than two years old. The dust that caked his face and hair showed he had come from deep under the ground also, yet Chamberlain hadn't seen him before and not a word had been spoken about him among the servants.

The strangest thing of all was how Coyle rejoiced at the sight of him. The Wyrdborn never showed joy; their smiles were reserved for the misfortune of others. Observing carefully, Chamberlain realised it was not joy but triumph he saw in his master's face that morning — triumph and a sense of relief, as though he had been rescued from some kind of calamity.

Coyle had scooped the boy into his arms and hurried up the stairs to the austere room where he spent his days receiving visitors and making plans at an enormous table. It was to this room that Chamberlain had been called some hours later.

‘I want you to track down the troublemakers who were watching my house from the square,' Coyle said.

‘The girl in the yellow dress?'

‘Yes, the one you so carelessly allowed to escape.'

Chamberlain had known better than to apologise. He'd stood perfectly to attention, knowing there would be more orders yet. In the corner of the room, sat the boy he'd seen earlier, watching with dull eyes and a dirty finger in his mouth. Tears had cut a muddy river down his cheeks, but hadn't earned him any sympathy from Coyle. What had the boy been doing underground in the first place — that was what Chamberlain hadn't been able to work out. And why was Coyle interested in a mere baby?

‘The girl's name is Silvermay,' his master had continued. ‘There will be others with her, quite a little band. One is the boy you spoke of, with the unusual device on his arm. Find out where they are hiding, but don't let them know they have been discovered.'

‘It will take time, master. I will have to ask in the streets and the marketplace.'

‘Find them, and by sundown.'

Chamberlain had bowed. There was only one thing the Wyrdborn despised more than the apology of a servant and that was to have their orders questioned.

‘Go now, and on the way tell one of the serving girls to come here. I want this boy cleaned up and watched over while I'm with the king. The fool wants to know what happened outside my gate this morning. Before much longer, he'll be the one at my beck and call.'

Chamberlain had done as commanded and was now roaming the streets, his face warmed by an unnatural friendliness. ‘Good morning, sir,' he called in a jovial voice to a man who stood over large baskets of pears and apricots.

‘And to you, my friend,' said the fruit seller. ‘What can I get you? A pound of apricots? Best in the city.'

‘That depends on whether you can help me,' Chamberlain said. ‘I'm looking for a boy, a tall lad of sixteen or seventeen with a false hand.'

‘False hand!' said the fruit seller. ‘What do you mean by that? A trick, some kind of device for a thief?'

‘No, not at all. The boy is not in trouble and I mean him no harm. He has a mechanical arm, I hear, and I wish to examine it.'

The fruit seller shook his head. ‘A mystery to me, I'm afraid. Are you sure you won't …'

But Chamberlain had moved on. He had thought it likely that people would remember the boy rather than the girl because of that strange arm. He hadn't seen it himself, but two of the servants had reported the same
thing — a youth with a claw of steel instead of a hand who seemed to be watching Coyle's house.

Further along the street, he tried again among a gaggle of men and women who had gathered to gossip, but only blank stares and shakes of the head greeted his question about a boy with a mechanical arm.

‘What about a girl, then? The same age, long hair, slim?'

This time they laughed. ‘That describes half the girls in Vonne,' said one woman who found his question particularly funny.

Chamberlain wanted to slap her insolent face, but that would not get the answers he needed. He pictured the girl he had chased down lanes and in and out of kitchens. ‘She is a pretty thing, with freckles on her nose and cheeks. About this tall.' He held his palm level with his shoulder.

‘If I knew a girl like that, I'd keep her for myself, wouldn't I,' said one of the men, ‘not help a sly dog like you find out where she lives.'

More laughter.

Chamberlain bit his lip and told himself to stay calm. Then he recalled Coyle's words. ‘She wears a yellow dress sometimes.'

‘A yellow dress. Oh, I know the girl you mean,' said the woman who had laughed at him so freely. ‘I saw
her come down this street early one morning,' and she pointed out the direction.

‘Thank you, ma'am. Much obliged.'

He moved on, pleased with himself. At the next corner, he asked again.

‘A yellow dress. Can't say I notice such things,' said an old man. ‘But the strange contraption, yes, I saw that marvel not so long ago. It's not something you forget easily, even when you've seen as many odd sights as I have.'

He pointed Chamberlain in the same general direction the woman had indicated. Sooner or later, he would need more than a vague wave along the busy main streets, but for now he was content to be getting closer.

He turned to scan the crowd that milled behind him, out of habit or because he had glimpsed something unnatural, he wasn't sure. Often, these things came down to instinct. No one seemed to be watching him with any particular interest. At this time of day, there were mostly women around, some with young children clinging to their aprons, crying, demanding attention. None were a threat to him and he didn't look closely at their faces. Instead, he turned his eyes on the few men he could see, whether they looked his way or not. He took note of what each was wearing — a red vest on
one, a feathered hat on another — and if the same man stayed close for too long, he would know he was being followed. That was an easy problem to solve: he carried a dagger in his belt, and thanks to Lord Coyle, had had plenty of practice in using it.

He went on with his searching: more blank stares, more shrugged shoulders. He was growing impatient; he could not afford to fail. Since there were no more reports of his quarry along the main thoroughfares, he drifted into the lanes, asking at doorways, quizzing the children in the street. At last, his diligence paid off.

‘Yes, I remember the yellow dress. Had one like it myself as a young thing,' said a woman who was too wrinkled and bent to have ever been young. ‘Saw the girl a few times, in fact. Pretty, as you say, and a very determined type if I'm any judge of the look on her face.'

‘Which direction was she coming from?'

‘Oh, that's easy. From along this street. She lives in one of those houses, five doors down, or maybe six.'

He had found them! Careful not to give away his excitement, he thanked the old woman and sauntered down the street as though out for a stroll while at the same time carefully counting the doors. It was a well-kept part of the city and pleasantly quiet, which meant he couldn't dally for long without being noticed from
a window. His luck stayed strong, however, because a door opened across the street and a maid came out to sweep the stoop.

‘Excuse me, miss. Who lives in those houses opposite?'

The girl spun round, surprised, ‘The white door is for the Whippets, sir. A very respectable family. I know their maid and she has nothing but good things to say about them.'

‘And the blue door a little further along?' asked Chamberlain.

‘That's one of the king's scholars, sir. Master Dessar, I think his name is.'

‘Dessar,' Chamberlain repeated as his face broke into a triumphant grin. ‘You have been a great help,' he muttered and, to the girl's astonishment, he dropped five royals into her hand.

If she thanked him, he didn't hear it. Dessar — he'd heard that name before, when the news of strange events in Nan Tocha had first reached Coyle's house. He hadn't been able to find out why his master was so interested in these mysterious tales, but the name could not be a coincidence. This was the place.

No faces had come to the window of Dessar's house, no curtains had been tugged aside even an inch. They had no idea they had been discovered. To be sure
things stayed that way, he turned back the way he had come. And there, in the middle of the road, watching him, was a startling sight.

‘You! What are you doing here?' he asked, and took a step closer, but he must have moved too suddenly and frightened the boy because he ran off into the shadows of a narrow lane between two houses.

Chamberlain stopped his advance and thought for a moment. To return to Coyle with news of where the troublemakers were hiding was his duty, but to return carrying a precious prize as well might bring a fabulous reward.

‘You're lost, aren't you?' he called. ‘The silly girl I sent to watch you has let you wander off and now you have no idea how to get back. It's a good job I've found you and not some vagabond who would do you harm.' He held out his hand towards the darkened lane. ‘Won't you come out and join me? We can go back together.'

No movement in the lane. Chamberlain went closer. This wouldn't be hard; he would be on his way again soon enough. He had taken three steps into the lane when a tightness took hold of his throat. He thought nothing of it at first — a spasm in the muscles of his neck, most likely. This last hour of searching had been very tense. Another two paces, though, and he couldn't dismiss what was happening. His hands flew to
his throat. With a shock, he found it had closed entirely. Air struggled to reach his lungs. He tried to cry out, but that needed air to flow outwards as much as breathing needed air to go in. He must get help. The girl sweeping her master's front step — she would still be there. If he could stagger out into the street, she would see him and send for a doctor. If he could only breathe …

He felt the heat in his face, the blood swelling in his temples. He grew dizzy.
Move, move
, he demanded of his feet, but they seemed bound together. He collapsed onto the stony ground, clutching at his throat as though he could claw it open from the outside. Air, air … he would give all he owned for a single breath.

His dizziness worsened, the darkness around him was dotted with red and gold circles that throbbed in time with his agony. He rolled onto his back and, through the haze of panic and pain, saw the face that had drawn him into this lane. A child's face that showed no emotion at all as it watched him die.