The Assassin Princess (Lamb & Castle Book 2) (14 page)

Amelia applauded lightly, the noise nevertheless echoing through the stone corridors. “Thank you! I didn't know that one.” She hoped she could remember enough to add it to her own repertoire.

“You're welcome,” said Bessie, with a shy smile at the enthusiastic reception of her tale. “Look, wishes aside, if you knew the prince was a dragon, why did you come here? I don't mean to be rude, but you're not the bravest of women, and even once you had the crown, well… I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd run and hidden again.”

Amelia shook her head. “I can't do that forever, can I? What if I have daughters of my own some day?” She hoped she
would
one day have children of her own, and of course, if she took Prince Archalthus up on his offer, her children would be princes and princesses, their lives free from worry and want. But then again, if she married Archalthus, her children might also be little dragons. Meg had told her she didn't have to marry the White King; had spoken as if there must be some alternative, but she'd never hinted as to exactly what that alternative might be
.
And, if Prince Archalthus was her White King, the man she was destined to marry, then at least he was very handsome, and well-mannered, and a real live prince… It was everything she'd ever dreamed of from the earliest storybooks she'd read, way back in Springhaven. Perhaps the matter of him being a dragon could still be solved somehow. But Amelia knew she couldn't afford to let on to Bessie that she was considering the match, not even for a moment.

“You know, I've read the rulebook,” said Bessie, slyly. “And there are no specific rules against killing the King. I mean, maybe they thought it was too obvious to mention, but it's not outright forbidden.”

Amelia was speechless for a moment. “But that's awful! How could you think of such a thing?”

“
You
stabbed him with a spear!”

Amelia scowled: would no one allow her to forget that incident? “That was different.” She'd only acted out of sheer terror that the dragon would eat her, and if she'd known he was a prince then surely she wouldn't have acted so rashly. “Even if we
did
want to do that, how would we manage it?”

“Well, I'm training to be an assassin,” said Bessie.

“How horrid!”

“It's not horrid. Some of the most sophisticated ladies you'll ever meet have had the training for it. And I'll only assassinate people who deserve it – I'm an Antwin girl, not a mercenary. I think I ought to marry the prince, and then kill him once I'm crowned. He
certainly
deserves it.”

Amelia fell silent, thinking Bessie rather naïve if she intended to only assassinate those targets who 'deserved it', whatever she thought that meant. But Amelia didn't know what an Antwin girl was, and didn't care to find out.

She'd fought the dragon in self-defence once before, and she might have to do it again yet. Meg had warned her not to use magic against dragons, who were creatures of magic, bound by a different set of rules than natural beings. When wild magic clashed with witchery, who knew what might happen. Amelia had been lucky the amaranthine cage hadn't done anything odd to Stupid, although… how would she know if it had?

As they tramped onward through the tunnels, Bessie sighed in exasperation. “Oh, this is hopeless; it must be sunrise by now.”

“How can you tell?”

Bessie held up a long brown feather that had come loose from her wings. “My spell's wearing off.” As if on cue, several more feathers fell at her feet. “Master Greyfell – I mean my Paladin – made me promise to be back at least an hour before first light.” Not wanting to leave a trail, Amelia helped Bessie pick up the feathers, but they soon fizzled and dissolved away into nothing.

Amelia didn't know how many hours they'd been walking their feet half-bloody, but she'd realised some time ago that she hadn't been so clever in escaping their cell as she'd originally thought. Nor had their jailer been so careless in placing them in a cell with such a poor lock. Each time Bessie's step had buoyed up with confidence and she'd gone striding off down a corridor that should, perhaps, have led to a way out, they'd only found bricked up archways. Unless either one of them could think of some spell that would convince solid rock to open up, they had nowhere to go. Then Bessie's roamings, which Amelia had long ago ceased to believe had any logic to them, led them to a metal hatch in the wall, written all around with large glowing runes and sigils.

“Here,” said Bessie. “This is the only option left. The Keystone shaft should lead all the way to the surface.”

Amelia baulked at the idea of passing through that hatch.
'DANGER OF WILD MAGIC BEYOND THIS LINE',
read one of the less arcane warnings. And so many other warnings besides, so much like the ones she'd ignored on the door of the
Storm Chaser'
s soulchamber. Amelia had failed to pay proper attention to the warnings then, and the memory of how her well-intentioned meddling with the skyship's soul had almost plunged them all into the ocean was vivid and humiliating. She had to get back to Meg and tell her all she'd learned about Prince Archalthus and the girl he allegedly held prisoner with the intention of marrying her, but surely it wasn't worth such a risk. Amelia had the crown still, and while she had that, she could surely take a little more time to get safely back to her companions.

Meanwhile, Bessie was obviously off on her own deranged quest to slay the dragon, and had wrenched open the heavy metal hatch, peering into the pitch darkness of a tunnel not even big enough to stand up in.

“I don't think we should go in there,” said Amelia. There must be
some
other way out of the labyrinth. Under one of the shops and houses of Ilgrevnia, surely some cellar must still have a door or hatch through which they could escape.

Bessie ignored her. She stood frozen stiff. “Did you hear that?” she hissed. Over the drip of dank water and the distant rhythmic grumble and thud of enormous machinery, the familiar heartbeat of the Flying City, they heard the clicking of large claws on stone.

At the first prickle on the back of her neck, Bessie had prayed the feeling was only the after-effects of her feathers disappearing – gaps in reality closing up, itching like a broken bone mending. Now, though, she couldn't deny that something was following them. Some time ago she'd felt the creature's attention upon her. She'd heard the clatter of its claws. Then, even as she hurried towards the service tunnels that might lead them to safety, she'd caught a glimpse; the flicker of lively shadow in the corner of her eye… one of Archalthus' monstrous menagerie. And now it was right behind her.

She turned to face it, and in the pale bluish glow of her light spell stood a creature of shadow given substance. The griffin stood as tall as a horse and no more than ten feet away from them. Its wings and foreparts were those of some kind of freakishly huge crow, and its hindquarters were a panther's. Its head, with a crow's powerful-looking black beak and a crest of bristling black feathers, turned so that one wild silver-blue eye fixed unblinkingly upon Bessie. At best, it had been sent to fetch the two prisoners back to their cell; at worst, it was looking for its lunch.
What to do, what to do…
Fight? The only weapon she had on her person was one small, slim blade. Run? She had no hope of outrunning the beast itself, though she could easily outrun that great lump Amelia… Instead, she scrambled into the service tunnel, fear of the griffin spurring her in past the tingle of dense magic on her skin that warned her to stay out. “Come on!” she urged, pulling at Amelia's sleeve, glad that Amelia had the sense to climb right into the service tunnel after her. Bessie slammed the hatch behind the two of them with a ringing clang. An instant later, claws and wicked beak shrieked against the metal of the hatch, and the griffin screamed the hoarse scream of a rook. Amelia cried out, but even if the griffin could open the hatch, it was far too big to enter the service tunnel. The two girls crouched in darkness. Even in fear and flight, Bessie had had the sense to extinguish her light spell, too dangerous to use in the powerful magical field immediately surrounding the Keystone. Thick stone walls and thick lead-lined doors prevented too much powerful magic from leaking out into inhabited parts of the City. Now they were within that chamber, and Bessie could feel magical potential swirling lazily in the air around her. A dim golden light illuminated the cramped service tunnel just enough for Bessie to make out the shadowy figure of her companion, and she could hear Amelia's breathing, ragged and shallow with fear.

“Let's get moving,” Bessie whispered. “Quick as we can.” They couldn't get out of the dungeon the way they'd come in, with it being right in the cursed prince's palace and doubtless guarded, but she'd known all along that there would be a way in and out close to the Keystone. It
had
to be possible for the Citizens to access the Keystone for changes and repairs. No City, not even one ruled by a lone madman and inhabited by monsters and automatons, would be quite so foolish as to seal off the lower reaches of the Keystone and let its runes decay into unintelligible scratches, magic driven mad. Archalthus had a captive Archmage, after all, and mages had to be able to get in to check the writing on the Keystone from time to time, so Bessie knew by the common sense of one who has lived all her life in a Flying City that there must be service shafts leading to each underground portion of the Keystone. She knew too that these service shafts would all combine and lead eventually to the surface. Unfortunately, for as long as she could remember, grownups had been warning Bessie not to play in those service shafts, so close to the immense magic of the Keystone (
you'll turn into a toad, it'll eat you up, your liver will catch fire
) that she hadn't the faintest idea which of their dire predictions were realistic and which were not. She'd understood Amelia's objections all too well, but what choice did they have if they wanted their freedom? More importantly, how else could they have escaped the griffin? Up ahead, she could see the surface of the Keystone, the stormcloud grey marble black in the darkness, golden light glowing from the figures engraved in its surface. Bessie led the way, crawling on all fours and feeling carefully for the end of the tunnel by which they'd entered. She was soon glad of her caution: she didn't see the edge, but felt the rock beneath her hands run out.

“All right,” she said, “There's a sheer drop coming up, and a ladder on the wall. It'll be a bit of a climb, but soon we'll be at the surface.” Satisfied that Amelia had followed and understood, Bessie climbed into the great vertical shaft that housed the bulk of the Keystone, into the narrow dark space between it and the wall. As she'd hoped, the rungs leading up the wall were clean and well-fixed.

“Are you
sure
this is safe?” Amelia asked, rather too late. They could both feel the magical field churning around them – the energy building in the metal and gems of their conjuring rings.

“We'll be fine, just as long as we don't hang about.” Which wasn't really true. Ilgrevnia was docked at a node, and that was quite possibly the worst time to be in the service tunnels, as the Keystone soaked up local magic. As the two girls climbed, they passed tunnels leading off into pitch darkness, and some of them were marked with the glowing blue square that indicated a hatch out into the City, but if such a journey had to be made, the only thing to do was to make it as short as possible. Bessie had to get back to Greyfell, in hopes that he might know the best way to dispose of a dragon…

“It's getting rather cramped in here,” Amelia's plaintive voice echoed up from somewhere below Bessie.

“No it isn't.” While Amelia might be taller and fuller-figured than Bessie, the service tunnels had been built to admit a grown man, if not in great comfort. Bessie paused and, hearing no sound of climbing, looked down to see Amelia stopped ten feet or more below, with her back pressed against the surface of the Keystone. Meanwhile, Bessie had plenty of freedom to move, and such a comfortable distance between her and the smooth surface of the Keystone that she could have leaned right out, one arm outstretched, and still not touch the polished stone… Which seemed odd, now that she came to think about it, given that somebody would need to be able to get down here and work on the stone with hammer and chisel.

“I think perhaps we'd best get out at the next hatch and take a break from climbing,” said Bessie, moving briskly on. A blue light glowed on the wall above them, indicating a way out.

“Am I growing, or are you shrinking?” Amelia asked, finding the climbing harder work.

Bessie ignored the question – she'd been trying not to worry too much about that, since worrying never seemed to do any good – but by the time she tumbled out of the service hatch and into an open corridor, she was convinced she'd lost at least six inches in height. Six inches that she hadn't had to spare in the first place… She conjured a light spell to examine the place where they found themselves, and dodged just in time as Amelia squeezed her way out of the narrow service tunnel, the crown of her golden hair brushing the ceiling of the corridor.

The newly enormous Amelia scowled down at her tiny companion. “I thought you said it was safe!”

Bessie gritted her teeth, doing her best to fix her attention on where to go next. These corridors were cleaner and drier, fresh air flowing through them from somewhere. No windows, though. “It could have been worse,” she said, nonchalantly as she could. “At least
you
got taller.”

“I didn't
want
to be taller!”

Bessie struck off down the hall, Amelia grumbling as she followed, her footsteps heavy.

~

Away from the capricious magic of the Keystone, it seemed Bessie was slowly getting taller again, and Amelia could only hope that the wild spell would gradually relinquish its hold on
her.
Though she no longer had to watch her head on the ceiling, she must still be more than six feet tall, and wasn't used to having to duck through doorways. And though the bruises and the indignity of banging her head a few times galled her, she was more annoyed with herself for following Bessie on this fool's errand to find a way to freedom. She’d given up on the idea of seeing the girl Archalthus kept prisoner, and would be glad just to escape Ilgrevnia, but if the two of them had made any progress at all, it had been done with no thanks to Bessie's navigation. They soon discovered that they'd exited the Keystone shaft at a more frequented level of the City, though. Lamps lit the way, and the floors had been swept recently, albeit by somebody who was either lazy or in a hurry. Gone were the cells and machinery; instead the two girls discovered unlocked doors that opened on to spacious rooms filled with random blocky shapes under dustcovers, as if they'd caught the furniture playing at being ghosts. Two or three times they heard measured pairs of footsteps close by, and when Bessie darted for cover, Amelia vanished into thin air with a sharp intake of breath. No matter how many times Amelia swore afterwards that she'd made Bessie invisible too, the assassin-in-training preferred to rely on her own skills. All signs pointed to this being an underground floor of the prince's palace, awaiting the day when he and his victorious Queen would be crowned, and Bessie trod as carefully down here as she had in the dungeon with all its dangers. Nevertheless, when they turned a corner and came face to face with the huge black apparition, it took them both completely by surprise. Bigger still than the black griffin, dark smoke billowed from its hide, and the monster’s fiery eyes blazed. It leapt at Amelia, who – with a scream of terror – disappeared from view. The monster looked puzzled, sniffing the ground with a snout made of thick black smoke, blue-green sparks jumping off it like fleas. It wagged its tail as it paced around, acrid smoke soon filling the corridor, the palace's fancy ventilation system completely unable to cope.

Amelia coughed, wafting the smoke away from her face. “Stupid? What are you doing here?” Having recognised her lifelong companion despite his unusual guise, she dropped her invisibility spell, and at once the huge smoky figure began to circle round her like an enormous friendly cat, making her skirt sooty. She rather thought it was worth it for the look of astonishment on Bessie's face. The girl had drawn her blade again, as if plain steel could rend the insubstantial flesh of the fire sprite. “You can put that away,” said Amelia, sternly. “For one thing, it won't do you any good, and for another, this is a pet of mine. Shall we continue?”

They did, with Stupid prowling ahead of them, a smoky black figure stalking the gloom.

Bessie, maintaining an overcautious distance, watched him. “You're sure it's tame?”

“Oh, he generally does as I tell him,” said Amelia breezily. She was a little worried she might lose sight of him in the dark, though, as the green crackles of his ersatz fur faded further into the distance. “Stupid! Make yourself useful: can't you light the way?” Up the black smoke went, pulling itself into a ball of fiercely turquoise flame that bobbed companionably around Amelia. “What
are
you doing here, though? I thought I left you with Meg.” A thought struck her. “Does that mean she's here?” She hardly dared hope, but was still sorely disappointed when the fire sprite swayed and shuddered in a gesture she knew meant 'no'. “Is she all right? And Harold, and Percival?”

The fireball bounced up and down encouragingly. Yes, as far as he knew. Amelia left it at that. You could spend all day asking Stupid 'yes' and 'no' questions, but beyond that, even
she
couldn't draw much of an explanation from her mute companion. Judging by the way his glow shaded gradually towards emerald green, he at least felt everything must be well in the world.

As Bessie and Amelia continued to roam the corridors, which were just as twisting and nonsensical as the streets above, Amelia was distracted from their search for an exit by the enticing smell of kippers coming from somewhere close by. Bessie hurried on, but Amelia, who had not only missed breakfast, but missed it much more than Bessie seemed to, ducked down a side corridor in search of the source. If there were kitchens, perhaps she could steal some bread and cheese, if nothing else. She soon found a door left half open, with kippery steam issuing forth. In the small kitchen beyond, a woman hummed a cheerful ditty over a hot frying pan. Her hair, bright as turmeric, was tied up in a messy bun, and her dress, a colourful patchwork of offcuts, sparkled with coins and glass beads. Here was someone who belonged to neither the dismal dungeon, nor the grand palace upstairs…

“Oh, hello, poppet!” said the woman, spotting Amelia. “Would you like a kipper or two?”