The Ring of Five (16 page)

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repeated again, a thousand times, in his own voice, yet at different pitches, at one point high and girlish, at another deep and rumbling. Round and round the Gallery of Whispers his question went, the sound rising and falling, ebbing and flowing, until he despaired of an answer. Then, slowly, the sound began to die away, as though a crowd was walking away from him, a crowd that would be swallowed in a gathering dusk. Danny waited. The voices faded until he could hear nothing, and the gallery returned to stillness. Finally, right in his ear, in an everyday tone that made him start, his own voice spoke.

"Ask the ravens," it said. Danny looked around wildly. How was he supposed to ask the ravens? As though the gallery had heard what he was thinking, another whisper echoed in the dome. He could not make out the words this time, but the tone was low and mocking.

155

A GRAVEL-VOICED DWARF

The following morning as they made their way to Ravensdale for breakfast, they found the hallway full of Messengers milling around, in a state of high agitation.

"What is it?" Danny asked Gabriel.

"An outrage," Gabriel spluttered, "an absolute outrage."

"What is?"

"An affront to our dignity as Messengers," Gabriel went on. "We demand that something be done about it. Eluda Fanshawe is completely beside herself, and I can't say I blame her."

No matter how much Danny questioned, Gabriel would not tell him what had happened. But Les had slipped into the crowd and listened in to their conversations. He came up to the others with a big grin on his face.

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"That siren we released from prison. She's been hanging around the place since. She got ahold of this Eluda Fanshawe early this morning. You know the way she got me and you to open the door and let her out? Well, she charmed old Eluda into flying around the rooftops three times chirping like a canary!"

"You shouldn't have let her out," Vandra said.

At that moment the door opened and an elderly and particularly miserable-looking Messenger with a handbag over her arm came in. The other Messengers rushed forward and began to commiserate with her.

"I would have given a lot to see that," Les said gleefully.

"Poor old thing," Vandra said reproachfully. "They really think it's terribly vulgar to fly, never mind chirp like a bird while they're doing it."

"Poor old thing, my eye," Les said. "She needs a bit of livening up, by the look of her."

Brunholm appeared, and the Messengers clustered around him. He made a beeline for Eluda, and although Danny could not hear what was said, he could see that Brunholm was oozing oily charm.

The cadets went into Ravensdale and had breakfast. Danny heard talk and laughter about the siren loose in Wilsons. Some of them had seen the Messenger flying around the building.

"I heard the siren sank a hundred ships," a small girl with frizzy black hair said as she passed them. "Thousands of sailors got drowned. And now she's loose again."

Danny said nothing. He found it hard to believe that

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Vicky, for all her mischievousness, was capable of sinking hundreds of ships.

After breakfast Blackpitt told them that they were to go to Miss Duddy's class.

"Lots of excitement this morning," he intoned dryly. "I don't think."

But in fact the morning turned out to contain much more than Danny had bargained for.

When they got to Duddy's class she announced that they were to spend the day studying surveillance techniques.

"But first," she said, "I have been advised by Master Brunholm that Cadet Caulfield is not to be allowed out of the grounds unless he is disguised."

There was some excited whispering among the cadets at the idea of being out of the grounds.

"Quiet, please," Duddy said. "This will give me an opportunity to demonstrate my artistry in the matter of disguise."

Les rolled his eyes and groaned. Duddy's dark glasses swung around to Les.

"Alas, my art is not sufficient to disguise your ugly mug, Knutt," she snarled, slipping into an accent that was much less refined than the one she normally used. She paused and drew a deep breath.

"Please take a seat, Cadet Caulfield," she said in her normal voice. Danny sat in the chair she had pulled into the middle of the room. Duddy went to the corner and returned with several large boxes brimming with makeup and false beards and fake glasses and even a device that

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tied one leg behind your back so you looked one-legged. There were artificial ears and noses and jars of hair dye marked "blondish" and "ginger" and "mousey."

Duddy studied Danny's face. "If I had time," she murmured, "what a work of art I could accomplish here. A masterpiece! As it is, I will have to make do...." She grasped Danny's chin and turned his head from side to side. "Yes," she said, "a gross feature might do the trick, something to draw the eye."

Danny didn't like the sound of "a gross feature." Out of the corner of his eye he could see Les settling down on a sofa with an interested expression on his face.

Duddy worked at Danny for half an hour. He could feel her applying something that felt like cold plaster to his face; then she ordered him to sit still while it dried. She worked for ages with brushes and sponges. She squeezed an ointment into his eyes that stung badly, but he wasn't allowed to rub it. Any time Danny caught a glimpse of Les, the Messenger grinned and gave him a thumbs-up, but there was something worrying about the twinkle in his friend's eyes. In fact, the whole class was watching with grins on their faces, particularly Smyck and Exspectre.

At last Duddy stood back and gave a nod of satisfaction. Dixie clapped her hands.

"Magnifico!" she shouted, and then, "Encore!"

From the rest of the class came murmurs of amusement. Danny refused to look at them.

"Not a masterpiece," Duddy said, pleased. "A minor work of art, perhaps, but a work of art nonetheless. Voilà!"

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She grabbed Danny's arm and propelled him to his feet in front of a gilt-framed mirror. Danny had braced himself for what might come, but he still didn't expect the wizened little gnome with red eyes looking back at him--not only that, but the gnome had an enormous nose with a large hairy mole growing out of the side of it. He heard a muffled snort behind him, and knew that he couldn't turn around to look Les in the eye.

"The ointment in your eyes makes them red, thus helping to conceal the different colors." Duddy said, "An intelligent solution, don't you think?"

"Excuse me, Miss Duddy," Les asked, his face innocent. "You remember you said that people will only look at a prominent feature and won't remember any of the rest of the face? Well, is that why you did the nose that way?"

Danny could see Les in the mirror now. The Messenger could barely contain his mirth.

"Excellent, Knutt." Duddy beamed.

"It might be a good idea to take a photograph so that others can learn from this excellent disguise," Les went on. Danny shook a silent fist at him.

"A wonderful suggestion," Duddy said. "I shall fetch my camera."

But Danny was to be spared. At that moment the door burst open and Brunholm bustled in.

"I have to say," he announced, "I think this is a very bad idea, but if we are going through with it, then we'd better get on with it. Have you finished, Rosemary?"

"Er, er ... yes, Marcus, almost ..."

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"Then chop-chop, let's get on with it."

"Oh yes, of course." Duddy picked up a large bag of makeup the wrong way round and emptied the contents onto the floor. Then she tripped over a box of wigs.

"What are you doing, woman?" Brunholm snapped.

"I--I'm sorry, Marcus," Duddy stammered. Danny could see that she was flustered around Brunholm, and wondered if she felt more than professional respect for him.

"I'm just looking for the voice dye ...," she said.

"Voice dye?" Danny said dubiously.

"Yes, it was here a moment--"

"Here it is," Les piped up, holding up a little device that looked like an asthma inhaler. Danny glared at him suspiciously.

"Open your mouth," Duddy said. Danny didn't move.

"Come on, boy," Brunholm growled, "we haven't got all day."

Reluctantly, Danny opened his mouth, and Duddy sprayed an acrid-tasting liquid into the back of his throat. Danny choked and coughed, his eyes watering and his tonsils stinging. Duddy waited patiently for him to stop spluttering.

"Try saying something now."

"I've had just about enough of this ...," he began crossly, but the voice that came out was not his, but a particularly musical and high-pitched girl's voice. The class collapsed in laughter.

"That's not the right one!" Duddy exclaimed crossly,

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examining the writing on the side of the spray. "This is Spring Coquette." Les was doubled over with silent laughter, and Danny realized that his quick thief's hands had switched the spray canisters of voice dye.

"Here it is," Duddy said, "Gravel-Voiced Dwarf."

"I don't want to be a gravel-voiced ...," Danny began indignantly, before realizing that his girlish voice had risen to an alarmingly high pitch. The class laughed harder. Even Brunholm seemed to be grimly amused.

"I don't think you have much choice," he said, "unless you want to sound like a schoolgirl for the rest of your life."

Danny opened his mouth once more and felt the acrid sting again. When his eyes had stopped watering Duddy told him to try out the voice.

"I hope this stuff doesn't last forever," he said. The voice was deep, rasping and surly. But it was better than Spring Coquette.

"Now, class," Duddy said, "today we'll be practicing two techniques: switching tails and the box pursuit."

Drawing a diagram on the board, she explained how spies tailing a subject should switch the person following every so often, so that the subject didn't get suspicious.

"The box pursuit is different. In the box, you have at least three people. One behind the subject, one in front and one on the other side of the street. It requires great skill. Now, if you follow me, a charabanc awaits to take you to Tarnstone, where you will practice your skills."

There was another buzz of excitement.

"What's Tarnstone?" Danny growled. Les tried to

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answer, but Danny's voice and appearance were too much, and he spluttered with laughter.

"It's the nearest town," Vandra said, "remember? Across the water from Westwald--kind of a funny place. Full of smugglers and people on the run for one reason or another. But it beats school. And stop laughing, Les. It's very immature. If you had to walk around with these teeth, you'd think more about other people's feelings."

Danny felt a warm surge of gratitude for the physick. Les tried to compose his features.

"All right, all right," Danny said in resignation, "I'm a gravel-voiced dwarf. Let's get going."

They walked after Duddy to the front of the building, and there waiting for them was an ancient bus with Valant at the wheel. The bus was painted black, with what might once have been gold trim. The windows were the kind of dark glass that you could only see through from the inside. The engine was running, and the bodywork shuddered and rattled while noxious gases poured from the exhaust.

"It's not very undercover, is it?" Smyck said sarcastically. "Might as well have
Wilsons School for Spies
written on it."

Danny said nothing. In fact, over the driver's head at the front of the bus, a sign said WILSONS.

"Yes, well," Duddy said, nonplussed, "a remnant of happier days. We weren't always in the middle of a war, you know. Spying used to be a much more gentlemanly pursuit."

"What, no girls?" Vandra said.

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"Spying wasn't seen as a ... suitable job for young ladies," Duddy said, in her most exclusive voice.

"Then what are you doing teaching it?" Les grumbled, taking care to keep his voice down.

"Women make the best poisoners," Toxique said. "It's in the blood."

"Do they really?" Dixie said with a look of interest. "I didn't realize. Do have some strychnine, Maud, you really must."

Toxique gave her a wild look and, climbing onto the bus, took a seat at the back on his own, casting dark bloodshot-eyed looks at anyone who tried to sit beside him.

"Mad as a bleedin' hatter," Les said.

"I wonder ...," Danny said. He took a seat beside Les as the rest of the cadets climbed on board.

"Now," said Duddy, standing in the middle of the aisle. "I want no fighting, no singing, certainly no spitting in the aisles ..."

The engine roared, and with a jolt, the bus shot forward. Duddy flew backward and landed with a startled yelp on the floor. The cadets cheered. Danny looked around. It felt strangely like a school outing to the beach or something--well, it felt like that until he saw the collection of physicks and winged Messengers and poisoners accompanying him.

The bus shot off down the tree-lined drive, black smoke billowing out behind it, threads of steam escaping from under the hood. Like everything else at Wilsons, the trees were dark and inward-looking, and Danny caught