The Starkin Crown (24 page)

‘At first we must stay as close to the shore as possible, so that the soldiers do not see us. Head to the left'.

Molly propped her crutch on the deck and swung herself over. She did not like boats. Her hip ached worse than ever in the damp air, and the way the boat rocked and swayed underfoot made her gait even more unsteady. Most of the other children on the Isle of Eels had their own small boats and would be out on the water from dawn to dusk, fishing and gathering rushes and setting eel traps. Molly was never allowed to go out on her own, though. She had tried once a few years ago, but her hip had given way while she was poling. She had fallen overboard and nearly drowned. Her father's boat had been found, drifting and empty, on the tide. The men of the Isle of Eels had searched the bogs for her all night, at last finding her crouched in the reeds, shivering with cold and cramped with pain. She had been sick with a fever for days, and her hip had throbbed with a low, deep, grinding pain that no amount of beaver fat poultices would fix. Molly was not allowed out on the eel-boat alone after that, her nan preferring to keep her under her watchful eye.

Molly had still been taught the secret ways of the marshes, though. At least once a month she went out with her father, who had rebuilt his punt for her comfort. There was a cushioned bench where she could safely lie, a brazier with a tin chimney to keep her warm, and with her father poling the boat along, she had no need to risk dislocating her hip again.

Still, it was an adventure to go out in the middle of the night, without her father to look after her. Molly had craved adventure all of her life. She tingled with excitement, her cheeks pink and her eyes glowing despite the bitter cold.

Peregrine handed Grizelda aboard, Oskar leaping after her, and then clambered onto the boat himself, Blitz on his wrist as always. It must be awkward for him, Molly thought, always carrying the falcon on his wrist. It meant he only ever had one hand to use. He didn't seem to mind, though. Perhaps he was used to it.

Slowly the boat began to inch along, keeping close to the island. Bangs and twangs and cries and screams from the battle concealed any sound they might have made. Eventually, though, the small boat had to strike out from the shore. Molly waited until the moon was covered by thick black cloud before giving Jack the go-ahead.

They were about halfway across the lake when the moon sailed out, illuminating the landscape with silver. At once a starkin lord brought his sisika bird around and down, zooming straight towards them. The giant white bird screeched, its claws out-thrust.

‘Quickly!' Molly cried. ‘If we can just make the rushes, we can hide'.

‘We'll never make it!' Jack yelled back, poling as fast as he could.

Peregrine pulled out his flute and held it to his lips. A cacophony of notes rang out, shrill and harsh.

‘What are you doing, you fool?' Grizelda shouted. ‘Shoot your arrows!'

Still Peregrine played. It was a strange tune, filled with jarring dissonances. Yet the sisika bird shrieked in response and wheeled about, despite the yelling of the soldier on its back, despite the cruel whip and barbed collar yanking at the giant bird's throat. Away the sisika bird flew, over the lake, over the dim-lit marshes, away from the small boat where Peregrine sat cross-legged and played his long white flute.

Silence fell.

‘You saved us!' Molly said. ‘But how? What was that tune you played?'

‘I don't know,' Peregrine said. ‘I thought about compelling the bird to go away and played what came into my mind. It certainly wasn't a very pretty tune!'

‘Amazing,' she said and shook her head in wonderment.

Other starkin lords came against them as they noticed the dark shape of the eel-boat against the shining waters of the lake. Each time Peregrine played his flute and sent the sisika birds far away.

‘We should've just stayed at Stormlinn Castle and had you play your flute against all those soldiers,' Jack grumbled. ‘We could have stayed snug and warm and had a good laugh watching them all run away'.

‘I don't think it would work against an army,' Peregrine said. ‘The soldiers would all need to be close enough to hear my flute, and I have a feeling that the song for each individual is different. Besides, how long would it take them to work out what I was doing and jam a bit of candle wax in their ears?'

Dawn came at last, the clouds turning softly pink, the water glimmering between black banks of stiff rushes. Molly swung a pot over the brazier, and made them tea from dried marshmallow flowers. There were only two horn cups on the boat, set in beautifully forged iron filigree, which they had to share among the four of them. The hot tea helped warm them, for it was very cold on the water, with a damp mist rising.

The day passed slowly. Peregrine and Jack took turns to pole the punt along, while Molly fished for their supper or carved
her bog-oak. Grizelda rested, her dog at her feet as always. The starkin girl looked very different in Molly's homespun clothes, which were all grey or brown or cream, the natural colours of the wool. None of her clothes had dried in time, which made Grizelda irritable. ‘They're so itchy,' she complained. ‘How can you stand it?'

‘I guess I'm used to it,' Molly replied quietly.

It was a long, slow journey through the winding maze of the fenlands. They ate bread and cheese and dried fruit at noon, then dropped anchor a few hours later as the twilight closed down over the marshes. Nobody wanted to risk negotiating their way through the bogs and quagmires in the darkness. Molly had caught some fish and had packed plenty of food, so they had a feast and then settled down to camp on the hard boards. It was surprisingly cosy with the brazier glowing away and plenty of otter skins to snuggle under, and Peregrine entertained them with marvellous stories of ships and faraway lands and strange creatures, till they at last grew drowsy and fell asleep.

As soon as it was light, they kept on going through the marshes. It was hard to keep a sense of direction in the early morning mist, but Molly knew each tiny islet, each moss-hung tree, and so the small boat slowly wound its way deep into the swamps.

Midafternoon, the tall grey peak of Grimsfell rose on the horizon. Like the Isle of Eels, it was an island that rose steeply from flat, briny marshes, its lower slopes covered with leafless, twiggy trees, its height bare except for one dramatic rock that stuck into the grey sky like a broken fang. Below the rock grew an ancient oak tree, cleaved in two. Even from this distance
they could see the clump of mistletoe that grew in its bare branches.

‘The lightning-blasted oak,' Peregrine said. ‘Jack, can't we get along any faster?'

Jack flashed him a hot and bothered look. ‘No, your Highness. Unless you'd like to lend a hand?'

Candles blazed in the great hall.

Vernisha sat on her gilded throne, scowling as King Merrik and Queen Liliana danced a joyous jig in the centre of the hall. Both were dressed in animal skins, and the king wore a set of donkey ears with as much dignity as if it were the starkin crown. They were smiling at each other, apparently oblivious to the jeering crowd.

Zed was clapping along; Rozalina waved a stick of jester's bells. They were as calm and relaxed as if they were in their own great hall. Vernisha obviously found this disregard for their humiliation most aggravating, for she kept yelling at them to do something else. ‘Juggle, you fool! Do a cartwheel! Sing us a silly song!'

The four captives only smiled and bowed and did as they were ordered. Since Merry was a fine musician and both men had been trained since birth as warriors, they put on as fine a show as any jongleurs, and soon the crowd was clapping and cheering them in genuine pleasure. Vernisha's bulbous cheeks turned magenta.

Lord Goldwin, the Count of Zavaria, sat beside her, toying with a dish of broiled boar's head. A tall, handsome man with a fair beard and ice-blue eyes, he was the one who had persuaded her not to break the Yuletide tradition of truce. As always,
two lean white hounds lay at his feet, eating tidbits from his fingers. The pug dog hated them and was continually yowling and yipping at them from his seat on Vernisha's lap. The hound dogs ignored him, laying their heads on their long paws with a long-suffering sigh.

‘Such a shame Tom-Tit-Tot can't change shape into a grogoyle,' Liliana said with a scornful glance about the hot, crowded, gaudy room. ‘I'd love to have him fly through here, breathing fire and making everyone run and scream'.

‘Yes,' King Merrik replied, turning her in a skilful spin. ‘But you know he can only change into something his own size or smaller. He's been jumping around Vernisha in the shape of a flea, but I'm afraid if she gets any crosser she'll have us burnt alive before help arrives'.

‘I'm not sure if it's the food or the hope that help is coming, but I'm finding it easier to bear now,' Liliana said.

‘Yes, thank Liah for Tommy-boy!'

‘Stop gossiping!' Vernisha screamed. ‘This isn't meant to be fun! Stars and comets, when can I have them killed?'

‘Just a few more days,' Lord Goldwin soothed her.

Just then the grand double doors swung open and the steward hurried up the hall. ‘Your Majesty, a wicked winged beast is flying about the battlements!'

Vernisha smiled. ‘So? Shoot it down!'

The four captives looked at each other in sudden excitement and dread.

‘Well, we would have, your Majesty, but …'

‘But what, you flocculating fool?'

‘Princess Adora is being held upon its back by a warrior, your Majesty. If we shoot the beast down, she'll be killed'.

Vernisha's eyes boggled. ‘What! My daughter? But …'

Lord Goldwin was on his feet in an instant, the white hounds tense and quivering by his side. ‘Your Majesty! But how? We must save her!'

‘Let's go see this winged beastie,' Vernisha said and seized a whip, laying it about the shoulders of the poor hobhenkies chained to her throne. With a groan, they hoisted the gaudy chair high into the air and carried it down the hall. ‘Bring the prisoners!'

Liliana seized Merry's arm and hurried after the procession of servants and courtiers, Rozalina and Zed close behind. ‘Is that what Briony meant by a bargaining chip?' Merry whispered to her. ‘Vernisha's own daughter?'

‘I thought she had been locked away in a tower,' Zed said in a low whisper. ‘For refusing to marry again'.

‘Poor Adora,' Rozalina said. ‘I don't blame her, though. That vile woman has married her four times already, each time to an older and richer man. And none of her children lived past the age of three'.

There was deep distress in Rozalina's voice. Princess Adora was her stepmother, although there were only six years between them in age. She blamed Rozalina for the deaths of all her children since Rozalina had once said that no child of Adora's would ever live to inherit the throne of Ziva. Curse or prophecy, Rozalina herself did not know, but it was hard not to feel pity for the princess, once the most beautiful and celebrated woman in Ziva.

‘Pedrin must've broken her out,' Liliana said. ‘What a brilliant idea!'

Up, up, up the winding staircases they climbed, the hobhenkies labouring under the weight of the laden throne, until they came out at last onto the battlements.

A creature out of a nightmare wheeled about the towers, uttering a high, defiant, spine-chilling scream. Bat-winged, with the graceful golden body of a lion and the deadly curved tail of a scorpion, fire spat from its gaping jaws. On the grogoyle's back was a tall man with brown hair and a greying beard, dressed in a long twilight-grey cloak. Zed grinned broadly and waved his hand, for the rider was his own father, Lord Pedrin. His father was holding a slender, fair-haired woman before him, keeping her steady as the grogoyle spun and soared.

Vernisha said, ‘Tell him to come closer. I want to see if it really is Adora'.

A chalk-faced soldier climbed up onto the battlement and shouted through a speaking-trumpet, ‘Come closer!'

The grogoyle dived. Many of the lords and ladies screamed and threw themselves to the ground. The pug dog whimpered and burrowed under Vernisha's voluminous skirts. As the winged beast sped overhead, Liliana could clearly see the petrified face of Princess Adora, her red widow's veil whipping in the wind.

‘I have liberated Princess Adora!' Pedrin cried. ‘I will exchange her for the safe return of King Merrik, Queen Liliana, Queen Rozalina and Lord Zedrin'.

‘Shoot them down,' Vernisha said. ‘At last, some proper entertainment!'

‘But your Majesty! Your daughter!' Lord Goldwin gasped.

‘What use is she to me anyway?' Vernisha replied indifferently. ‘Won't do as she's told, all her brats die. She's costing me a fortune in that tower of hers. Shoot her down!'

The soldiers ran forward, knelt and raised high their longbows. At a gesture, they fired. Arrows sprang towards the grogoyle, who twisted and dived. Adora screamed.